This is my first Due South fanfic, as I'm sure you'll be able to tell. It's mostly a Thatcher-Fraser story, even though I'm still making up my mind about TDL (but you'd never know it from this story). Please let me know of any minor or major errors I have made; I've seen very little of season one. Anything I didn't know about the characters I made up. And if the characters don't ring true to the show, it's my fault. I have a tendency to write all characters with quite a bit of myself in them. As always, comments and constructive criticism are not only welcome, but encouraged. You can reach me at gurganus@emuvax.emich.edu Enjoy!
by Kyla Gurganus , May 12, 1996
Rated: G
It was an extremely late summer night at the Canadian Consulate. Inspector Thatcher assumed she was alone, so she removed her shoes and popped on her glasses as she stared at the pile of paperwork she still had to complete before the night was through.
"Another late night! Why me? Why did I ever have to choose this and not get something 9 to 5?" she questioned aloud. But she knew the answer: she loved the work and she had nothing better to do.
An hour and a half passed and the pile of paper got smaller and smaller. Finally, she realized that she was done. It was nearing midnight but the lights of Chicago lit the sky she saw through the window. She neatened her desk and threw on her shoes, then heard a sound in the hall. Instinctively, she opened the side drawer of her desk and drew out a large knife. She could handle herself in hand-to-hand combat, but in a city like Chicago, you could never be too careful. Gripping it, she slowly walked to the door, only to have it open and reveal a still-there Constable Benton Fraser.
"Constable!" she screamed while jumping back. "You scared me! I assumed I was alone. What are you doing here?"
"Uh, I, uh, wanted to speak to you, but you've been extremely busy and I did not want to disturb you, sir," he said as he eyed the knife she still gripped.
"Oh, the knife. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I don't carry a firearm, Constable, and my father was a knife enthusiast, so I'm never without one. And I assumed that a non-authorized person was in the hall, so I was prepared to defend the Consulate."
"And yourself. A wise decision, sir."
"I was just about to leave, Fraser. Please say what you have to say. It's late and I have a full day tomorrow. What have you done this time?" she said, annoyed without even hearing a word.
"Well, sir, I was hoping we could speak...I could speak...to you as one off-duty officer to another."
"Go ahead."
"Thank you. I was wondering, what is your favourite food?"
She was obviously caught off-guard by such a question. "It's none of your business." She went back to put the knife in the drawer and to pick up her briefcase. "But I'm curious. Why do you want to know?"
"Well, I was hoping to invite you to dinner and wanted to know what you would like to eat. But I would understand..."
"A mushroom and onion omelette," she said quietly, addressing the wall, trying to avoid eye contact.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"A mushroom and onion omelette. That's my favourite food. My mother used to cook them for me every once in a while on Saturday mornings and I've always loved them."
Instantly, that night when she'd come to his apartment during that case of the chickens came to his mind. She could see it had registered in his mind and she turned away, slightly embarrassed.
"Well then, sir, may I invite you to dine on mushroom and onion omelettes, at my apartment, tomorrow evening?"
She mentally scanned her calendar for the next day. Paperwork, telephone calls, two quick meetings, but nothing that night. "Sounds wonderful, Constable. I look forward to it," she said, flashing a tentative smile at him. "Two conditions, though."
"Yes sir?"
"First of all, we'd have to put it off until 8:00. I don't think I'll be able to pry myself from that desk until at least 7:00 and I'd need to change."
"8:00 is fine. And you wouldn't need to change, sir."
"Ah, yes, Constable. That leads me to condition two: that you _not_ wear your uniforms, _any of them_, so that I can dress casually and still feel that I am dressed appropriately."
"Understood."
"Then is that all, Fraser? I really do need to get home and get some sleep."
"Yes, sir. May I escort you to your car?"
"No, but thanks. I'm often here late and can escort myself."
Fraser exited quickly, followed a few minutes later by Inspector Thatcher. She walked to her car, opened the door, threw her briefcase into the passenger's seat, closed the door, and just sat there. *What have I gotten myself into?* she thought as she put the key in the ignition and drove to her apartment.
***********
The next day went extremely slowly for Inspector Thatcher, much slower than normal. Constable Turnbull was extremely ill, somehow having caught a bad cold in the middle of a Chicago summer, but refused to go home. Everything she asked him to do took double the usual time, even for Turnbull, so she ended up having to do more than she expected. Then she got an unannounced call from Ottawa, asking for an explanation of two of Fraser's more odd, recent "cases," for which she could not offer any good explanation, and for which Fraser was not there to help. Luckily, the miracle of call waiting allowed her to take a call from Detective Vecchio at the same time stating that he and Fraser were off chasing bad guys or something and that Fraser wouldn't be in the office today. Her inquisitors were not thrilled with the "he's not in and wont be for the rest of the day, could you call again" line she had given them. *Oh, another mark on my record in the eyes of Ottawa because of Constable Fraser,* she thought as she put down the receiver, counted to ten, and delved back into paperwork.
***********
"What do you think, Ray?"
"I think it was a bomb. Yes, I know we can't find anything, but it's gotta be there!"
"No, about what I should wear tonight. Red or blue flannel?"
"Flannel? It's 90 degrees, Benny! How can you even utter that word? I'm sweating like a pig. It's times like this that I wish the Riv had air conditioning. I'll be happy to get home tonight and just sit in front of the A.C. for hours on end. Don't you have anything else to wear, like shorts or T-shirts or something cooler?"
"Oh, I had forgotten about the weather. And the Inspector did infer that she didn't want to made uncomfortable. Maybe I should borrow a box fan from Mr. Mustafi...so you think shorts would be appropriate, Ray?"
"Yeah, man, unless you're afraid she'll be too busy eyeing your legs to talk much," Ray said with a chuckle.
***********
After thirty minutes of decisions about her clothes and hair, Inspector Thatcher had finally decided to wear a blue sundress. Casual enough for her to feel appropriate, not revealing enough to make her nervous, and most of all, cool enough so she would not pass out half way through dinner. Once, when she was 12, she had passed out from the heat in the back of her mother's car when they had been on vacation in Miami, and she did not feel like repeating that performance in front of anybody, let alone Fraser.
She drove to his apartment, more confident than the last time about her personal safety and about where she was going. 7:56, the clock in the dashboard read. Too early to go in. "So what are you going to do when you get in there? Wrap your arms around him and kiss him until you feel like finishing? Order him around his own apartment until even _he_ calls you The Dragon Lady?" she asked herself. No, she'd decided that she was _not_ going to cause any tension during this event. She was going to be pleasant, smile, be friendly, and have an enjoyable evening with a man she found attractive. It was _not_ going to go awry.
She picked up the chocolate cake she had brought as her contribution to the dinner and started into the building. She slowly climbed the stairs in his building, careful not to step on any rats that she assumed were hiding in each shadow, and made her way down the hall. After knocking on the door, she heard a "Come in" and did so.
The apartment was just as she remembered it: bare. She glanced at the bed on the right and vowed not to look at it again. Then, she turned to the kitchen. There, in front of the stove, was what she assumed was Benton Fraser, cooking omelettes. But wearing shorts and a T-shirt that said "Property of RCMP"! It was too funny for words. She couldn't help but laugh. "Hello?" she called.
"Ah, good evening, Inspector. I'm so glad you could make it."
"Here, a chocolate cake for dessert. I hope you like chocolate or are not allergic. I should have called. Oh, but you don't have a phone, I forgot. Where should I put it?"
"Go ahead and set it on the counter. Dinner should be done in a minute. What would you care to drink?"
She sat down at the table. Diefenbaker growled at her a bit but didn't approach, so she was glad. "What do you have?"
"Not much: milk or water."
"Water is fine, then."
"You shouldn't have brought the cake, but thank you kindly."
"Why not? I've had it before; it's very good."
"Ah, no...it's not that, it's just that Diefenbaker will want some and I'm trying to get him off sweets. But if he sees us eating, and I wouldn't want to be rude..."
"Of course not," she said, trying not to crack up. Rude for eating cake in front of a wolf!
"Ah, here we are." Fraser set the two plates on the table, each containing an omelette. The two glasses were filled with ice and water. He smiled at her, ready for the awkward evening to begin. Surprisingly, she smiled right back, ready to eat and get on with it.
She spread her napkin on her lap and prepared to take the first bite, trying to remember all her best manners in front of this ultra-polite man. She lifted the fork to her mouth and tasted the omelette. "It's delicious! Better than I can make, if I do say so myself."
"Thank you, sir."
*Oh, no,* she thought. *It's going to be another one of those no-eye-contact, short-answer-and-reply nights. Well, I'm not going to spend it that way.*
"So Benton," Inspector Thatcher said, "tell me about yourself. I've read your files, you know, so tell me something new. How did you meet Detective Vecchio?"
***********
Fifteen minutes later, she'd heard the whole story and eaten very little more of her omelette. *When he sets his mind to it, he's quite a storyteller.*
"How interesting."
"And you, Inspector. How do you like living in the States?"
"Oh, it's growing on me. At first, I didn't care for it at all. Too new, too much change at once. But there are certain advantages to this posting that I'm enjoying tremendously," she said with a big smile in his direction. He got the hint and reddened slightly. Continuing, "I have cable for the first time, too. It's quite addicting."
"Cable, sir?"
"You know, cable TV. Last time I was stationed in Ottawa, I lucked out and rented an apartment that was equipped with a satellite dish. I grew up as a bookworm, especially loving historical fiction and westerns, and still love to read. Louis L'amour was my favourite author for a long time. And I never watched TV growing up; my mother didn't like it and my father only watched it for the news. But I was awake one night in that apartment in Ottawa, flipping through the channels, and there was an old John Wayne western on. I watched the whole thing. And another time I was up late, another one was on. I bought a TV Guide and read through the programs offered, bought a VCR, and set it up so I could tape the movies and shows when I was at work, then watch them when I had time. Oh, I got hooked on a show called 'Bordertown' a few years ago, and I really love 'Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman' these days. I know you don't have a television, so I don't want to talk on and on about it, but I certainly could. Now to you, for a complete change of subject: Benton, how far do you think you'll advance in the RCMP?"
After taking a minute to adjust back to talking about himself, he answered, "I don't know. I like it here in Chicago, and I'm not very well liked in Canada, so I doubt I'll advance very far."
"Oh, you shouldn't doubt yourself. You're a fine officer. Me, that's what I've geared my life toward, going as far as I can in the RCMP. I've made some poor decisions, some miscalculations, over the years, I'm the first to admit that, but I think this post in Chicago is a good chance to showcase my skills."
"I'm sure you'll be successful, sir."
"Let me guess, you've never had a female superior officer before."
"That's true, sir. Why do you say that?"
"You said you're not very well liked in Canada. Well, you're extremely dedicated to your job, very knowledgeable and capable, and if I do say so myself," she said, placing her hand on his, "one of the more handsome men I've ever met. This is going to sound completely unprofessional, Benton, but I doubt that any woman would weigh all the trouble you are against all your good qualities and have it come out on the side of trouble."
She was repaid with a completely blank look but continued, looking him straight in the eye and using a very serious tone. "I came here prepared to be completely honest with you. Now don't get me wrong, Benton, I'm not desperate. I can get a date any time I want or need it. It's just been a long time since I've had a real _relationship_ with a man. And having you under my direct responsibility has been a new experience for me; usually I've been on the other end. But that's no excuse. Benton Fraser, I'm extremely attracted to you and would like to see us have a deeper relationship than we do now. But things moved too fast on that train and you know what I mean. I'm not ready to jeopardize my career for anyone. Do you think we can just take it slowly, become good friends, and then see where that takes us?"
He smiled and said, "I'd like nothing better, ma'am."
"Oh, and do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Anything I can."
"Benton, I'd appreciate if you would try, if you can, to call me Margaret when we're not on official business, when we're not at the Consulate."
"Margaret, ma'am? I thought you preferred Meg."
"No, actually. And it's a long story."
"I'd love to hear it."
She was surprised, but everything about him surprised her. "I'm named after my father's mother. My mother never liked my grandmother and said that every time she said 'Margaret' she thought of her meddling mother-in-law. So when I was young, she called me, ugh, 'Meggie.' I cringe when I hear her say it. So she and my father called me Meg and still do. Everyone heard them call me 'Meg,' then they called me that. My 'friends' at school called me that, so that's what my teachers used. It's followed me everywhere; I can't escape it and I can't learn to like it."
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am...Margaret. I didn't know."
The 'Margaret' brought a smile to her entire face. "Very few people know. And you? I've called you Benton all night without having the decency to ask. I've heard you called Ben, Benny, Benton, Fraser, Frasier, Constable, Mountie, Red...what do you prefer?"
"Benton is fine, ma'am."
"Good. Now, that's settled. So can we eat the cake now? As I said, it's extremely good."
"Yes, let me get the plates." He went to the cupboard, got out three plates and a knife. "Would you care for some more water or milk?"
"Ah...milk would be wonderful."
He poured a glass of milk and set it down for her, then cut three pieces of cake and called Diefenbaker to join them. For the rest of the dinner, they talked more freely than before, of Canada, of work.
"Do you think I wear too...provocative...clothes to the Consulate?" she asked. "When I came to Chicago, I really wanted to start over, to create a good impression, and I've tried to tone down my suits. But I wear what I'm comfortable in and what creates the image I am trying to portray."
"No, you always look very professional and well-dressed. But ma'am, I'm definitely _not_ the one to talk to about clothes. Had I not spoken to Ray earlier today, I would be sitting here dressed in jeans and a blue flannel shirt."
"Flannel, in this weather? No way! But it is true that you don't ever look hot, not even when we were in that..."
"Yes, well, as you said, I also wear what makes me most comfortable, and most of the time, that is the red serge."
"Ah...but red is your color."
"Red and teal, yes."
The last of the pieces of cake were eaten, the dishes were cleared, and Margaret rose to leave.
"I had a wonderful time, Benton. I hope we can do this, or something like this, again."
"I enjoyed it very much."
As she reached the door, they were once again tied up, too close for comfort. She extended her hand and said, "Good night." He shook it and pulled her closer. She could smell him, his wonderful, clean smell, but knew that no good could come of this, not after what she had said during dinner. She looked him in the face, smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "If I do anything more than that, Benton, I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself."
"Understood. Goodnight, Margaret."
She left. He closed the door.
***********
Ray arrived to pick Benton and Dief up that next morning to take Dief to the vet. "Hey Dief, ready for some shots?"
Dief only whimpered and got into the back seat.
"Just kidding, Dief. Hey Bento, how's it hangin'? You're lucky; I just dropped off Frannie. You missed her. That way you can feel free to tell me all about your date with _The Dragon Lady_ and not leave anything out that you wouldn't want her to hear."
"It went well, that's all, and it's Inspector Thatcher, Ray, not _The Dragon Lady_."
"Touchy! It must have gone _well_ well, not just _well_. So how far did it go...did you kiss her? You can tell me, I'll only let all of Violent Crimes Division know, but that's all. You can trust me," he said with a wide grin.
"No, I certainly did _not_ kiss her. She would rather be friends."
"Oh, Benny, I've been there; it's no good. Sorry to hear it. As much as you know there's no love lost between your boss and me, somehow I thought it'd work out between you two. No, now that I hear of it, maybe you and I are just destined for continual bad luck with women. First Angie for me, then Victoria for you, and now Inspector Thatcher. We should both get out more. You and I work far too much."
"No, Ray, you've...I mean, somehow I've given you the wrong impression. Inspector Thatcher would like to become _good friends_ with me _outside of work_. She'd just like to take it slowly, that's all."
"Oh, I see. Well, you know, slow and steady wins the race, Benny. Take it from me, and you know women are my specialty..."
"But Ray, you just got done telling me how much bad luck you've had with women..."
"No, that was with _relationships_. Women, I know. You and I, we were born with charm. Me, I exude charm. It's a gift from God. You, you get 'em when they're not looking with that Mountie charm. Maybe it's the uniform, maybe it's the hat. I don't know. But somehow, you're just a babe-magnet, but not always the babes you're looking for."
"True, Ray, true."
"...So are you going to ask her out again?"
"Soon. Where should I take her? What should we go and do? I am in need of your expertise, Ray."
"Well, as I recall, you once recommended 'The Loose Moose' to me, but I wont be so cruel. What do you know about her, other than that she is a Mountie, of course..."
"Well, she said she really likes to read...and watch westerns on television."
"Perfect. Take her to a movie. There's got to be a western playing somewhere in Chicagoland all of the time. And take her out to eat, maybe someplace different, maybe try 'Mongolian Barbecue.' It's fun and casual, not quite a date restaurant, but not quite fast food or just a bar. And maybe wear a new set of clothes and get a haircut and..."
"Ray, you just ran a red light."
"Oh, well, I was in a planning mode. You watch the road while I plan. Hey Dief, you want to drive? You'll probably be in no shape for it _after_ the vet."
"Ray, you know you shouldn't play upon his inherent fear of doctors. It's not good for his mental health."
"He knows I'm just jokin', don't you Dief? Ya know, Benny, I _hated_ doctors when I was a kid. Always telling me what to do, what to eat, what not to eat, always poking me with needles and giving me pills. I avoid them like the plague now, and look at me. A perfect specimen of health. There you go, Dief. I'm a great role model for you."
"So back to the case, Ray. What about the bomb? Have you found it yet?"
"No, and I blame you partially, Fraser. Can you believe it? I graciously agree to drive you back to your place from the crime scene for your date..."
"It was a dinner, Ray, not a date."
"OK. I stand corrected. I drive you to your place for your _dinner_ and what happens? Two hours later, _Huey_ finds a few pieces of what can only be a bomb, finds an eyewitness who, _it's a miracle_, is willing to talk, drags Elaine out of bed at 1 a.m., gets her to help with a sketch and to run it through the computer, it matches a guy with a long record, the witness provides a clue about his whereabouts, Huey gets 10 guys and goes and books him. I'm sure Lt. Welsh is just gushing over Jack right now and I'm glad I have this errand to run so I can avoid seeing it for a few minutes, at least."
"I would think you would be happy for Detective Huey, Ray. After all, he is a friend of yours."
"You know, Benny, I'll never know about you. You call me Ray, you call Frannie Frannie, Elaine's Elaine, and Louie was Louis. But you wont call Jack Jack. And you don't call Inspector Thatcher Meg, even though you're _dating_ her."
"Dinner, Ray, and she prefers Margaret."
"_Ah_...but still, he's a friend of yours, too, I suppose."
"I guess he and I are still recovering from a few of the cases that we have all been involved with. The last few months have been rough; you know that, Ray."
"Yeah, I guess, and he and I have never been really _good_ friends either. Working together, but sort of competing, in a way, I guess, gets in the way."
Fraser just looked out the window, as if pondering what Ray had said. "So what are you working on today?"
"Nothing, yet. I'm sure there'll be something that opens up. You know you've got to make your own cases, Benny. And I've always got something on the back burner that I can cook up at just the right time when it's needed, especially today, if Welsh starts breathing down my neck, asking why I didn't get that bomber before Huey."
"Well, after I escort Dief to the veterinarian, I'm off to the Consulate for a shift and then done for the week."
"At least until I call you up for help..."
"Of course."
***********
THE END
Kyla Gurganus (gurganus@emuvax.emich.edu)