Okay, a note before I get to the story   

Okay, a note before I get to the story. Please forgive me for this.  

I don't know where the muse got it from. She's been insisting I put  

this on paper or else. I know it's very close in content to  

my last one, I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. I  

tried to tell her that the idea was beyond the bounds of possibility,  

but she wouldn't listen to that either. 'Write it,' she insisted.  

'No,' I replied. We fought like this for a week. She kept flooding  

my brain with images, and the harder I pushed them away, the more she  

gave me. Well, you see who won. Well, really it's a compromise.  

She wanted a whole story, and all I gave her was a snapshot. For  

those who may be wondering after they read this, yes, I just may be  

crazy. :) Anyway, here it is. You've been warned.  

Thanks to my Beta Lisa, who insisted that even though I may be crazy this
twisted idea  

should be shared. :) This is post COTW (13 years), and everything  

happened as was said at the end of the ep except for one major	

thing. 

Comments can be made to: tanya@klis.com. No otters, please.  

The Viewing  

Benton Fraser, former member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,  

current recluse in the Great White North, stood outside a solemn  

white building. There was a hushed tone surrounding it despite the  

cars outside and the people going in. Fraser recognized some of the  

faces, but he didn't know if they recognized him.  

Most of the others had gone inside and still he waited. He  

barely noticed the cold numbing his hands. His whole being was	

centred on trying to fight the fear.	 

There was not much that could frighten him. He prided himself on  

that. Dangerous criminals and treacherous conditions barely gave him  

pause. Matters of the heart, on the other hand, scared him to death.  

 And this was definitely a matter of the heart. The woman his  

particular heart had belonged to for fifteen years waited beyond that  

simple black doorway. Fraser didn't think he'd be able to cross  

it.	 

Tears came to his eyes as he thought of her. They hadn't spoken  

for thirteen years, yet he could remember her voice, with its  

endearing Torontonian accent. He had seen her since then, though she  

didn't know it. Once from afar at an RCMP function in honor of Buck  

Frobisher. Another time, he had seen her across the room in a  

restaurant on Baffin Island. Though he was curious as to why she was  

in Iqaluit, he didn't approach her. The last time he saw her, it  

had been in Chicago in the summertime. He had been visiting Ray, who  

had divorced Stella and gone home, when he heard her voice. He saw  

her out the window, coming up the walkway, chatting with Frannie.  

Each of them had her arms full of children. Fear had made Fraser  

run out the back, an apologetic Ray behind him. If he closed his  

eyes, he could still see the sun gleaming off of her dark hair and  

the friendly but almost distant smile on her face.	 

He envied Ray.	 

After Fraser was out of the picture, she had become  

friends with Frannie and visited her two or three times a year.  

Though Ray didn't particularly like her, he had a privelege that  

Fraser did not. It didn't seem fair, but Fraser knew that it was his  

own fault.	 

He was broken from his musings by footsteps behind  

him.	 

"Benny?"	 

Fraser turned to see Ray and Francesca, most of her six  

children in tow. He smiled softly and Ray squeezed his arm. With  

renewed strength, Fraser nodded to him and the three of them entered  

together. 

Wild daisies, her favorite flower as Francesca whispered, met them  

at the door. Fraser reached out a hand and brushed the soft petals  

with gentle fingertips. A memory came to him, so sharp and vivid it  

almost threw him off his feet. He had given her daisies once. 

As he entered the main room, he noticed it was now almost empty.  

Most of the people he had seen coming in had gone to prepare  

themselves for the next day. 

One figure caught Ben's eyes. It was a tall man, dressed in  

serge, his head bowed in grief. Fraser clenched his teeth as his  

heart constricted in his chest. 

His eyes slid from the man who'd once been his friend down to the  

mahogany box that dominated the room He could see her there,  

eyelashes on her pale cheeks as they had been when he kissed her.  

Her dark hair, with some gray he noted, was long and simply done.  

Fraser moved forward then, unable to stop himself. He realized	

suddenly that a small part of him had believed Ray's news to be a  

lie.  

At the sound of his approach, the mourning Mountie turned, his	

listless, black rimmed eyes going to the newcomers. As they reached  

Fraser, a spark ignited in their blueness, and his blank look was  

replaced by anger. 

Fraser took a step back, surprise going through him. It was the  

first time he'd ever seen that emotion on the gentle giant's handsome  

face. 

"Fraser," he hissed. 

"Hello, Turnbull." 

"What are you doing here?" 

"She...she was my superior officer." 

Turnbull sighed, the anger remaining on this face, mingling  

with the sadness in his eyes. "You shouldn't have come." 

"I invited him to the viewing and the funeral," Frannie spoke up  

firmly. 

"He's done enough. He shouldn't be here." 

Puzzlement went through Fraser. Slowly, he ran a knuckle over his  

eyebrow. "What do you mean?" 

He caught the look Ray shared with Frannie and his puzzlement  

deepened. 

Ray said, "Give him a break, Ren. He just wants to say good bye  

like the rest of us."	 

Turnbull stared at the two men fiercely for a  

moment before shaking his head. "What does it matter? He may as  

well have this too."	 

Then he walked away, Frannie running behind him.  

 Her children looked to Ray, who pointed to a pew. They obediently  

sat, while Fraser and Ray walked to her casket. 

"Meg," Fraser said her name for the first time. 

He expected her eyes to flutter open in shock. She'd look at him  

with those brown eyes --so deep that he could get lost--and give him  

one of her rare, beautiful smiles. And she wouldn't be dead. 

But the eyes didn't open. As he had with the flowers, Fraser  

reached out a fingertip to touch her face. She felt so cold. It  

made Fraser want to take her into his arms to warm her.  

"I can't believe she's gone, Ray," he whispered.  

"She hasn't been well for the last year or so. She, Frannie, and  

the kids usually go on a summertime camping trip every year. She  

didn't make it last year." 

"You didn't tell me she was sick."	 

"You asked me never to talk about her." 

Fraser sighed, his eyes drinking in every feature of her face. This  

would be his last glimpse of her, and it would have to last a  

lifetime.  

"At least she got the things that she wanted. After all these  

years, I'm still surprised it was with Turnbull." 

Ray was silent for a moment before replying, "Meg was everything to  

Ren. Watching her die tore his guts out." 

"I suppose I should talk to him." 

"I don't think you should." 

"He was so angry, Ray." He finally turned from Meg's face to look  

at his friend. "Why?" 

"You'll have to ask him." 

"The last time I saw him, he thought I was..." 

"Perfect." 

"Yes, perfect, but what I saw in his eyes...It wasn't Turnbull." 

"Well, Benny, a lot can happen in thirteen years." 

Slowly, Fraser nodded, his eyes once more going to Meg's face. He  

bent down to whisper in her ear. "I'm so sorry I left you. I  

couldn't ask you to come with me. Your soul would have died out  

there..." 

Ray's hand was a comforting presence on his arm. Only his two best  

friends knew the truth he realized just weeks after he had started  

off after the Hand. That stupid Hand! 

And why hadn't he come back? He just couldn't understand his  

reasons. There had been time enough. Three whole years before she  

married Turnbull. What had kept him away? Was it reluctance to	

leave his home? Fear that she would reject him? 

*It doesn't matter now,* he thought. 

"I *have* to talk to him," is what he said aloud. 

"Fra..." 

"I have to know what it was like...I have to know that she was	

happy...I have to know what her life was." 

"Leave it alone." 

"I can't, Ray." 

After one last caress of her cheek, Fraser turned from Meg and went  

in search of Turnbull. He left Ray standing there, staring after  

him, looking as if the world were about to fall apart. Fraser shook  

his head. Didn't Ray know that it was too late? It had shattered  

the moment there was no longer a Margaret That...Margaret *Turnbull*  

in it.	 

He found them sitting in a back room, Francesca gently rubbing	

Turnbull's back. The Mountie was not crying, but he was hunched over  

as if he had a ripping pain in his gut. 

At Fraser's entrance, he raised his eyes. The smoldering fire  

still burned there. 

Frannie turned, her face protesting, but Turnbull raised an arm. 

"It's all right, Francesca. I have to speak with Fraser." 

"But, Ren..." 

"Leave us!" He snapped, and Fraser saw the shock and  

hurt go over her features. 

"All right. If you need me, I'll be right outside." 

Turnbull nodded, his eyes never leaving Fraser. Frannie gave them  

one last, worried look before leaving and shutting the door. 

"You picked a fine time to come back, *Constable* Fraser." 

"You know I haven't been a Constable in five years, Turnbull,"	

Fraser answered easily as he watched the younger man get to his feet.  

 There was something haunted and pinched about him, reminding Fraser  

of himself. 

"Oh, yes. The wonderful example of Mountie perfection turned in his  

Stetson for a pair of snow shoes." The tone of Turnbull's voice was  

bitter, and once again Ben was left to wonder what he had done to  

change this man's view of him. 

"I...I don't understand. What's going on? What did I do?" 

This got a laugh. It was a short, sharp bark that sounded more like  

an expression of pain than amusement. Then, Turnbull's eyes raked  

over him from head to foot, the anger in them mounting higher. 

"I don't know what makes me hate you more, the fact that you could  

have come back or the fact that you never did." 

The venom in the younger man's voice caused Fraser to suck in his  

breath sharply. 

"I..." 

"She was so beautiful." Turnbull ripped his eyes from Fraser's face  

to stare into the air behind him. "I always thought so, but she was  

scary. Strong. Overwhelming. Invincible. And she didn't like me.  

 She thought I was stupid. You all thought I was stupid. And maybe  

I am. Get out, Fraser." 

Fraser shook his head, taking a step nearer. "I can't. I need to  

know." 

Turnbull went to a small water cooler and poured a drink. He sipped  

it slowly, not replying. 

Determined, Fraser prodded, "How did the two of you...?" 

The sound of the paper cup whizzing by Fraser's head silenced him. 

"I loved her!" Turnbull clenched his hand into a fist. "And after  

you left, she wasn't scary anymore. Tired. Soft spoken. Sad. Not  

scary. You took that from her. All her spunk, all her fire, that  

spark that made her Meg--gone. Gone, do you understand?" 

Fraser stood speechless, watching the large man begin to shake. 

"And you want to know why I hate you? Do you know what it's like to  

love someone who's in love with someone else?"	 

It was like a wrecker's ball hit Fraser in the stomach. His body  

wanted to double over, but somehow he managed to stay erect. Meg had  

loved him?	 

"She was so...so sad, and all I could do is watch and pick  

up the pieces. After awhile, she said I was indispensable.  

She said that I was her best friend, but it was you she was in love  

with. When we transferred from Chicago. When I nursed her through  

the anniversary of your leaving with Kowalski. The first time we..."  

 Turnbull cleared his throat, then continued, "The day we got  

married. The day our girls were born. The day she died. It was you  

in her heart. You. She never tried to hide it, she wanted me to  

know what I was getting into. But I loved her.	 

'Day after day, year after year, I watched her. She seemed so weary  

and depressed. It hurt so much to see her like that when I could  

remember...Sometimes, damn us both, I hoped that you would come back  

for her just to end her pain. But you never did. You never did!  

There was nothing I could do, but you could have.." He gave that  

short, painful bark again. "Other times, times when I was selfish, I  

was so terrified that she would leave us that I couldn't sleep. In  

the end, I guess that's what happened." 

Fraser swallowed several times to get rid of the lump in his throat.  

He hadn't wanted to put her through a life where she'd be miserable.  

That was his main reason for everything. How was he supposed to know  

it was the only thing she really wanted?	 

"Hate me all you want, Turnbull, but it was you that she came home to  

every night, you who rocked her children. You had her."  

Turnbull ran a hand through his short hair. "Don't you understand?  

She was never mine."	 

"I loved her too," Ben admitted, feeling a stronger kinship with  

Turnbull than he had the whole time they served together.	 

"What kind of man does that make you then? How could you do that to  

her?" He moistened his lips and squared his shoulders. "She never  

got to ask you this, so I guess it's up to me. If you loved her, why  

didn't you come back?" 

Ben felt the question deep in his soul. Now that he knew the truth,  

his reasons didn't seem so strong.	 

"It was me. I didn't think she could live there. In fact, she  

hinted that she couldn't. And I was sure I could never live in	

another city."	 

"But you never asked her." 

"No." 

"Don't you think it should have been her choice to make? After all,  

she let you pick your next posting. It was she who got you stationed  

in Inuvik when you came back from your adventure. The least you  

could have done was give her the same option." 

"But I didn't know." Fraser sank into the nearest chair. "I would  

have come for her years ago--but she was married to you." 

"All she wanted was you. I gave her everything I had, and you were  

the one she loved. It's my own fault, I guess. I knew what I was  

getting into, but it didn't make it hurt any less." 

The anger had gone from the big man's voice, and he just sounded  

weary. He ran a hand over his face, his wedding ring glinting as it  

caught the light from the window. 

"If you'll excuse me, I've got to say good bye to my wife. Stay for  

the funeral tomorrow, I don't care anymore. You can see the two  

beautiful children that could have been yours." 

With that, Turnbull left the room, stumbling a little. Fraser sat  

in his chair, so stunned that he couldn't move. It wasn't the fact  

that Turnbull had matured and grown a backbone that shocked him,  

though it was a surprising turn of events.  

Meg had loved him. 

Visions of what might have been danced in Fraser's mind. It was so  

clear that he felt he could reach out and touch it. Reach out and  

touch her. All of these years, he'd been so jealous of Turnbull,  

and--ironically--Turnbull had been just as jealous of him. 

The sound of the door opening made him turn, hoping it wasn't  

Turnbull again. It wasn't. Frannie stood there, her dark face  

anxious. 

"Benton?" 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

She came in and knelt beside him. "Tell you what?" 

"All this time, I thought she was happy." 

A stricken look passed over her features. "He told you?" 

"So you did know?" 

Frannie nodded. "And it was all my fault, though she never blamed  

me. In fact, she fiercely insisted I was right, but I just don't  

know..." 

"She loved me." 

"Yes, she did. More than anyone knew at the time. Even Meg." She  

got up and took his hand. "Come on. This is your  

last chance to say good bye." 

He squeezed gently and followed her to the door. 

"Ray was right. I should have left it alone." 

The end