Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em and hand 'em back, none the worse for wear.

Author's Notes: I briefly OD'd on Geometry, here's a few other bits to read while I get back into the swing of it. This is a straight due South story.

Story Notes: Set between 'Hunting Season' and 'Call of the Wild'; this is a Diefenbaker story, all the way!

"Fraser, pigs would be more likely to fly." Fraser's expression was so crestfallen even Thatcher felt a twinge of guilt. "I tried, Fraser, I really did. The Ambassador's refusal was very firm."

Fraser swallowed his disappointment. "Thank you, Inspector. I know you did your best."

Thatcher shoved the file folder at Fraser, irritated by her inability to execute a low-level diplomatic request. She'd intended to hand approval for the exchange student program to Fraser with careless ease, an example of what diplomatic procedure -when properly followed- could do, but the Tehari ambassador listened with excruciating politeness then told her no, and in no uncertain terms. Worse, she'd gotten the distinct impression it wasn't the program the Ambassador objected to... it was her. Not that she had any intention of admitting that... it was only a supposition, anyway.

"Yo, Fraser!" Ray came breezing into the embassy, leather jacket flung over his shoulder, shades cocked at a jaunty angle. He got a good look at Fraser and the grin fell off his face. "Who's rainin' on yer parade, buddy? Ya want I should go kick their ass?"

Fraser had to smile in spite of his disappointment. "That will not be necessary, Ray; thank you kindly. I think precipitating a diplomatic incident might irritate Leftenant Welsh."

"Probably," Ray said cheerfully, throwing an arm around Fraser and steering him towards the door, away from the Ice Queen. "But I'd a done it fer ya."

"I know you would, Ray."

Ray studied his friend closely. "Not gonna let this go, are ya?"

Ray's words only crystallized Fraser's nebulous resolve. "No, Ray."

"Ya never do, Frase. Where's Dief?"

The wolf came trotting out of Fraser's office, saw Ray and yipped a welcome, tail wagging cheerfully.

"Heya, boy," Ray chirruped and when Inspector Thatcher cleared her throat and Fraser's gaze snapped around, surreptitiously slipped Dief a toffee cream. The wolf nipped it out of his fingers with a graceful swipe and gulped it down, nudging Ray's hand affectionately. Thatcher rolled her eyes in exasperation as she watched, and when Fraser turned back around, Ray and Dief gave Fraser an innocent 'who, us?' stare.

"Dismissed, Constable." Thatcher sighed. She was in no mood for the trio's antics this late in the day.

"Ma'am?" Fraser said cautiously.

"It's five minutes of five, Fraser. Constable Turnbull can lock up, if you hurry you might catch the Tehari ambassador at the embassy."

Fraser beamed. "Thank you, Inspector."

"Go," she said shortly, "and take them with you." She waved an impatient hand at Ray and Dief as she stalked into her office.

"Yes, ma'am." Fraser knew Thatcher's moods well enough now to know this was her version of an apology.

"Could I trouble you for a ride to the Tehari Islands embassy, Ray?" Fraser asked politely as he held the door for Ray.

"Sure thing, Frase."

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

"Hey, Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Where is the Tehari Islands embassy? An' fer that matter, where are the Tehari Islands?"

"I'll give you directions on the way. The Tehari Islands are a small chain of islands in the Pacific Rim made up of the extinct cones of kimberlitic volcanoes. The nation is a democratic monarchy, and noteworthy for an extremely low crime rate, and a closed immigration policy..."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ray pulled up in front of the Tehari Embassy and pinned Fraser with an incredulous stare. "Ya tellin' me on this island ya ken reach down and pick up a diamond?"

"Technically yes, Ray," Fraser explained. "Although I understand today the diamond mines operate under strict state of the art security. But there are still incidents where locals have simply reached down and picked up a diamond on the beach. Kimberlitic volcanoes are one of the principal geological methods by which diamonds are formed, and when the original settlers to the islands arrived and realized what they had discovered, they immediately closed all immigration and instituted vigorous population control measures. As a result the Tehari Islands are one of the smallest, and richest, nations in the world."

"Tourists must love the place."

"Actually they have no tourism policy at all and it's extremely difficult to get a visa to visit."

"Wow. With all them diamonds lyin' around, how come nobody jes' conquered 'em?"

"Several attempts have been made over the last two hundred and seventy years," Fraser admitted, skimming a finger over his eyebrow. "Every one was repulsed by armed citizenry rising up and driving the invaders out. Generally on the same day."

Ray looked disbelieving. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me! Jes' like that?"

"Not at all, Ray. Apparently the original settlers planned for such an eventuality. Education in Tehari is mandatory through a bachelor's degree in college, with a likewise mandatory two-year term of service from eighteen to twenty in the Tehari Army to pay for the education; and two of the qualifications for college graduation are a black belt in three different forms of martial arts and a sharpshooter's certification, all acquired as soldiers."

"What? You tellin' me every citizen is Bruce Lee and the Rifleman combined?"

Fraser shot him a blank, baffled glance.

"Sorry, sorry," Ray grumbled. "Jeez, ya gotta watch more TV, Frase. So they're all black belts and sharpshooters, huh?"

"Correct, Ray."

"What about, ya know, political takeovers?"

"Again, the original settlers planned for this; and as the islands hold a key strategic position in the Pacific Rim, they have mutual protection treaties with the United States, Japan and China that predate both the World Wars. With the Soviet Union as well, before its collapse," Fraser added. "They are officially a neutral nation, despite rumors they were definitely partial to the Allied side during World War I and II."

"Jeez... bizarre. So why open a new embassy here in Chicago?"

"It was moved here from New York City after the new ambassador, and I quote, 'would sooner live in hell than spend five more minutes in that wretched, filthy, urine-soaked cesspit'."

Ray laughed. "Classic! Bet the New Yorkers loved that."

"I understand it nearly precipitated a international incident."

Ray roared. "Ya want me ta pick ya up?"

"No thank you, Ray. Your apartment is a pleasant constitutional from here, and Diefenbaker can certainly use the exercise."

"Fraser, my apartment's ten miles away."

"Exactly, Ray."

"Yer a freak, Frase."

"Understood. Give my parents your regards."

"Will do. I'll be home about nine, and Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"If ya get there first, use the damn key I gave ya?"

"Thank you kindly, Ray. I'll do that."

"Freak," Ray muttered under his breath as the GTO pulled away, but Fraser could hear the affection in his best friend's tone.

Fraser turned around and inspected the embassy. It was larger than the Canadian Consulate, an imposing, four-story building of red brick, river rock and gray slate with rambling, neatly manicured grounds inside a brick and iron fence. A wrought iron security gate with the roaring dragon crest of the Tehari Islands guarded the entrance, but when Fraser tried the smaller pedestrian gate next to the main gate, it opened readily.

He checked his father's watch, the embassy hours on the gate sign specified the gates closed at five-fifteen and the embassy closed at five-thirty. He had twenty minutes to find the Ambassador and convince him to agree to the exchange student program. Plenty of time... he hoped.

Unfortunately, the double-paneled mahogany front doors proved to be locked and pressing the buzzer did not seem to accomplish anything. Stymied, Fraser looked down at Diefenbaker for suggestions... but the wolf was no longer at his side. A white tail was disappearing around the right-hand corner of the building.

"Diefenbaker," Fraser sighed, resigned to chasing his deaf friend, who was undoubtedly already in love with the thick pines and huge old hardwoods dotting the grounds. He vaulted the side of the brick and slate stairs and loped after Dief.

But Fraser had to slow down as he walked under the pines, the Norwegian and Fraser fir trees smelled heavenly -smelled of home- and he breathed in air mercifully free of most of the city-stench perpetually filling his nostrils. No wonder Dief had gone snuffling around, he even spotted the flash of a gray squirrel tail overhead and could hear the loud squawks of blue jays. Dief's happy yip came from around the back of the building and as Fraser rounded the corner, he realized Diefenbaker had found someone.

A blond woman in jeans and a t-shirt was three stories up on an extension ladder and painting a last few strokes on a small white balcony that jutted out from the third floor. It had to be new construction; it was the only balcony on the backside of the building and while there was an obvious, and quite good, attempt to merge it with the current architecture, it stood out a bit oddly from the rest of the building. A radio was playing inside the third floor and she was whistling along with the music. Dief was sniffing around the base of the ladder and Fraser frowned. The ladder was braced on a four-foot square of plywood, but the combined weight of the girl and the ladder was cracking one corner of the square.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Fraser called, staring up the ladder.

She looked down, paintbrush momentarily stilled. "Can I help you with something?"

"I was hoping to speak to the Ambassador."

She regarded the balcony railing critically and touched up a last spot with the brush. "Have I missed any spots?" she asked.

Fraser examined the balcony. There were no bare patches visible from his vantage point. "I don't see any."

"All right, hang on a second and I'll come down." She dropped the brush into the paint bucket, untied it from the ladder and started climbing down. "What time is it?"

Fraser checked his watch again. "Five-fifteen."

"Embassy closes in fifteen minutes. You're not going to get much time to talk."

That was true enough. "Whom should I talk to about making an appointment?"

"That would be me," she answered, and as Fraser reached out and steadied the ladder, the plywood square cracked like a pistol shot and the ladder lurched several feet to one side. The girl yelped in surprise, and as Fraser struggled to hold the ladder in place, she wrapped her feet around the sides of the ladder and tried to slide down, but the lurch jerked the top of the ladder loose from the building and it was skidding on the red brick.

The girl gasped as the ladder swayed, and dropping both paintbrush and bucket, she jumped free as it toppled. Fraser frantically tried to get underneath to catch her and mostly succeeded, but the footing was poor on the soft wet ground and they tumbled to the ground together in a tangle of limbs. The bucket of paint hit the ground beside them and a wave of wet white paint splashed up and covered both.

"Are you all right?" Fraser said anxiously, supporting the girl's back as she sat up and regarded the wet paint coating their clothes with an utterly disgusted glare.

"Crap." She wiggled her fingers, rotated both ankles, cracked her neck and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ok. You?"

"I'm fine, thank you kindly."

She transferred her glare to the ladder as she climbed gingerly to her feet, rolling her left shoulder absently as she walked over to the fallen ladder. "Dammit, I braced that thing. Why'd it fall?"

"I noticed the plywood was cracking. I suspect there was a hidden flaw in the wood that gave under the weight of the ladder."

She toed the broken square of plywood resignedly. "Yeah, you're right." She took a good look at Fraser for the first time and an expression of unalloyed dismay crossed her face. "Your uniform! Oh, damn, I'm so sorry!"

"It's nothing," Fraser sighed. This would be the third uniform he'd ruined this year and it was only May. Replacing them was getting expensive, even if he was issued three per year without charge. "Do you see my hat?"

"Your dog has it." Safely out of range of the paint, Diefenbaker was holding Fraser's Stetson in his mouth and the wolf was patently laughing.

"Thank you for your concern for our well-being, Diefenbaker," Fraser said dryly, holding out his hand. Dief trotted over and placed the hat in Fraser's one non-splattered hand.

The woman was staring at Dief with knitted brows, temporarily oblivious to her disheveled state. "Hey, is that a wolf?"

"Half wolf, actually," Fraser explained. "His name is Diefenbaker."

To Fraser's surprise, she knelt right down and held out a hand. "Hello, Diefenbaker," she said coaxingly. "My name's Kat. Would you like to be friends?"

Never averse to getting better acquainted with a pretty blonde, Dief trotted right over and sniffed her fingers, then carefully licked the side of her face that wasn't paint-smeared. She chuckled and rubbed noses with the wolf.

"I'd pet you but trust me, you don't want me touching you until I get cleaned up, Diefenbaker."

Surprised, Fraser watched them make friends in the space of a few seconds.

She stood up. "Come on inside, both of you. Leave the mess, I'll clean it up once it dries."

"Thank you kindly."

She led them to a bulkhead cellar door and down inside, Diefenbaker trotting happily at her side, and Fraser followed. They went through a workshop that Fraser eyed wistfully, it had a woodworking station he liked the look of, past several storage rooms and into a large laundry room floored in bright white tile and painted an equally eye blinding white. Four extra-large capacity washers and dryers stood next to drying racks, ironing boards and a row of big, deep steel sinks.

"This is water-based paint. Is your uniform washable or dry-clean only?" she inquired, flipping the taps at the nearest sink and handing over a bar of pumice soap as she started scrubbing off the paint splattered on her hands and arms.

"Dry-clean only," Fraser sighed, and started unfastening his Sam Browne. At least he hadn't been wearing his red dress uniform, it was considerably more expensive to replace.

"There's a drycleaner up the street that we have a contract with, they do one-hour service. I'll call in a minute and have them send someone over to pick up your uniform. They might be able to save it if they get it before the paint dries."

"That's not necessary," Fraser objected.

"Like hell it isn't," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "This is my fault and I fix my own mistakes, thank you very much."

His eyebrows went up as he dumped his belt into an unused sink and stripped off his tunic. "Thank you kindly."

"No worries," she said cheerfully, ire gone. "Yick, my hair's covered with this goop." She rummaged around several shelves until she turned up a bottle of Ivory dishwashing soap. "This'll do, I guess." She smiled apologetically at Fraser. "Get the majority of the paint off and I'll show you to one of the guest suites upstairs and you can get a proper shower. I'll scrounge you up something to wear while your uniform's getting cleaned and we'll get you that appointment to show how sorry I am."

Fraser blinked. The loss of a uniform would a small price to pay if he could convince the Ambassador to agree to his exchange student program, and if she was an attache or aide, she would be able to get him into see the Ambassador.

"That would be very kind." Tehari nationals seemed very self-reliant and independent but quite nice, on the whole, if a bit prickly around the edges; and for some reason suddenly this woman reminded him of Ray, with his poet interior and "grr, shake, bad guy, shake" exterior.

"It's the least I can do." She leaned down and stuck her whole head under the running water, working her fingers through the blond mass and soaping it up liberally with the Ivory liquid.

Fraser poked around those storage shelves until he located a box of large white trash bags and dumped his brown uniform jacket in one. His tie and shirt were a mess too and he stripped them off. Even his undershirt was wet with paint; it had soaked right through the fabric. He started to strip it off then hesitated, glancing over at his companion.

She was rinsing off that long wet tail of hair, and wrung it out. "I guess that's most of it. Toss me a towel, please?"

There was a neat stack of white towels on the shelf above the trash bags and he handed her one politely. She dried her arms, neck and face, then wound the towel around her dripping hair and glanced down at her t-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

"I'm not even going to try. Would you turn around for a minute?"

Fraser flushed as her hands went to the bottom of her tee and he turned around quickly, staring resolutely at the wall. The muffled purr of a zipper made him blush harder, and the wet smack of clothing hitting the steel sink made his imagination conjure up unnervingly vivid images of what she might look like right now... The outline of her body had been willow-slim rather than sturdy or athletic like he usually favored, but Fraser found himself wondering if he could wrap his body right around hers like a blanket. That conjured up unpleasant images of Victoria and he flinched as the memories tore at him savagely.

"I'll be right back," she said then paused. "Hey, are you all right? You didn't hit your head or anything?"

Fraser recalled to the present with a jerk. "Fine. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," she said uncertainly. "I just... felt pain for a minute there... the kind of agony that rips at your soul... jeez, would you listen to me! Maybe I hit my head. Back in a sec..."

He could hear soft, nearly soundless footfalls padding down the hall. Diefenbaker nosed his hand in an effort to reassure his partner, and Fraser ruffled his ears in thanks. He stripped off his undershirt and followed her example in removing the paint from his hair. Five minutes later those soft footfalls alerted him to her return. He straightened at a rap on the doorframe, toweling his hair dry.

"OK to come in?"

"Yes, thank you for asking."

She was wearing a thick white terrycloth bathrobe with that dragon crest, and another one was draped over her arm.

"You're the shy type," she said absently, handing the robe over and staring at him critically. "Six feet, one ninety-five?"

He accepted the robe a trifle distractedly. "You have a good eye."

"Just practice." She fished her clothes out of the sink and tossed them into the nearest washer. Fraser tried not to notice the tiny, adorably cute blue thong panties on top of the clothes. It had pretty pale blue asters dotted over the cotton and reminded him of spring flowers in the Yukon.

"Got anything washable in the sink?"

"Only my undershirt."

She nodded, tossed it in and measured out laundry soap with a practiced hand. "Throw anything else wash-safe in here and bag the rest of the dry-cleaning. I'll wait outside 'til you're done." And she walked back out, Diefenbaker tagging at her heels.

A trifle nervous, Fraser stripped off his boots and trousers in a hurry and pulled on the robe, added his socks, undershirt and boxers -wet through from landing hard in the soggy ground- into the washer and closed the top. Bagging his tie, pants and dress shirt with his tunic jacket, he filled the robe pockets with his insignia and suspenders and picked up his shoes, which thankfully escaped the paint, if not the mud. He ventured out into the hall, where she and Dief were sitting side by side and rubbing noses amiably.

She stood up and smiled. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up the rest of the way." She held out a hand for the dry-cleaning bag and Fraser handed it to her mostly because he couldn't figure out a polite way to refuse.

"Elevator's this way. Would you like some coffee or tea while you're waiting?"

"Tea would be very nice, thank you kindly."

"You got a name, or should I just stick with Constable?" She frowned. "Did I read the insignia right? I'm not all that familiar with the Canadian versions yet."

Fraser flushed uncomfortably. How very rude not to have introduced himself previously. "Uh, yes, you did. Please excuse me, Constable Benton Fraser, ma'am." He held out a hand and she took it. Her grip was firm, but friendly... he had the random thought his father would have approved. He always commented a first handshake was a good way to judge a man, Fraser supposed it would work just as well for a woman.

"Katrina Cutter. Nice to meet you, Benton Fraser."

Dief yipped and gazed up at her inquiringly.

Fraser rubbed an eyebrow. "Ah, Diefenbaker is curious to know why you introduced yourself as 'Kat' earlier, if your given name is 'Katrina'."

"Katrina's my legal name. Kat's a nickname my friends use." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Diefenbaker asked that?"

"Yes."

"He must be very intelligent for a wolf."

Dief barked and nuzzled her hand appreciatively.

Both eyebrows went up. "He understands what I'm saying? Beyond tone and inflection?"

"Actually he's reading your lips, but yes, he understands several languages, including English."

"He's reading my lips?" she repeated, astonished.

How interesting, Fraser observed. She didn't doubt the statement, amazed but not disbelieving. "Yes, Diefenbaker's deaf. Several years ago, he pulled me out of Prince Rupert Sound after I fell through the ice, but his eardrums burst in the process. He's been deaf ever since."

She absorbed that thoughtfully, scratching Dief's ears with gentle fingers. "So you're a hero, boy? I fail to be surprised. And he reads lips and you can understand wolf? I had no idea Canada was so interesting."

"I can understand Diefenbaker, but we've been companions since he was a cub. I've never had the opportunity to have an extended conversation with a wild wolf."

"Fascinating." She looked down at Dief. "You're very intriguing, Diefenbaker. Would you care to go out with me sometime?"

Diefenbaker barked enthusiastically and his tail whipped back and forth as the wolf danced in a small circle.

She smiled but transferred her gaze to Fraser questioningly.

"Diefenbaker says yes," Fraser said dryly. "He's free tomorrow, if that's acceptable." Katrina also seemed quite pleased her offer was accepted, he noted.

"Six okay?"

Dief rumbled.

"Six is fine," Fraser sighed. "He's looking forward to it."

"Where shall I pick him up?"

"The Precinct 27 station house will be fine. I'll write down the address for you."

Her eyebrows went way, way up this time. "He's a police wolf?"

"Unofficially Diefenbaker and I are partnered with Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department."

"How utterly absorbing." She fondled Dief's head affectionately. "I'm sure we'll have a very enjoyable time, Diefenbaker."

Dief whined and nuzzled her hand.

Fraser frowned down at him. "I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate at this juncture, Diefenbaker."

Lively curiosity lit up her eyes. "What did he say?"

Fraser sighed and gave up. Apparently she was hooked, and so was Dief... far be it from him to stand in the way of a budding romance.

"As you were kind enough to offer Diefenbaker a name reserved for your friends, he would be pleased if you would call him Dief."

During this conversation they'd ridden the elevator up to the second floor, exited into an extremely handsome hallway paneled in mahogany and papered with green brocade wallpaper with gold fleur-de-lis, and Katrina stopped at a richly carved door.

"This is one of our guest suites, it should have everything you need. I'll find some clothes for you and leave them in the outer room."

"Thank you kindly, Ms. Cutter."

"Go ahead and use Kat. The formality around here's stifling... it's making me crazy, frankly. May I call you Benton?"

Fraser hesitated, then for Dief's sake gathered up his courage. "Perhaps you could call me Ben instead?"

She smiled. "Ben it is."

Katrina turned away and wise to Diefenbaker's sneaky ways, Fraser caught the wolf's ruff before he could follow her and ushered the wolf firmly into the guest suite.

"You are not going to join her into the shower before your first date, Diefenbaker."

Dief grumbled, then jumped up onto the draped, canopied bed and pointedly ignored him.

"That's entirely uncalled for," Fraser said severely.

Half an hour later after an extremely pleasant shower in a luxuriously appointed bathroom larger than his entire office at the Consulate, Fraser emerged with one unbelievably fluffy soft towel slung around his hips, toweling his hair dry with another. Teharians didn't stint on their hospitality either, the guest suite bathroom was fully stocked right down to a dazzling array of soaps, shampoos, toothpastes, combs, brushes, and hair styling products. He'd nearly swooned at the heavenly scent of the juniper and sandalwood soap he'd finally settled on using, and if Ray had been here Fraser fancied his best friend might have tried every product there just for experimentation's sake.

Ms. Cutter had obviously been in the room while he was showering, a set of pristine exercise wear lay neatly folded on the end of the enormous bed. Fraser sorted through it curiously, socks, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a pair of the stretchy shorts Ray referred to as 'bike shorts', obviously intended to do double-duty as underwear, all bearing the Tehari roaring dragon crest. No shoes, but the Embassy staff could hardly be expected to have those on hand in a variety of sizes. Fraser donned it willingly; it was certainly comfortable if more casual than was his usual wont.

Dief rumbled as he was wondering what to do with his damp towels, and Fraser nodded thanks at his friend's explanation.

"Thank you kindly, Diefenbaker." He went back into the bathroom, and sure enough, in the bathroom linen closet was a laundry chute, he tossed the damp towels and bathrobe down it and ran a comb through his hair before returning to the outer room.

Diefenbaker was waiting by the door to the hallway and Fraser gathered up his hat, belt and insignia, only then realizing his muddy shoes were missing. A quick sweep of the suite revealed they were nowhere to be found, apparently Ms. Cutter spirited them away to be cleaned, he surmised. Really, Tehari hospitality was extremely thorough.

Diefenbaker sniffed the air and at once trotted off down the hallway. Fraser followed, catching the scent trail his wolf was following after a few paces, a subtly compelling smell that puzzled Fraser as he tried to untangle it. A blend of almond and jasmine, cinnamon, nutmeg... what were those fainter traces? Bergamot... sandalwood... and a last fragrance he simply could not place. Some exotic floral scent... what was it?

Fraser puzzled at it as he followed Dief down the hall into a large kitchen, decorated in a peasant, country-French style that rather surprised him. It was... homey. Copper pots hung from wrought iron racks on the ceiling with braided lengths of garlic and bunches of drying herbs, more watercolor sketches of herbs hung on honey-colored walls edged with feathery fern and leaf stencils in muted moss green. Comfortable captain's chairs surrounded a wide plank table crowded with oil and vinegar cruets, salt and pepper mills, glass pitchers of flowers and an oddly out-of-place tall, slim crystal cylinder of thriving bamboo hung with Shinto charms.

Behind the table, a weathered red brick and stone fireplace complete with a black iron warming-oven dominated one whole wall. The hardwood lengths in the brass and oak barrel on the hearth were apple wood; Fraser observed, he could smell the faint ashy tang mixed in the fresher scent of green herbs that grew in fanciful clay pots on the windowsills. A long teak hutch was crowded with teapots from all over the world and even more china jars of teas added their familiar traces to the air.

The room soothed in an instinctual level, spoke of warm comforting food and good smells and peaceful camaraderie. Fraser wanted to drink in it like water to store up for later and the antique brass teakettle singing on the modern stove made him smile. Diefenbaker trotted up to where Katrina was standing at the kitchen counter and nudged her hip as she smiled down. Barefoot, clad in jeans and a soft lavender cotton tank, half-dry hair tumbling loose down her back, she appeared so vulnerable and lonely. He was quite sure they were the only people in the Embassy and on the grounds, what was she doing here all alone?

A silver chain around her neck carried a Tehari dragon pendant with what he surmised were miniscule black diamonds for eyes. Far from arousing envy, the shining ornament stirred his heart with pity for someone exiled even farther from home than he and Diefenbaker.

But some things crossed national barriers, she was setting out a tea tray his own grandmother would have approved of; two cups, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, honey-pot, dish of lemon wedges, shortbread biscuits, little sandwiches, even cranberry scones and clotted dream with jam. His mouth watered like he was Diefenbaker. She poured steaming water into a brilliant red enameled Chinese teapot sporting flying blue and purple dragons to warm it.

"What kind of tea would you like?" Her smile was open and friendly but there was a ghost eddy of sadness in her eyes that troubled Fraser.

"May I?" He gestured toward the bewildering variety of tea jars on the hutch.

She nodded. "Herbal teas in the side cabinets," she offered.

Fraser spent several minutes opening jars and drinking in the scents of the blends; there were precisely thirty-four varieties of tea on the hutch, fifteen herbal blends and nineteen 'true' teas, black, white and green, from teas as familiar as Earl Grey to exotic, delicate blends he was sure were hand-mixed by a master.

"They're glorious," he murmured, intoxicated. "It's like a tea shop in here. You even have..." he slid a red and white china jar off the hutch and handed it over the counter, "...maple tea."

Katrina took the jar and Fraser sank down on the stool by the butcher block island and watched, rapt, as she measured out the loose, fragrant tea into a tea ball, sliced open and added a whole vanilla bean and closed the metal sphere with a quick, feathery twist. Pouring off the warming water, she let the teapot steam dry before suspending the tea ball in the blue dragon's mouth and filling it with fresh boiling water from the brass kettle. Her fingers danced over the enamel teapot as she settled the lid into place, leaving the tea to steep. Maple and vanilla scented the air even more and Fraser wondered dazedly if he could get drunk just breathing in here.

"You know the traditional Shinto tea ceremony."

She studied him curiously, her graceful movements briefly stilled. "Yes."

"I could tell by the way your hands move."

Fraser was mesmerized by her fingers- slim and deft with skin... like nothing he'd ever seen. It defied description, brown and smooth and softly shining, like the polished enamel surfaces under her fingertips but warm and breathing. Her unpainted nails shone subtle pink and white and he wanted to draw those fingers into his mouth; taste them, know them more intimately than sight and touch, make them real in his mind's eye with the feel of each fingertip in the wet well of his mouth, over the textures of his tongue.

"What are you thinking?" Her voice was so soft, so soothing, it blended with the silence here in this big, empty building, wreathed among the swirling scents and darkened by the shadows that were gathering in the corners as the setting sun washed the room in reds, purples and violets. It was captivating.

"Your fingers... I merely wanted to... examine them better..."

"My fingers? How?"

Entranced, Fraser held out a hand, feeling Katrina place those alluring fingertips in his broad, white palm, so like the tundra, and her slim brown fingers... what did they resemble from her homeland? He couldn't possibly imagine... her lush island jungle was so alien to everything he'd ever known. Fraser lifted her hand to his face, closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of those fingertips, fresh and sharp with the cinnamon spice hand soap he'd observed by the sink. He drank in the odor, absorbed it, savored the lighter smell of her skin underneath, traced her fingertips over his lips and felt a tremor run down her arm.

Fraser drew her fingertips into his mouth and a soft sigh shivered on the still twilight air, hers or his, he couldn't have said. His tongue circled the soft pads, tracing the whorls there, suckling each fingertip separately and memorizing it before moving on to the next. Slow, dreamy, fascinated exploration, sensual beyond belief and drugging his glutted senses with her taste and texture. Sliding her last fingertip out of his mouth was almost painful, left him feeling bereft of something he hadn't known was missing until it washed over his senses in warm ocean waves, salty like tears. Shaken to the core by the experience Fraser lifted his head and met her eyes, dark purple with the reflected colors of the sunset... and realized she was just as shaken.

"Thank you," he murmured. Fraser released her hand reluctantly and wondered in a curiously remote manner if he should feel embarrassed. He didn't. He probably should, but he didn't. A gift of breathtaking intimacy, exchanged in the gathering twilight between two brutally lonely souls... how strange and beautiful it was, how close he felt to this forlorn waif, like himself hiding a wealth of weary sadness behind the shifting colors of her reflective eyes.

After a long moment she sighed and let the fragile bond between them slip away... Fraser felt her pain mirror his own as she did.

"So what can the Tehari do for you, Constable?" she murmured, putting the teakettle back on the stove.

Recalled to the present, Fraser ran a finger over his eyebrow. "I need to speak to the Ambassador regarding an official request of the Canadian government."

Katrina half-smiled. "Official business with the Ambassador, is it? All right then, come on along." She started to pick up the tea tray and Fraser jumped.

"May I?" he offered. She half-smiled again and Fraser wished he could see her smile without that ghostly sadness lurking behind it. She let him take the tea tray and follow her down the hallway to an impressive set of double doors bearing a brass plaque with 'Office of the Ambassador' engraved on it in flowing script.

She pushed the door open casually and held it for him; the office inside was lushly appointed and very large, but Katrina gestured to two large leather armchairs situated in front of a marble fireplace in the coziest corner of the room. Dief flopped down on a Persian rug in front of the hearthstone and stretched out.

"You can put the tray on the table and sit down, Ben."

Fraser set the tray down on the little table between the armchairs but remained standing and watched, perplexed, as she padded over to the mahogany desk and rummaged casually in the top right-hand drawer. Katrina withdrew a length of flexible metal that glittered in the remaining light and flipping her mane of hair out of the way, settled the heavy chain around her neck as she wandered back over and curled up in the other chair, tucking her bare feet under her legs for warmth. He sat down only after she did.

"All right, the Ambassador is officially listening. So I reiterate, what can I do for you, Constable?"

Fraser's gaze fixed on the Ambassador's chain of office around her neck and realization crashed in on him.

"You're the Ambassador?"

Katrina nodded and picked up the teapot. "I kinda figured you hadn't realized that," she explained, pouring a teacup full of the fragrant liquid and handing it to him on a saucer. "Cream and sugar? Or lemon?"

"Lemon, please," he said uncomfortably. "I feel I owe you an apology, Ambassador, I didn't realize..."

She shrugged, so unworried about his faux pas Fraser felt himself relax a bit in response. "No way you could have known, Constable. There was a mix-up with scheduling in moving the Embassy and the staff isn't due to be transferred in for another month, so it's just me right now. We're not usually quite this informal but I like the quiet." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Can we go back to Ben and Kat or would you prefer to keep it official? Your choice."

Dear Lord, he'd had this woman's fingers in his mouth five minutes ago. He'd had the Ambassador's fingers in his mouth! Inspector Thatcher would have his head on a plate, and rightfully so.

And yet... Katrina sounded so hopeful he would be willing to return to that informal friendliness. And rank was no safeguard against homesickness and a lonely heart.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Ben and Kat... is fine with me, if it's acceptable with you, Ambassador."

"It's preferable," she told him, amused. "But you Canadians are so formal... I met with Inspector Thatcher earlier today and I think the poor woman's face might crack if she smiled. I felt sorry for her."

Unable to answer that in any way that might not be construed as derogatory to his commanding officer, Fraser cracked his neck and sought for a way introduce his point. She spared him the trouble.

"I was sorry to refuse her request," she said absently, adding a swirl of honey to her tea. "I liked the idea of the exchange student program. Scone?"

"Thank you. Then why did you refuse her request?"

"Her." At Fraser's puzzled look she explained further. "We're a very small nation, Ben. Less than a million people all told. And when it comes to politics we have only one rule. Never do business with someone you don't trust. That's it... the entirety of our foreign policy in a nutshell. And while I liked the exchange student idea, I wouldn't trust that woman to spit in the correct direction, much less control what is a very sensitive area of our national trust. We don't let many people on our islands, Ben, and I didn't think for a minute she'd be a responsible guardian of our borders. Sorry, but there it is."

"I see." That was direct enough. And not unreasonable, Katrina was quite correct, his program would not have been a priority for Inspector Thatcher, and the Ambassador had clearly seen that and deemed it unsafe for her nation. But if that was the problem... Fraser almost choked on his next mouthful of tea.

"Too bad, really... if you'd been the officer in charge I would have granted it immediately."

Her thoughts mirrored his, exactly. Fraser spread jam and cream on a scone pensively and marshaled his powers of persuasion. "If I were to superintend the exchange student program you would agree to it?"

"Certainly."

"May I ask why?"

A wry smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Because you'd care, Ben, whereas she doesn't."

A definite hit... Fraser made a mental note never to fence -verbally or otherwise- with this woman, she would cut him to ribbons with nary an effort. "Touche."

"Truth's not that much of an effort, Ben, even in international relations. Just somewhat unusual." She set her teacup down. "But I'll tell you what... send me the exchange student proposal back with your name as supervisor and I'll not only approve it, I'll ramrod it through the bureaucratic red tape on our end personally. You have my word."

Fraser snapped his mouth shut on the series of arguments he'd rehearsed on the ride over in Ray's car. "That's it?" he blurted out. Tehari foreign policy was certainly flexible; he'd give it that!

"That's it."

"Done," he said it fast, before she could change her mind.

"Was that the extent of your official business?"

"Er, yes, actually."

"Good. Then we can talk about more pleasant things. So how'd you and Diefenbaker end up so far from home?"

He chuckled. "That's a long story."

And as a prize, she smiled with no sadness in it, just like he'd wanted to see.

"The kind I like best. Another cup of tea?"

Fraser nodded. "Please. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers..."

* * *