Why is this my life?

By Lou Lou Alberta

I sit alone in a dark office. It is a room mostly made of wood, its scent impregnating my nostrils as the heavy rain beats merciless on window panes. Not even the elegant wineglass I am holding can erase the scent that resembles an old law firm, not a country's diplomatic representation. Such an eerie night, and I have no one to cling to. No one holds my hand; no one comforts me. I know this shouldn't have to be this way. I shouldn't be so alone. But that is the way that it is.

Of course I am to blame. I let things get to this point. I thought I was doing the best thing at the time. Working so close to him, I believed expressing my emotions was not the best option - at least to the job. It would mesh and mess an array of different aspects in each and every case. I have to be strong. Always.

Why is this my life?

To my subordinates, my personal image is a debacle, to put it mildly. Not that they would mention it, anyway. After all, they are Canadian, with all that it implies. Sometimes they see me as a stern merciless, superior officer with no heart. I am also seen as a sadistic and insensitive bitch (yes, they use the word in private, even if they never pronounce it aloud), someone who enjoys using top Canadian staff and highly skilled RCMP officers to run personal errands. Sometimes I am regarded as merely unable to control myself as far as alcohol consumption is involved. I know that sometimes I get a little too friendly than any lady should with male diplomats. I wonder if my staff is concerned of the kind of Canadian image that I imprint on foreign officials.

I am aware I have been sending mixed signals. And Fraser's confusion is more than evident. It occurs to me that lately I have not overheard him correcting that obnoxious Italian detective when he calls me Dragon Lady. It breaks my heart to think he would agree with that cop he insists on calling friend.

I told him I was not made of stone. Dear Lord, I am not. Still I am not sure he is aware of the effects his mere presence causes me. It gets difficult to concentrate on my work, and everything I smell seems to remind me of him, of the standard issue soap he uses, and his unique scent of fresh pine trees, cool air and distant Northwest forests. Then I realise everything I touch is a reminder of him, too. As I peruse reports, I have the most disturbing flashbacks. I can almost feel his arms around me, the wind in my hair unnoticed as our bodies were intertwined in a tight embrace, both of us panting, eyes locked on the top of the train, and the slightest hesitation making him even more desirable as he leaned in and...

A thunder startles me, and the image is gone, leaving me heaving and thoroughly distressed. Damn! Damn you, Benton Fraser! Have you any idea what do you do to me? And you keep doing it. And I let you do it. Is it a sort of spell, of voodoo? I am as guilty as you are for letting you do it to me.

Why is this my life?

Here I am, sitting in the dark, thinking my whole life through, evaluating every minute decision I had to take since I came to Chicago. That was when I became The Dragon Lady. One of these days, Vecchio, I will show you.

Yet, maybe he has a point. I am not that; that is The Dragon Lady, some mythical entity that assumed the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. The Dragon Lady is the one who should be facing this loneliness. The Dragon Lady is the strong one, The Dragon Lady is the unreachable one, The Dragon Lady is the one on a pedestal. And she always wins. One of these days The Dragon Lady may take over Meg Thatcher's identity completely.

If only I allowed myself to dream...

I would know exactly what to dream. I dream it now. I allow the third glass of wine to evoke its full power over my fuzzy head. The scene is quite clear. It is from that fateful train ride.

Both of us are riding the horse, moving away from the Musical Ride. The train had been stopped, the Bolt Brothers had been apprehended and it seems the eventful end of a movie. In a superior manner, Vecchio and the wolf stand on the top of the train, savouring triumph. All is well and all ends well.

It is especially well that Ben leads the horse from the Musical Ride and everyone else. That hill is now way behind us as we find ourselves surrounded by green meadows and tall trees. The horse slows down at Ben's command. I keep quiet, savouring the feeling of my hands on his waist, of his warm body near mine. I cannot help but move my hands around his chest tentatively.

His breathing changes. With a sharp movement of those powerful legs, he orders the horse to stop at the side of a huge oak tree. I almost whimper to know we will have to dismount and our bodies will have to part. So does he. In a graceful and precise movement, he steps away from the horse. Then he offers his arm to me, so I can dismount. I slide down the animal and he catches me in his arms. The result is inevitable: our lips meld in a deep soul kiss, arms again entangled, our bodies pressing together. This time it seems much more intense than on the top of the train. My whole body is trembling, I can feel his demanding tongue pressing deep inside my mouth, and then I explore the hot silken interior of his mouth, too. A moan slips unchecked through my throat and I feel his lips curling in a smile.

He parts the kiss and stares at me, blue eyes so filled with desire that it almost makes me breathless. Not a word has been spoken. It suits me. Speaking might break the spell. His hands are still around my waist, but in no time they are unbuckling my Sam Browne belt, while his eyes keep staring into mine, waiting to see if I will try to stop him. I hope I am doing my best to convey my full accordance to his actions as I began to do the same to his belt.

Two seasoned Mounties like us have no trouble to remove the RCMP paraphernalia, but when our fingers touch the red tunics' gold buttons, my breath catches. Due to the hairpin incident earlier, Ben knows I am not wearing either perfume or an undershirt. His eyes travel a bit from the buttons to my eyes then back to the buttons, with a gleam I had never seen before. God, this is even better than I ever imagined.

I take his tunic fast and eagerly, then the suspenders and the Henley T-shirt until he has nothing but the undershirt from his chest up. I can see he is heaving, his perfect pectorals rising as his breathing changes. His eyes follow his precise fingers as they slowly undo my tunic's buttons. Now it is my turn to heave.

He lets my tunic fall to the ground, his eyes entranced in my bra-clad breasts. His eyes then gaze into mine again, and I nod. He wastes no time to plunge his head between the breasts; his hands cupping them as he takes them into his mouth, gently gnawing my bra. Those precise fingers quickly travel to unhook the bra, and I cannot help but thrust my head back and caress his head with my fingers, burying them in the silky and dark hair. My legs threaten to give away.

Suddenly, I am galvanised into action. In urgent movements, I lower his suspenders, pull the undershirt over his head. As my fingers move to his pants, I realise there is a more urgent task. So, I get to my knees and start undoing his boots laces. As swift as I can, I also undo mine. We step quickly out of the shoes and in no time our mouths get together again.

The acts that follow are not quite clear to me. I know he has lain our tunics together on the ground, then we fall over red serge, kissing, exploring, and taking off the remainder of our clothes. He hovers above me, his face framed against the blue sky. The hardness of his desire is pressed against my belly, causing my head to spin. The whole situation is so sexy I can hardly breath. Lovemaking alfresco is a new experience to me, one that will soon get embedded in my memory. Breathless, I take a moment to feast my eyes on his naked splendour, railing my nails over his chest, feeling the need to growl with desire. He simply smiles, his eyes also raking me. I cannot help a smirk of pride as his pupils dilated a little when he appreciates my soft mounds and pale skin. His breath is hissed, his chest heaves.

His reaction makes me even hornier. I drink this sensation, to be able to elicit those reactions from him. All I want know is to feel his body, a veritable furnace inside me. I feel my body in flames, burning red hot as live coal, and it seems as if I could spit fire like a dragon... lady. The thought of the despicable nickname is almost enough to break this little fantasy of mine into a million pieces.

No! I can't let this end!

The hand that was roaming his chest takes a path downward, southward. Ben catches his breath and I smile at the myriad of emotions in his face as my hand moves below his navel. His eyes almost change colour, I could swear they get grey. I want to move more and reach more of him, but the bulk of his body prevents me from moving too much. There is so much more of him, so solid, so strong.

Between our bodies is the physical evidence of his desire, the musky scent of his arousal reaching my nostrils as if it is the perfume of our love. I lower my eyes to watch the magnificent penis my hands hold. It is a breath-taking sight. It is also a unique touch. Hot flesh, hard flesh, but soft at the same time. It pulsates, I can feel it jumping in my hand, in synch with his gasps. Oh, what a fantasy!

I see his hand also moving to cradle my thighs. Then I lean to capture his lips meanwhile I spread my legs. His hand reaches my moistness, and I suppress a yell. His fingers are moving inside me, I feel a volcano in my groin, so I speed up my hands' movements around his beautiful cock.

It happens so fast that I am not sure of the entire sequence of events. All I know is that my hands are brought up and held above my head, and the fingers inside me disappear. Before I decide whether to whimper at the loss of his intimate touch or to get even more excited by the swiftness of his impetuousness, Ben enters me with a grunt. It is the attitude of a conquistador, a ravishing looter. Suits me, of course.

Of course, I climax instantly. I swear there are tears in my closed eyelids. Never have I felt so utterly possessed, so claimed. That was all I needed. When he moves inside me, thrusting intensely, I experience a series of little orgasms. My most feminine group of muscles clench in a tight grip, holding his penis inside me, and it proves to be too much even for the legendary Fraser control. He cries out wordlessly, head drawn back, my hands squeezing both his buttocks, pushing him further inside me as if we could share a joint skin. I feel his hot milk scalding my insides, but do not dare to dream of conception.

Ben collapses by my side, careful not to crush me as his body goes limp over red serge. Still trying to catch my breath, I wrap him with my arms and legs to shelter his naked body from the light breeze in the meadow. God, he is hot enough to keep both of us warm.

A horse's movement beside me startles me from my light doze. When my eyes open, I find blue pools of light and candour staring at me, and I shiver. Tentatively, I offer a smile back.

"Well, since we have had sex", he says playfully, "maybe now we can make love."

The thought of having him again just sets my head in a frenzy, but I have to ask, "Is that what you want?"

He is already bestowing little hot kisses all over my neck, stealing my ability of rational thought. "That is what I want from now on. For ever." Then he stops and looks at me, intrigued. "This is not a one-time thing. I would never be irresponsible. I thought you knew me that well by now."

My heart is crushed. "You want a relationship."

"And you... don't?" He looks so hurt I could fling myself over a cliff. Nice going, Meg. Now how do you fix this?

I try to amend things. "You have to understand I cannot make any type of concession on the Consulate due to this... liaison."

Ben looks at me, now puzzled. "I don't know how this can be germane to what we are discussing. Or to our present situation."

Trust Fraser to use words like germane... "You mean, you don't think our professional relationship should be discussed as well?"

"Of course I do. I just don't understand why it needs to be addressed now, or why is it a hindrance to our... liaison, as you say. Unless you don't want this."

"No, Fraser, listen to me: what I am trying to say is - "

He sits up before I have a chance to complete what I am saying, all stiff and formal. "Yes, I believe that I understand what you are trying to say. You want to tell me that you don't want this, and that you don't want me. I am sorry to have presumed otherwise, Sir. This won't happen again. Ever." He grabs his pants, not bothering to hide his anger and pulls them on hurriedly. "I think it is best if we return now, and then you can lay out whatever punishment you see fit for me. If you will excuse me."

Ben takes off, and I am left alone, heart bleeding. So much for a comforting fantasy. Not even my little love dream ends well.

Damn.

Why is this my life?

I get back to the Consulate, to that horrible stormy night, to the fifth glass of wine I drain in one single gulp. Or is it the sixth? I wish the wine would send me to oblivion, or to somewhere free of unrequited love, sexual frustration, or at least free of Benton Fraser.

Because living in the same planet as Benton Fraser hurts me more than I care to feel. In my body there is a wound the size of my chest, and it bleeds terribly. All this is my fault, all my fault. I know I have no right to complain. But just knowing it is my fault does not mean it hurts less. This is more than I can bear.

The glass goes hurling through the air until it crashes against the wall, staining it red. Red as blood, red as serge, red as the Canadian flag. The scene horrifies me and I bellow.

"FRASER!!!!!"

My own yell startles me and I wake up panting, sitting up in pure reflex. There is confusion in my mind for many seconds. I am in my own bed, drenched in sweat, the rain beating the windowpanes in my apartment at the North side of Chicago. It surprises me for some moments, until reality dawns into me.

Then I sigh, relieved. It was that horrible dream of the Consulate again. Long before I went back to the here and now, there were strong arms wrapping me, tender comforting strokes in my back. I hang on to Ben, holding him tightly, needing to feel his solid bulk against my body. "Meg..."

"I am fine," I say, half-lying. "Just a bad dream."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "No, please. It was bad once. I don't think I could stand it the second time."

He kisses the top of my head gently. "It's over now. You can go back to sleep."

I snuggle against him. "Please hold me."

"Of course, my queen. Sleep tight."

I feel his lips kissing my hair again as I close my eyes and try to get back to sleep, safe in his arms. It is the only place I want to be, and the only place I need to be. That dream, though, sends shivers down my spine. It is horrible to think how close I became of that lonely woman. Without Ben, I would be incomplete and unhappy.

Thank God it never happened.

The End.