BY: Amethyst

 FEEDBACK

        Benton Fraser stared out the window of his small, sparse apartment, his heart wishing for her to return, his mind fearing she actually would. She had hurt him physically, yes, but the damage she had done to his soul was irreparable. She had tried to ruin his life and the lives of those he cared about all through a sick sense of revenge. But somewhere, in the deep recess of his mind, he agreed with her motive.
        She had the right to hate him for sending her to prison; he should have let her go, he could have, easily, for no one knew he had even found her. After sharing those soulless three days and nights in Fortitude Pass, he should have given her the benefit of the doubt and turned the other cheek to let her run.
         But would he ever have seen her again if she had been allowed to go free? Would she have come back to him, or turned herself in because she had a change of heart and part of that was due to him? He had a duty to perform and he had stuck with it, despite his doubts, but at what cost? If things were different and they had met on the street one day, would she have come willingly into his arms and stay there, out of a love that pulled at them both from miles across the great divide that separated them?
         Who was to say what was right and what was wrong in this world anyway? Could it have been that he was wrong to turn her in after winning her affection and her trust? Was she wrong to expect to be let go, and when she wasn't, to return with a disturbingly twisted plan for revenge? Was everything they said to each other the nights they spent in each other's arms just another prelude in her games?
         Would he ever forget her or purge her from his damaged heart? Would she ever forgive him for loving her enough to want to keep her from the dark path that she was bent on taking? Would he ever be able to trust another woman, or love again?
         Perhaps not.  Perhaps this was his punishment for a failed judgement so many years ago. Perhaps he was simply not meant to spend his life with someone he cared deeply about. So far, everyone he had ever loved had been taken from him, except Ray Vecchio, and his friend had come close to being lost to him forever.
         With a sigh he moved to grab up the large travel sack and moved toward the door. He took a final glance around his apartment, his eyes lingering on the photos of his family, one of him and Ray, and his uniforms in the closet. Diefenbaker raised his head mournfully from his position on the floor and whined.
         "You stay, Dief." He ordered, making sure he enunciated carefully so the deaf animal would understand. "Ray will be here in the morning. You behave yourself and listen to him."  Diefenbaker whined again and lowered his head back onto his paws sadly.
        Fraser pulled the letter he had written to his partner out of his leather jacket pocket and placed it on the counter next to the door, where the detective would easily find it. He reached automatically for his Stetson, then slowly released it back on its perch. He was a Mountie no more; he could not wear his treasured symbol of justice. He reached instead for the solitary post card that he had received in the mail just three days ago.
        It was a scene in Canada that he knew well, with a small, hauntingly familiar poem written on the back.  Just that, no signature, but he knew who it was from. He tucked it inside his pocket and with a final glance, he opened the door and stepped out, pulling it closed softly behind him and leaving behind his friends, his responsibility and lightness he knew he would never feel again.
 

The End