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      	  The Truest Language 
 by Icepixie  

 

 Meg not-so-silently cursed Fraser's name as she started on page fifteen
of the report she was filling out. Of all things he could get into trouble
about with the border guards, it had to be *flowers*. She never wanted to
see another geranium or morning glory as long as she lived.

 Just as she was really getting creative with her muttered invective,
there was a knock on her door. "Come in!" she snapped, ready to tear the
head off whomever it was.

 There was a slight pause before the door swung open just enough for
Fraser to poke his head in. Well, that was fortunate; he was just the
person she wanted to kill.

 "Ma'am?" he asked tentatively.

 "What is it, Fraser?" she asked, rather calmly under the circumstances.

 He approached her desk cautiously. She noticed that he was holding
something behind his back.

 "Ray and I were preparing the rest of the flowers for shipment, and I
noticed...well, I saw..." She watched in silence as he tried to find the
right words. Finally, he brought his hand from behind his back and held
out a bouquet of red tulips. "I thought these would suit you," he said.

 After a moment in which she was surprised into stillness, Meg stood and
took the flowers from his outstretched hand, wondering how on earth he
could always catch her off guard like this. Did he have a secret line into
her head? "Thank you," she said quietly.

 "You're welcome." They looked at each other, the tulips between them, for
a long moment.

 The Riv's horn blared in the street below. Fraser's mouth twisted into an
almost-wistful smile. "I should go help Ray return the rest of the
flowers."

 "Of course," Meg said, rather grateful for the release from her junior
officer's searching gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 "Goodnight, ma'am." He nodded to her, a last remnant of his smile on his
lips, and left the office.

 Meg listened as he walked down the hall and out of earshot down the
stairs. She brought the tulips to her nose and inhaled their delicate
fragrance. She smiled as the petals brushed her nose.

 She could always kill him tomorrow.  
  

End The Truest Language by Icepixie 

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