"Fraser, you are prowling like your own wolf. Something is obviously on your mind, and if you would like to discuss it I am certainly willing to hear whatever it is. Just please, sit down."
Inspector Margaret Thatcher was neither amused nor annoyed by Constable Benton Fraser's uncharacteristic restlessness; she was simply resigned to hearing another complex story. As Fraser's superior officer at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, Thatcher had long since discovered that he had an unusual way of thinking about things, not to mention some unusual methods of investigation. She'd also learned that his instincts were good, and if you gave him enough time, he'd eventually get to the point. She considered him a fine officer on either side of the border.
So she made herself comfortable and gave him her attention. He, in turn, took the place beside her, and began to talk.
"I don't understand how I managed to let him slip through my fingers," Fraser began, "I know those woods so well, but obviously, he knew them better."
Thatcher nodded encouragingly. This was a story she'd heard several times lately. Fraser, on a training mission with some wilderness neophytes, had found himself up against a master of both crime and North Woods survival. The man had toyed with him, stealing the trainees supplies, fouling a water supply, leaving a trail as wide as an elephant but always staying just out of reach. While patiently teaching the recruits the skills they would need for assignments in the Territories, Fraser tracked their tormentor, watching for an opportunity.
Unfortunately, when the opportunity came, Fraser had been busy tending one of the trainees who'd suffered a broken leg in an ill-advised short cut to the river. By the time he was able to get back on the trail, the criminal had tired of the game and vanished. Fraser's report had helped the next RCMP team to pick the man up, but Fraser still couldn't forget that he'd been unable to bring Maury Whitman in himself.
"You're right, Fraser, you failed. You didn't bring him in. But you brought back 6 trainees, and your information allowed the team to go in and get Whitman. As usual you tried to do everything for everybody." Thatcher yawned. She turned to find a more comfortable position, and tossed one arm around Fraser's waist. "Think about it tomorrow, Ben."
Fraser nodded and looked down at the sleepy face on the pillow beside him, brushing aside her dark hair. He reached up to turn out the remaining light, and then turned towards her, as her last yawn merged into a very delicate snore.
The End