Reflection	Standard disclaimer: Pre-existing characters belong to
Alliance, Paul Haggis, their actors and writers and are borrowed without
permission and do not necessarily reflect any intentions of those or any
other parties, including but not limited to the Canadian government. The
story itself is the work of my mind and is not meant for sale. 

 Should you wish to respond, here is my addy. wellplaypeoria@hotmail.com 

 Warning: PG for two slightly strong words (so, they're really the same
word, just different parts of speech...) This can be read in conjunction
with Antipodes and All the Queens Men, in which case it takes place say
ten months after the later. But feel free to read it however you wish. 

  Reflection 

 by Deborah Hicks 

 "Dismissed." She listened to the door latch, the even footfalls, another
door open and close. Once, she would have visualized each moment of his
progress from her door to his. Now, the exercise was one in precision, of
her own hearing and his... There simply was no single word for it, unless
it was inscrutability. 

 That she had ever been attracted to him, she simply could not believe.
Well, maybe that was a bit strong. He was very attractive and a good
officer. But this latest wrinkle made her very thankful things had never
worked out between them. She would never have put up with anything of the
sort. *Meg, he's not your's, except as a subordinate.* Something for which
she would be eternally grateful. 

 Constable Benton Fraser, R.C.M.P. was a good officer, a great officer,
though it had taken her awhile to admit it. His methods, his record, and
most certainly his behavior in Chicago, had not endeared him to his new
Inspector. That he was also insufferably polite and damningly naive, made
him a challenge. He was simply impossible to discipline. Nothing she could
throw at him worked, not even psychological methods. Somehow, he didn't
understand that fetching dry-cleaning and making coffee was demeaning. 

 *Maybe that's what attracted me.* She had been attracted, more than four
years ago. They had flirted, ratcheting it up until that fateful train.
They had snapped, and for a time pretended it hadn't happened. Frankly, it
was fortunate they had set to dating. After that, things fizzled just like
a chemical extinguisher. 

 Other than being Mounties, they had nothing in common. Sure, the outings
he planned were enjoyable enough. If you wanted a brother. Ice skating,
horseback riding, canoeing-- they all sound romantic, unless you've done
them with Fraser on a date. He didn't particularly enjoy her ideas any
better. Mostly, it was polite disinterest with occasional discomfort. *Not
exactly offended, but easily startled.* 

 What the regulations couldn't dissuade, off-duty interaction doused.
*It's the uniform.* She knew the old adage, even accepted that she wasn't
immune. It had never occurred to her that it might work the other way.
Fraser seemed to need her in uniform, needed to be in uniform, for there
to be any chemistry. He simply was a Mountie, and what was left over... 

 Yes, it was good that they had dated. He might still exasperate her,
confuse and confound her, but he no longer made her weak in the knees.
Somehow, she could now appreciate the sort of officer he was, with the
tension gone. He was a credit to the uniform, but a terrible political
player. She decided he needed a patron, to situate him where his talents
would speak for themselves. 

 Chicago was a problem. Still, she refused to have him permanently
reassigned. *Alert, Grise Fjord, Resolute and so forth until retirement.*
He might make Corporal. No, she had to keep enough control over him to
prevent such foolishness, and that meant retaining him at the Consulate,
while "loaning" him for special duties. 

 Which reminded her of this latest wrinkle. *Latest. How about the whole
slew?* Right. Any normal person, you would have heard something. Fraser,
you have to point out the wedding band and order him to send on the
appropriate paperwork. She still had no idea of the actual date, nor even
the woman's name. *Nearly three years, and he's still this tight-lipped.* 

 She thought about it; it made her brain positively hurt. If Det. Vecchio
hadn't barged into her office, Mrs. Fraser would have been at the hospital
with the Constable on sentry duty. *He is away on posting most of the
pregnancy, and doesn't even request any parental leave.* No, only because
the Italian demands to collect him, did they have any idea he was about to
be a new father. It was as if he had expected the baby to be born over a
three day weekend he'd arranged out of Canada Day and his two days off. 

 *A fine officer, but a poor excuse for a man.* She had expected better of
him. His own father had left him to be raised by grandparents, but that
was a different time. Widowers weren't expected to know how to handle
young children. Field officers-- they were even more dependent on their
wives. Sgt. Robert Fraser had been a legendary field officer, and his son
followed in his footsteps. *Even the mistakes.* 

 Well, it wasn't any of her concern if Mrs. Fraser let the Constable
behave that way. Clearly, they were very well matched, and probably both a
little deranged. At least now he was safely marked and no longer a hazard
to the general public. However, this one detail kept bothering her. 

 Admittedly, that she knew was the damn cop's fault. Would she have
ordered Fraser to tell her? *Yes. I would have.* It was just too abnormal.
New fathers, even this one, were supposed to gush. Not that she wanted
complete disclosure. She did _not_ want to know about the length of labor,
and she'd had enough of birth weight betting in Ottawa. The child's name,
perhaps vague time of arrival, really was enough. Somehow, even whether it
was a girl or a boy didn't pass Constable Fraser's lips. Just a polite
'they're both fine, thank you.' 

 No, they had to wait for a rather obnoxious bouquet of red and pink
balloons with a few mylar storks and some 'IT'S A GIRL!' rounds to finally
learn that much. Apparently they were from the 27th. He seemed to want her
to order them gone, sheepish of their presence. Somehow it was just too
appropriate, the balloons hanging over him and screaming their message. 

 Actually, she was starting to rethink her position on the American. It
pained her to think he was a good influence on the Mountie. Not a single
weird case that wasn't directly related to Canada had passed across her
desk since Constable Fraser's return to Chicago. It wasn't just any hot
head that would show up to drag off an expectant father. Or apologize for
reading the riot act to the wrong Canadian. *Alright, so his enthusiasm is
infectious.* It was if he was trying to give lessons in proud papa-ism. 

 Admittedly, it was absolutely typical that the child wasn't born until it
was July 1st throughout Canada. The idea of her being greeted by her
father in dress reds-- clearly Vecchio thought it was too precious. Yes,
the girl was a Fraser, capable of the inexplicable even at birth. But it
was her name that set Meg's teeth on edge. Regina. 

 The End? 

  

 Okay, this one I'll accept flames and otters (but please no flaming
otters, I'm sure there is an ordinance.) Would you believe I was toying
with the name before I realized the location of the Depot? Admittedly,
that was the clincher. 

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