Summary: Meg stays late at the Consulate and sees Benny's light still on when she leaves.  She investigates, only to find he's upset by something...

Meg/Benny story; Thatcher warning (well duh.); rated G.

Continuity:  Takes place sometime after "Burning Down the House" and before Ben and Kowalski start to get to know each other better.

Disclaimer: They ain't mine, they belong to Alliance.  I'm just borrowing them for a while, and I promise they'll be back (mostly...) intact. *wicked grin*  The story's mine; you want it, you ask.  meg_fraser@geocities.com

Feedback: Will write for feedback!!  meg_fraser@geocities.com   (have I given you my e-mail enough yet?)

Thanks: Thanks to the Shel and to CS for getting me into Due South (even though they aren't Meg/Benny fans... waaah!).

***

Inspector Meg Thatcher sighed as she flipped one more form onto her dangerously tilting "Out" pile and looked tiredly at her slowly dwindling "In" pile.  'Paperwork,' she complained inwardly, 'who would have thought the RCMP would involve so much paperwork?"  She checked her watch.  It was nine p.m., and nearly pitch black outside.  She was fairly certain that she was already the only one left in the Consulate.  Heaving another heavy sigh, she grabbed the next sheet of paper and bent over it, determined to make at least a dent in the "In" pile before she quit.

***

Three hours later, Meg unceremoniously dumped the last bundle of forms onto her finished piles and dropped her glasses on top.  Wincing at the sound of vertebrae cracking, she pulled herself out of her chair and stretched until she could move easily and without sound effects.  Only then did she look at her watch, almost exclaiming aloud at the amount of time she had lost to the paperwork.  She had meant to leave an hour ago.

Grabbing her coat and her blessedly light briefcase, she glanced once more around her office before stepping out into the corridor and locking the door.  She was about to leave when she noticed a sliver of light illuminating the hall, coming from under Fraser's office door.  She had noticed that he was an "early to bed, early to rise" sort of person, and that he was usually asleep already.  Curious, she rapped on the door briskly before opening it and slipping inside.

Diefenbaker raised his head and whined at her from left of Fraser's desk, but Meg's attention was focussed on the man at the desk.  "Constable," she said.

"Inspector!  I, uh, wasn't expecting you, sir I hadn't realized that there was anyone left in the building," Benton said, blinking in surprise and looking, Meg thought, almost faintly guilty.  Was he deliberately not looking her in the eyes?

"Yes, I can see that," Meg said, nodding at the clutter well, for the normally neater-than-a-pin Fraser it was clutter; for anyone else, it would have been fairly normal of papers lining his desk.  Even his red-serge jacket hung untidily from the corner of his chair instead of being hung neatly in the closet.  She dropped into the chair beside his desk.  "Why are you still working at this late an hour?"

"Ah, paperwork, ma'am," he replied quickly, gesturing at the forms on his desk.  For the first time, he met her eyes, and now it was her turn to be surprised.  Those eyes, the gorgeous blue ones that she could dive into, drown in, lose herself within they were rimmed with red.  He had obviously been crying, hard, and for quite some time.

His eyes darted away, back down to the work on his desk.

"Fraser Benton," she said, leaning forward, capturing his attention again and returning his eyes to focussing on hers.  "Something's wrong.  Tell me what it is?" she asked gently, more gently than he had ever heard her speak before.

"Nothing, sir," he said, his eyes betraying him.

"Ben," she said, letting him know that she didn't believe him, and that she wasn't letting him keep this to himself.

"No, really, it's nothing, please, Meg," he insisted, his unconscious use of her first name telling her how serious it really was.

"It's Vecchio, isn't it," she stated with a sudden certainty.

Diefenbaker whined again, and if that hadn't been enough to tell her that she was right, the sudden closed look on Fraser's face confirmed it.

"You know, it's funny," she thought aloud, a little wistfully, feeling a pressure building up behind her eyes, "but I . . . really miss him too."

She watched as a tear escaped from the corner of Fraser's eye, tracing a path down his cheek.  She was unaware that she too was crying until he reached up with a callused thumb to wipe the tracks from her face.  Their hands passed in mid-air as she extended her own hand to mop the tears from his cheek.

Suddenly, she found herself engulfed in his strong embrace, pressed close against his chest and the beat of his heart, wetting his white shirt with her tears.  Careful not to move back in any way, she scooted her chair towards his.  Slipping her arms around his waist and pulling them even closer together, she felt his head come to rest on top of hers.  She could feel the dampness on his cheeks as well.  They clung together, comforting and being comforted, as they worried about each other and prayed for a friend.

They stayed like that for a long time, even after they had spent their tears, each content simply to be close to the other without any outside pressures.  No more words were exchanged; a few gentle squeezes, soft touches, the occasional meeting of eyes, were all that was required to communicate how they felt.

Finally, exhausted, they both dropped off to sleep, still tightly embracing.

***

Turnbull came whistling into the Consulate at 7:30 a.m., right on the dot, and headed for the coffee maker.  It was then that he noticed Fraser's door standing slightly ajar.  Fraser never left his door just unhinged it was always either open or closed.  And Fraser was usually up and about by this time.  Worried, Turnbull turned and walked towards the door only to leap away in surprise and shock as Diefenbaker, who'd gone unnoticed before, sprang up from in front of the door and growled.  Turnbull shrank back, then extended his hand slowly towards the wolf.  Dief growled again not loudly or menacingly, but meaningfully enough that Turnbull held up his hands and turned around, walking back to the coffee maker

"OK," Turnbull muttered, "Dief wants the Constable undisturbed, that's what he gets.  Maybe Constable Fraser hasn't been getting enough sleep lately...?"

Dief nosed the door shut and lay back down in front of it.