Retake

By Postcard

postcard@manutd.com

Rating: - PG. Romance. Fixit. Humour. Episode Related. Slight Violence (Naughty Fraser<BG>). Swearing (Naughty Thatcher<BG>).

Pairings: - Fraser/Thatcher.

Teaser: - Same Cast---Different Script.

Disclaimer: - The Due South characters in this story are not mine and anything else Due South isn't mine either. I do not mean to infringe on copyrights held by any copyright holders for Due South. The story however is mine (copyright January 2001 by Postcard on all original story content.) Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading without the written consent of author. This story is not written for profit and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

Author's note: - This story is set at the end of Perfect Strangers, and refers to ATQH and RWOB. I've been trying to think of a suitable ending to Perfect Strangers for a while and here's what I've eventually come up with. =o) Hope you all enjoy reading this and any constructive comments are welcome at postcard@manutd.com

Rose Thorn

Thatcher sat down at her desk and stared at the computer screen, seeing nothing. Her thoughts were far away. An idea occurred to her and, earnestly, she started to type it up onto her laptop.

Sat listening to Fraser rambling on, the haze of confusion from his muddling words cleared as it suddenly dawned on Thatcher what he was driving at. He had misconstrued her earlier conversation with him about 'the process.' "Fraser!"

"Sir!" It came out with a sigh.

"You didn't think that I…?"

"I don't think that you?"

Scrambling out of her chair, Thatcher said, "Well, when I asked that you 'be part of the process.'" She stood in front of him. "You didn't think that I was suggesting…?"

"That you were suggesting?"

"Well---well, that---that you…!"

"That I?"

Time seemed to stop while Thatcher stood beside her desk, looking searchingly at Fraser. "B-because that wouldn't be…"

"What? Because it would be what we both want, for a change? And not what it's dictated is right for us! I thought we worked for a country that is democratic---free!"

"Fraser, I'm flattered by the offer, I--I really am, b---but it wouldn't be practical!"

Fraser shook his head. He had come this far and he wasn't about to back out yet. "Wouldn't be practical to get married and have a child, as we're in love?"

"You---you love me? You want to---to marry me?"

"Yes, on both counts. I tried to get that across to you, or at least I started to when the Public Relations Officer was here, and you pulled me to one side and we had the conversation about our, erm, 'contact.' I told you then, that I hadn't succeeded in erasing the contact, but then we were interrupted before I could…" He sighed. "Nothing's changed since then. Well, nothing except my love for you has grown stronger. I think it is much more difficult for us to work together in an atmosphere where we are in love with one another and cannot show it, rather than to work together as colleagues during the day and go home together at night and express our love."

Why hadn't that happened!!! There's no point in agreeing to it, that's not the way…

Thatcher didn't know what to say. She was in shock. Her head was spinning. It was all going to fast for her. Not looking at him, she heard herself say, "I---erm---I think you'd better leave." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she should have said something else. Anything else.

But then again---what was the point!!!

Her breath froze, at the realisation that she had more than likely lost him. He'd go back into his shell, the mask would be a permanent fixture upon his face, and she would never again be able to look into his eyes and get a glimpse into his heart.

Fraser looked as if she had pierced him. He lowered his head and nodded weakly. "Tell me one thing Margaret, before I leave!" Meg managed a nod. "Do you love me?"

What’s the point in telling him, when it can't happen that way!

Meg looked at him, and tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to throw her arms around him and scream, "Yes. Yes. Yes, of course I love you."

But she didn't. I didn't.

Instead she said, "Please Fraser. Don't make me answer that question. Either way, the answer would be too painful."

"May I?"

"May you what?" Meg spoke with a twinge of hope in her voice. She wished that he wouldn't give up. If he really wanted and loved her, he wouldn't give up so easily! He'd get down on his knee and ask her to marry him. Or at least ask her out on a date!

"Be dismissed?"

Why did you have to ask that? You could have asked anything and you chose that! If you'd have pushed a little, I'd have cracked my mask and showed you my true self. You moron, Fraser! "If that's what you want!"

Why couldn't he have said something else!!! Yes, you're a moron, Fraser! You could have had me if only you'd tried a little bit harder.

"Not really. But you seem to think it's for the best!" His words stung Meg. He turned to leave---quickly turned back. "Oh, I found these." Fraser held forward the flowers for her and she gingerly took them.

He turned and walked away, and Meg realised that she was stood ramrod stiff, as if at attention. Sighing, she let her shoulders slump. With a heavy heart, Thatcher watched Fraser walk out of her office.

She looked at the flowers. Why these? Why not roses! Found them! Does he think I'm thick! The insolence of it!

Staring down at the flowers, anger surged up through her veins. Flowers in hand, a woman on a mission, she rushed to the door and slung it open. He was just walking towards his office. "FRASER!!! Wait! I've changed my mind, you're not dismissed, I haven't finished with you yet."

Fraser froze in his tracks. What did she mean? Had she changed her mind! Clearing his throat he stumbled, "I…er…I beg your…er…your pardon, ma'am?"

"I thought you didn’t lie!" Meg spat out.

Fraser pulled a puzzled face. "I don't follow, Sir!"

"These." Thatcher thrust the flowers into the air. "You said you 'found them.' Is that true?"

Fraser visibly swallowed. A rather weak, "Yes," came from his lips.

"Speak up Fraser, I couldn't catch that. What was your answer?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Where, Sir?"

"Yes. Where? Where did you find the flowers?"

"I…erm…" Fraser cleared his throat again. "I found them…erm I was walking along a street, er yes, a street in Chicago and I…erm I found them beside the street," he mumbled.

"Can you kindly repeat that please, as I couldn't quite hear what you said through all of the bull."

"I found them beside the street---erm, a street in Chicago."

"Really! Any particular street?"

"Particular street sir?"

"Yes, particular street constable. Did this street have houses on it, was there a cemetery on the street?"

"Yes, the street had houses on it, sir. No cemetery though, sir?"

"I'm surprised there was no cemetery."

"You are, sir!"

"Yes, constable, I am. Because as flowers go, they look like they've been stolen from a grave. They're a sorry sight."

She watched a look of pain momentarily cross his face and then vanish. She smiled an unpleasant smile. "Admit it, you lied to me Fraser?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"I don't like being lied to Fraser, even about flowers. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry sir. I won't lie to you again. Erm, is that all, may I go now?"

Why does he seem to always want to get away from me! "No, it's not all, and no, you may not go yet." Fraser's posture stiffened even more. She smiled at him. "You bought the flowers didn't you?"

"Yes."

That's better. He's supposed to tell the truth ALWAYS. That's what I rely on. That's one of the things I love about him.

Rose Petal

She smiled at him---a soft, pleasant smile. "Thank you. It was a nice idea, but---you have a lot to learn about women and flowers. In future---Ben---" Hearing her call him 'Ben' he looked at her astutely. "Buy me another kind. I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but these kind of flowers---well, it's the thought that counts!"

But that didn't happen. I'm so mad with him; I know what I'd like to do with these flowers…

"Is this all I'm worth to you?!?!?" She hurtled the flowers at him, causing the petals to squish and fall off onto Fraser and the floor, like confetti. Going back into her office, she slammed the door. In her office, like those petals, she fell apart and started to cry.

Shocked---Fraser looked down in despair at the disintegrated flowers. Maybe if he had bought her roses…!

Thatcher finished typing and read through what she had written. After making a few minor alterations, such as typos, she smiled a satisfied smile. She was glad to get that idea out in the open; it made her feel slightly better. Now she would e-mail it to her beta at the 'Office Romance Fandom,' before posting it up to the website. Typing in YoungLove@countrymusic.com Meg attached the file and hitting the 'SEND' button she sent the story to her Internet friend.

In an office not far away, a computer said, "You've got mail." An excited country music fan eagerly set about reading the story from 'Red Lady.' The identity of 'Young Love' was unknown to 'Red Lady', however, this was not the case in reverse, for 'Young Love' had cracked the true identity of 'Red Lady' a year ago. It wasn't too difficult for 'Young Love' to figure out 'Red Lady's' identity. As, in all of her stories 'Red Lady' used two main characters---'Inspector Meg (Margaret) Thatcher' and 'Constable Ben (Benton) Fraser.' Both of which were very familiar to 'Young Love,' due to the fact that 'Young Love' knew these people. On the odd occasion 'Young Love' even got to read about oneself, which was mighty interesting and did shed a good light on what the Inspector's private opinions were…

It was an almighty shock the first time 'Young Love' read about the characters and realised who they all were. However, after getting over the initial shock, it had been very---entertaining and enlightening. A lot of the stories rang 'recognition bells' in 'Young Love's' head and consequently were suspected to have some bases of actual events! The dirt 'Young Love' had discovered could keep all of the characters sufficiently blackmailed for years, te he he. Some people might call it 'snooping, 'or 'deceiving,' others 'being in the right place at the right time!' 'Young Love' liked to call it 'being amply educated.' Besides, up until now, 'Young Love' had kept everything private. 'Young Love' liked being Thatcher's confidant and had helped in giving some pretty sound advice---which if 'Young Love' had given as ones real self, Thatcher would have ignored and done the complete opposite.

Reading the story, those familiar 'recognition bells' rang again. 'Young Love' had seen the flowers. Had seen Fraser carrying them. And Thatcher had been behaving unlike herself recently---'Young Love' had noticed that at the mere mention of 'children' Thatcher would soften---VERY UNLIKE her. So if Fraser had mentioned 'HAVING A CHILD TOGETHER' and 'MARRIAGE'---OMG---and knowing Fraser's inability to talk to women---YIKES---and Thatcher's Superior Officer mask---DISASTER---between them, there's NO chance of them getting married…That is, no chance without a little---help.

Changing the sender e-mail address to another alias, 'Young Love', now MusicStar@countrymusic.com sent the story to a BentonFraser@canadianconsulate.com The 'helper' then hoped to have done the right thing!

In another office not far away, the keen ears of both Constable Benton Fraser and his wolf 'Dief,' heard Fraser's computer inform him, "You've got mail." A sad and humiliated Fraser looked up from his father's diary. Carefully placing the diary down on his desk, Fraser turned to check the mail on his computer. Seeing the unfamiliar e-mail address of the sender MusicStar@countrymusic.com, Fraser's interest was peaked. Reading the 'Subject' line, 'IMPORTANT---Life Changing Story', Fraser raised his eyebrows at Dief.

"What have we got here, Dief!" The wolf jumped up onto the chair next to Fraser's and looked at the computer screen. Inquisitively sticking his nose up to the computer, the wolf accidentally blocked the screen from Fraser. Gently, but firmly, taking hold of the wolf's large fury head, Fraser moved it away from the screen. Wagging a finger at the wolf, Ben admonished, "Now then Dief, what have I told you about getting too close to the computer? It's not good for your health. Are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to go into detail again about the dangers?" Dief made a "Grnnnr" sound and skulked further back, away from the computer screen. "Good. Now, we can both read this," Fraser told the wolf.

Scrolling down the story, Fraser's heart caught in his throat. "It can't be…!" It was. To Fraser's disbelief and astonishment, the story was all about him and Inspector Thatcher. But more importantly, the story wasn't just any old story, it was based on the conversation they had both had earlier this evening, only---the ending was different.

While Fraser read on, a figure appeared behind him and peered over Ben's shoulder, at the computer screen. The figure started to tut and shake his head. "I told you so, son. She wants you. You'd better get yourself on over there!"

Fraser turned to scowl at his father. "I wondered when you'd show up. Thanks to your advice, I've already made an idiot out of myself. I'd appreciate it if you'd disappear and leave me to make my own decisions."

"I wasn't the one who made you make a fool of yourself, Benton. You did that, by having the opportunity to be with the woman you love and instead of taking that opportunity and saying what you should have said, you clamped up and let the opportunity fly away. Yes, maybe you had made a fool of yourself by misinterpreting what she had meant earlier, but seeing as you'd already embarrassed yourself, you might as well have said what was really on your heart! You'd nothing to lose! And from the looks of things, from what it says here in black and white, you wouldn't have embarrassed yourself further, because you'd have been offering her what she wants. You could have rectified making an idiot of yourself. But it's not too late, son. It's not too late." Fraser Senior faded into thin air chanting, "It's not too late."

Pondering what his father had said, Fraser read the story through ten times. He'd already programmed the entire script to memory on the second time, but he just had to keep reading it---trying to believe what his eyes and heart were telling him---what Margaret wanted to tell him, but hadn't.

Does she really want this?

Or is it just a story?

Fraser sat in silence, contemplating what to do about what he'd just read. Finally he said, "Well, what do you make of it Dief?"

Dief tilted his head to one side and seemed to think about the question. "Grureooorrr wruf gruow wuf."

"Well, I wouldn't quite put it like that! I'm sure she doesn't really consider me a 'moron!'"

"Greeeeeeruwuf."

"All right. Yes, all right, she does and with good reasons too. I admit, I did make a fool of myself." Ben sighed. "In that case, yes, my dad and you are right, I've already made a fool of myself and so I've nothing to lose. I might as well see this through, and go and see her."

"Woof."

"Yes, we'll go now. And thank you kindly, Dief. " Ben patted the wolf's head and Dief wagged his tail. "And, Dad, if you can hear me, thank you kindly."

"You're welcome son," Bob's voice called from the beyond. "Now go and get your woman."

Now that his mind was made up, Fraser stood up, slicked back his hair in the tiny mirror and turned to leave his office. "Uruf."

"Oh, yes, thank you kindly for reminding me, Dief. I'd better not forget my money. You know, sometimes if my head wasn't screwed on…" Fraser chuckled and picked up his Stetson.

Leaving the consulate, Fraser said to Dief, "The dilemma is, 'where to find roses at this time of night?' Any ideas Dief?"

"Werurruff urgr guf."

"Yes, good idea. Silly me! Why didn't I think of that! It must be because I'm nervous!"

Entering the all night shop at the petrol station, Fraser crossed his fingers and prayed that they would have roses. And not just any old colour of rose, they had to be---red roses.

Walking down the isles, Fraser spotted the flower section and headed towards it. He sighed in relief when his sharp eyes fell on some red roses. Hurrying up his pace, he made a beeline for the roses. Just as he was about to reach them, a hand came out of nowhere and gathered up the last of the red roses. NO!!!

Fraser started to run towards the man whose hand held the precious red roses. "Excuse me, Sir!"

The man in his fifties turned around to face Ben. "Yes?"

"I know that you got to those first," Ben indicated the roses, "But please may I have them?"

"I'm sorry, but it's my anniversary and my wife loves roses." He shrugged apologetically.

Ben sighed and smiled weakly at the man. "I understand. Never mind. Have a happy anniversary."

"Thanks. Er, there's some white roses left!"

"Thank you, but it has to be red."

"I'm sorry," the man said sincerely. Ben nodded politely to the man, the disappointment evident in his blue eyes before he turned around to leave. The man looked down at the flowers in his hand, then at the other flowers and at Fraser's slumped back. He felt sorry for the young man. "Wait!"

Fraser spun around. "You want the roses for someone special don't you?"

"Yes," Ben said with passion in his voice.

"Then here," he held out the roses to Ben. "You take them. I hope they give you and your special someone happiness!"

"But what about your wife?"

The man smiled. "My wife will like the white ones. We've been married for thirty years and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on thirty years with the woman you love because of my selfishness. I hope your lady likes those red roses, but take some advice from me young fella; it's the man that counts, not the presents. Sure, presents are nice and you should buy them for her, but all that matters is that you treat her right. Make her feel special. Tell her how beautiful she is, even when her hair's in curlers and she's got a green face mask on and looks like something from a sci-fi show." The older man laughed and Ben joined in. "Remember that and you shouldn't go far wrong. Good luck."

Ben beamed. "Thank you. Thank you kindly." Taking his money out from where he kept it tucked in his Stetson; Ben paid for the roses.

Kiss From A Rose

Arriving at Thatcher's house, Fraser looked up towards the window with the only light shining from within. She must be in that room! Cracking his neck, he mused as to how best to go about gaining entry. The door was the most obvious choice, but---an idea suddenly occurred to him. A very romantic idea. One he'd read in novels on numerous occasions.

Scanning the garden around Thatcher's house, Fraser spied a stone amongst her rockery. "Aha! Just what I'm looking for." Picking the stone up, he moved to just below the second floor window. Now to get her attention!

In the novels, the man gently raps the window with the stone----the lady comes to the window---he sprouts poetry and his undying love to her---they kiss and all live happily ever after. Seemed simple enough!!!

Now in actual practice…

With a swift movement of his arm, he threw the stone at the second floor window…

'SMASH.'

He'd thrown the stone a tad too hard! Fraser cringed. Nearly had a heart attack. Nearly wet himself. All in a few seconds.

That wasn't supposed to happen!!!

Sat on her bed reading, Thatcher nearly jumped out of her skin when suddenly from out of nowhere her window smashed---glass rained in---and a stone hit her on the nose, narrowly missing her glasses.

"What the…?!?! Those fucking hooligans," Thatcher swore. "Just wait until I get my hands on the little bastards! I'm gonna make mincemeat out of them!"

Springing out of bed, Thatcher grabbed her gun from the bedside drawer and carefully approached the broken window.

From below the window, Fraser realised---Oh, I've definitely succeeded in getting her attention all right---for she approached the side of the window with her gun and spying a figure below, she shot warning shots at him.

The shots rang out to either side of him, implanting themselves into the two beech trees on either side. "Don't move! Stay where you are or I'll put a hole in you next time," Thatcher shouted from the window. "I'm gonna have you arrested for this, you little piece of shit. Now what's your name and your phone number? So that after I've rang the police I can ring your parents and tell them how much they're going to have to pay to fix my window."

Fraser cleared his throat. "Benton Fraser. I b-believe you have the phone number!"

"What?!? Did you just say 'Benton Fraser?'" Thatcher shouted in disbelief.

"Erm, yes. Sorry about the window, Sir!"

Peering out of the window, gun still pointed at him, Thatcher looked at Fraser and her jaw dropped open. "FRASER!?!? What??!?" Composing herself she shouted, "Why the fuc…why've you smashed my window? I demand to know this instant! I could have been slashed to pieces, you moron. Look what you've done! If that stone had hit my glasses, I could have been blind! What are you doing here!"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Are you all right? I never meant to hurt you. I'll pay for any damages."

"Too right you will."

"Are you all right?" Fraser asked again, he felt sick with concern and with the thought that he could have hurt her.

"Yes, no thanks to you. You still haven't told me why you smashed my window? Or why you're here?"

"I'm here because I need to talk to you."

"What, now?" She looked at her watch. "It's 11 O'clock at night. Couldn't it wait until morning?"

"No, I don't think it could."

"So? Do you usually go around smashing peoples windows at 11 O'clock at night, or have I done something special to deserve the honour?" Thatcher yelled sarcastically at him.

By this time scores of Thatcher's neighbours had congregated on her lawn and someone had called the police, for sirens could be heard, coming nearer. "Great! This is just what I need! A public scene! Fraser wait there, I'm coming down."

Moments later, Thatcher undid her front door, glaring daggers from her eyes and dressed in a white dressing gown and pink fuzzy slippers. Fraser could see that she had removed her glasses, at any other time, this would have amused him, but not now.

One of Thatcher's neighbours came up to them both and asked Meg, "Is everything all right, Margaret? I heard gunshots and shouting so we" he indicated to his wife who was approaching, "called the cops."

Thatcher glared at Fraser, before turning and smiling at her neighbours. "Yes, everything's all right. Thank you. It was just a…just a misunderstanding."

"As long as you're all right then!" The man looked at Fraser, trying to weigh up if he was a threat or not.

"I am," Thatcher said firmly.

"Well, we'll be off then."

"Goodnight!" Said his wife. It was more to Fraser than to Thatcher. While her husband took her arm, she continued to stare behind her at Fraser, as her husband led her away down the garden path. The couple passed the police on the path. One was a tall dark man; the other a medium sized man with red hair.

The taller man spoke first. "Good evening, ma'am! Is everything all right?" Both policemen eyed up Thatcher and Fraser.

"Yes, Officers. Everything's fine. Just a misunderstanding. Sorry you were called out. But everything's quite all right," Thatcher assured.

"Is dat so!" The other Officer said. "We had a report of gunshots!" Looking up at the house he added. "Care to tell us how ya window got smashed?"

Thatcher looked at Fraser, giving him another nasty glance---the look said, 'look what you've caused, you moron!' Turning back to the Officers, Thatcher tried to explain as best she could without most of the answers. "I'm Inspector Thatcher of the RCMP. I'm currently assigned to the Canadian Consulate. This is Constable Fraser, also of the RCMP. My---er---colleague threw a stone up at my window and smashed it."

The policemen raised their eyebrows at Fraser. The taller one spoke first again, "Really! And why did you do that?"

Before he could answer the other Officer interrupted, "That's it! Fraser! I knew ya seemed familiar. You're Ray Vecchio's friend aren't ya?"

"Yes, that's correct," Fraser confirmed.

"I'm Mick. Maybe Vecchio's mentioned me!" The man with the red hair pointed to his partner. "And dis is Jordan."

"Nice to meet you both." To their amusement, Fraser shook both of their hands. "And, 'no', I'd don't believe Ray has mentioned either of you!" Rubbing a knuckle of his free hand across his left brow, he added, "Not that I recall anyway."

"Hey! I've heard some of da things you've got up to!" Said Mick and then laughed. He gave Fraser a high five. "So, why'd ya smash her window?" Then he started to laugh again. Moving to Fraser he said, "I think I know da answer to dat one! Ray's told us all about da Ice Queen." He smirked at Thatcher.

"I…erm…it was an accident---the window," Fraser said, trying to get the Officers attention away from making Thatcher even more angrier. "I was trying to get her attention and…well…it didn't go according to plan!"

"You can say that again!" Thatcher retorted.

Jordan and Mick finally noticed the roses. "Ooooooooh," Mick then started to wolf whistle, while Jordan laughed and nudged Fraser.

In all of the confusion Thatcher hadn't noticed the roses. For the first time she looked at the roses, and then at Fraser. Biting her lip, she started to blush. In the blushing department, Fraser beat her---he was a nice shade of crimson.

"Have you quite finished? It's late and I'd like to go to bed," Thatcher shouted at the Officers. And then realising her bad choice of word, 'bed,' she blushed even further, as the Officers roared with laughter.

"Okay, okay," said Jordan. "We'll let you get to it," he and Mick sniggered. "I just have to ask two last questions. 'Why did you fire your gun' and 'do you have a permit for your firearm?"

"I fired my gun to ward off an intruder. For all I knew, the stone through the window could have been a trick to see if anyone was home! And, for all I knew, my front door could have been about to be kicked down, and who knows what!" Thatcher said defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"All right. But in future, don't be so trigger happy!" Thatcher scowled at him. If I was in Canada and he talked to me like that, I'd have the little shit demoted.

"And the permit?" Jordan asked again.

"Yes. Of course I do. I'm a police officer, for goodness sake. I'm not about to break the law!" Thatcher looked haughtily at Jordan.

"Then you won't mind my asking to see your permit then!" Jordan fired back at her.

"I'll just go and get it." Thatcher slammed her front door behind her. After a few minutes she opened the door again. "Here. Satisfied!" She thrust the document at Jordan.

Giving her the document back he said, "Thank you for your co-operation ma'am. We'll be going now." Knowing 'co-operation' was a dig at her, Thatcher glared at him, as both officers said 'goodbye' to Fraser. As the police officers left, they dispersed the crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk in front of Thatcher's house.

Thatcher stood in the doorway to her house contemplating whether to just go inside and slam the door on Fraser! However, he had brought her flowers, and she didn't think that her windows could take anymore of his stone throwing, and so after a few moments of awkward silence, she said, "You'd better come in!"

"Thank you kindly sir."

Thatcher led him and Dief into her lounge. The room was spacious and decorated in a subtle ivory colour. Standing beside the fireplace, Thatcher put her hands on her hips and looked directly at him. She didn't offer him a seat. "So! I have a lot of questions I want to ask you. First we'll start with, 'what are you doing here?'"

Dief cowered behind Ben. Fraser coughed and cracked his neck. "I came to talk to you."

"So you've said. What is it that's so important it can't wait until morning?" Thatcher snapped.

"I received an e-mail today from a person unknown to me, but I think perhaps you might know them, a MusicStar@countrymusic.com?"

Thatcher shook her head. "No, never heard of them."

"Well, they've heard of you."

"What do you mean?" Thatcher looked at him sharply.

"They sent me a story and the characters were remarkably familiar." He saw Thatcher go pale. She nervously licked her lips. "A story called 'Retake!' A story written by, and by the way, I'm positive it's an alias, a 'Red Lady!' This story was very enlightening and a---" he cocked his head to one side and smiled at her, "A joy to read. Except the end. I believe I could…we could, write a more satisfactory ending!"

Thatcher took a deep breath. "You know I wrote it!" It was more of a statement than a question. Fraser nodded. "I'm sorry to broadcast our private conversation around---and stories about us. I'm also sorry for some of the horrible things I wrote in the story. I was upset and I---I just needed to get things off my chest. It was a silly idea, I know!" She looked very ashamed.

"No. It wasn't. It was a good idea, because the story somehow, and I've not quite worked out how yet, but nevertheless, the story fell into the right hands." He smiled again at her. And she felt relieved.

"Now what?" Thatcher asked, a trace of hope in her voice.

"We make an ending together. You know, you were very perceptive with what you wrote about my being in love with you, and wanting to marry and have a child with you. And about trying to tell you how I felt for you, when the Public Relations Officer was here, that's true as well. I did try to explain, but I'm afraid I didn't quite manage it. But I'm here now to tell you. I just need to know one thing first, 'Do you…?' 'Do you…?'"

"Do I?" Thatcher prodded, hopefully.

"Do you…well…what I mean is, what do you feel about me? Do you have any---romantic feelings towards me? Do you---do you love me?"

Thatcher answered without hesitation. "Yes, I love you Ben." Meg smiled as Ben's face lit up with a large happy smile.

He took a step towards her. "Margaret, I'm in love with you. I have been for a very long time." Kneeling down on one knee, he asked her, "Will you marry me Margaret?"

"You really want to marry me?" Meg automatically asked, not trusting her own ears.

"Yes. I wouldn't be on one knee and asking you to spend the rest of your life with me, if I didn't want you to be my wife!" He smiled up at her.

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you Ben." Meg bent down and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him. Fraser managed to move his hand with the roses out of the way before she crushed them; his other arm encircled her and returned the hug. Without breaking their embrace, they stood up together and kissed. Dief made a loud "woof" in happiness and wagged his tail, so that it went 'thud,' 'thud,' thud,' against her sofa.

When the kiss ended, Fraser lovingly kissed the tip of Meg's nose where it had gone red from the stone hitting it. "Sorry about your nose, love."

"And so you should be." She smiled at him to show there were no hard feelings.

"I'm afraid I don't have a ring for you yet, but here, these are for you." Ben held out the red roses to her.

Meg took the roses from him, inhaled their scent and then smiled jovially at him. "Did you find these too?"

"No. I bought them---and the others too." He noted that the other flowers were in a crystal vase on the coffee table.

"Thank you. They're lovely. I'd better put them in a vase and then you have some more questions to answer, Mr."

Once the roses were in a matching vase on the windowsill, Meg indicated for Ben to sit down on the sofa with her. Dief curled up on a white rug in front of the fire. "I'm sorry for shooting at you Ben, but what do you expect when you smash my window!"

He looked sheepishly at her. "Yes, I'm really sorry about that."

"Why did you throw a brick through my window anyway? Was knocking on the door not simple enough for you?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a brick!" Seeing the look she gave him, he hastened on. "I know it may sound preposterous and on reflection it was a foolish thing to do---not one of my better ideas, I admit---but the intentions behind the act were good. I assure you I never meant to cause any damage to you or your window. I just wanted to get your attention."

"Well, you most certainly got that, and a couple of bullets as well." Thatcher laughed. "I wonder who sent you the e-mail?"

"Yes, that's what I've been wondering too."

"I only sent it to one person and that was 'Young Love.' Hang on, did you say that yours was countrymusic.com?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because 'Young Love' is also countrymusic.com. Do you think it could be the same person, going under a different alias?"

"It could be."

"It stands to reason that it's a country music fan! Who do we know who likes country music?" Meg pondered a moment. "There's Turnbull!"

"Well, yes. But there's also Detectives Huey and Duey! And I'm sure the more we think about it, the more people we'll come up with. It could be any one of them!"

"True." Meg sat deep in thought, trying to decide who the mystery person was. Patting his hand, she finally said, "I'd better clear up the glass from my bedroom and board the window up." Meg stood up and Ben also stood.

"I'll help you." Meg nodded. Now that her questions were somewhat cleared up, Meg's mind focused upon what she was wearing and suddenly she felt self-conscious.

"Erm…I…er…maybe I should change first!"

Ben smiled at her and took hold of her hands. "If you would feel more comfortable. But personally, I think you look cute. And you don't need to change on my account. Besides, if we're to be married, it stands to reason that I'll be seeing you in your robe and pink slippers quite often!" He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Meg smiled back at him, no longer feeling uncomfortable. "You're right. I've no need to change clothes. Besides, you've already seen me like this now..." she broke off and shrugged her shoulders.

"Dief, you stay here," Ben instructed the wolf. "I don't want you standing on glass." It suited Dief fine, to stay where he was, he had no intention of moving anyway, he was quite happy curled up beside the warm fire.

Ben followed her up the stairs and towards the bedroom. Stepping into the room he surveyed the space. The room had two windows (one being broken) and the double bed, with white satin sheets, was on the left-hand wall. Only a small set of drawers separated the bed from the window. A dresser complete with a mirror and stool was positioned on the wall opposite the bed. Wardrobes ran along the wall beside the door. And the walls, floor and curtains were tastefully decorated in shades of lilac and cream.

Together they efficiently cleaned up the shards of glass, removed the stone and found some cardboard to temporarily board up the windows.

Bed of Roses

Back in the kitchen, Meg made them some coffee and went into the lounge to give Dief some water. The wolf still hadn't moved from his resting-place on the rug, beside the fire. Back in her yellow and white kitchen, Meg and Ben both sat on her kitchen bar stools and sipped their coffee companionably together. Meg eventually broke the silence with, "So! What now?"

"What do you mean?" Ben asked innocently.

"Well, do you---do you spend the night, or…?"

Ben looked seriously at her. "That's entirely up to you, Meg. I can---stay, or I can---go and come back and see you tomorrow!"

"Would you like to stay?"

"Very much so. Is that an offer?"

Meg smiled. "Yes, it is now." Biting her lip she paused and then asked, "About having a---child, do you still want that?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, very much."

"So, when would you like to…to start?"

Ben took her pleasantly by surprise by saying, "No time like the present!"

Her eyebrows went quickly up and down. With a firm nod of her head, she said, "All right. Let's go to my bedroom!"

They stood up together and Ben took hold of her hand. "Ben?"

"Yes Meg?"

"Do you mind if I scatter the rose petals on the bed? I've always wanted to do that."

"I don't mind at all. In fact, I think it's a splendid idea." They smiled at each other.

After retrieving the roses and giggling at finding Dief fast asleep and snoring, Meg led Ben towards the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs he scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, placing her carefully onto the bed. Like a rose, he had picked off her thorns one by one---until all that was left was a beautiful, gentle and tender rose. One whose skin was the softest of petals and her scent the most alluring of flowers.

Scattering the petals all over the white satin sheets, they began to make tender love to each other on top of the red rose petals.

After making love, to Ben's surprise, Meg put her feet up against the headboard and wall!!! "Erm, Meg, honey, do you normally do this?"

Meg started to laugh. "No. Of course I don't, darling. I read somewhere that doing this after sex can improve a woman's chances of conception. It helps the flow or something or other!"

"Ah! Right, my petal." He bent his head and kissed her on the lips.

"It may sound a little silly, but anything that works! And if this doesn't work, I'll have to draw up a chart of when I am most likely to conceive and give you a pager, so that I can contact you when I need you." Meg smiled at him when she saw the astonished look on his face. Touching his arm she said, "Relax, hon, I'm not gonna jump you every five seconds."

"I wouldn't mind if you did." Meg playfully patted his chest.

"I do love you, Ben."

"I know you do and I love you too, Meg." Ben kissed her on the lips and Meg grabbed hold of his head, kissing him back passionately.

Bringing her legs down, Meg settled herself into bed against Ben's comfortable chest. They cuddled up together and each fell into a peaceful, happy dream of a life together with their children.

Meg woke up to a light-headed feeling. Did last night really happen? Or was it one of her stories?

Glancing to her left she saw the boarded up window. Turning to her right, her eyes fell on Ben. He smiled at her as he reached to take her into his arms. "Good morning, honey!" He said and kissed her cheek.

"Good morning, hooligan!"

* * * * *

Hope you enjoyed this story!

The Red Lady