2011 dSSS fic: "Slow Burn"
Jan. 1st, 2012 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luzulaReposting my 2011 dSSS here for back-up archiving purposes.
Title: Slow Burn
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Fraser/Thatcher
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,700 words
Summary: They hadn't done anything more than kiss, so far. Meg figured they were both being careful and feeling their way through this, scared that it might mess up their working relationship.
Notes: Wintercreek, I hope you enjoy this--I certainly enjoyed writing it for you. Happy holidays! This is set somewhere in the last half of season two. I'm very grateful to akamine-chan and Malnpudl for beta-reading!
Three crisp knocks on the door--Constable Fraser, she could tell from the sound. Meg looked up from her work. "Yes? Come in."
He opened the door. "Sir, there's something I need to bring to your attention."
So formal. But then, so was she, despite the way their relationship was developing outside of work. In fact, that made it all the more important that their work relationship stay professional.
"I'm listening. But I'm a bit short on time--I'd like to finish the press release on the Feldman case before lunch."
He straightened, a reaction she'd come to know meant he was about to say something she wouldn't appreciate. "Yes, well. About that. I'm not sure it would be a good idea, sir. Certain new information has come to light, or at least indications of such information."
"And?" Meg wished he'd come to the point.
"I suspect he's not as innocent as he claims."
"What makes you think so? Are you sure?" It had seemed such an open-and-shut case, and what was more, it illustrated so perfectly the cavalier attitude, bordering on harassment, of certain US customs officials. She was almost tempted to wish Constable Fraser hadn't gone digging deeper into the matter.
"Well, I can't be entirely sure, no." Fraser licked at his lips, and that flash of pink tongue sent a distracting little zing of warmth through her. Not an appropriate thing to notice, and Meg took a sip of cooling coffee from the mug on her desk to cover her reaction. This was work, she reminded herself.
Meg listened as Fraser related an unlikely combination of events involving Diefenbaker's fondness for blondes, shaving-cream containers clearly meant to contain something other than shaving cream, and a lingering smell of marijuana on Feldman. "So you see," Fraser concluded, "I think we should hold off on that press release until this has been cleared up."
Meg sighed. He was right, of course--this was not something that you wanted to come to light after the matter was already in the press. "Yes, we probably should. Good work, Constable. Please continue your investigation into the matter."
"Yes, sir." He stood there, quite correctly at attention, and Meg resisted the urge to ask for confirmation of their date this evening. This was not the time.
Instead, she gave him a small smile and a nod. "Dismissed." He left, and she did not follow him with her eyes as he did so.
Meg had to admit that during her first time at this posting, her kneejerk reaction to Constable Fraser taking matters into his own hands like this would have been more unfavorable. She'd had her authority challenged by male subordinates too often to suffer it gladly. But over time, she'd come to realize that Fraser wasn't motivated in the least by the chauvinist attitudes that usually lay behind such challenges. Instead, he simply wanted to maintain the right, no more and no less. Certainly no less.
Meg put the press release aside and took out the waiting pile of B-362 forms instead.
***
Meg was at the restaurant a few minutes early, and went in to wait for Fraser at the table they had booked. It was an Italian place, small and not particularly fancy, but the food was excellent. She'd gone home to change first, not so much because her work clothes wouldn't be appropriate--she didn't wear a uniform in her daily duties, after all--but because she needed something to mark the change between their roles in the workplace and the relationship that was developing outside it.
Fraser was punctual, of course, as he was whenever an improbable emergency didn't prevent him from being so. He'd changed clothes, too, into a plaid shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. Meg smiled at that. She'd dated François, who was a diplomat in the Foreign Office, for a while when she was posted in Ottawa, and Fraser's clothes were a far cry from the smooth fashion-sense that François had had. Of course, François had also turned out to be not exactly honest about his relationship with his ex-wife, so that had not been a success. She couldn't imagine Fraser being anything less than truthful about such a thing.
Meg had to admit she'd love to see him in a finely-tailored suit, just once. Although on the other hand, she couldn't help but appreciate the snug fit of those jeans, especially when she was used to seeing him in the less-than-revealing RCMP uniform.
"Meg, hello." Fraser sat down across from her at the small table. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Just a few minutes. I was early." Meg fiddled with the napkin before spreading it in her lap, feeling a little awkward. This date wasn't their first, but things had been busy at the Consulate for the last week, and they'd slipped back into work routines enough that it almost felt like a first date.
She studied the menu, and he did likewise. "What will you have?" she asked him.
He bit thoughtfully at his lower lip. "The tortelloni, I think."
"And I'll have the pasta puttanesca." The waitress came, and they ordered. Meg asked for wine before she could think about it, and then glanced at Fraser. Would he mind? She'd drunk wine at many Consulate events where they had both attended, but that had been work. This wasn't.
He shook his head minutely, and she couldn't tell if he meant, no, he didn't mind her drinking, or no, he wouldn't have any wine. "Sparkling water, please," he said.
The waitress left, and Fraser said, "I don't mind if you drink."
"Is there a particular reason you don't?" An intrusive question, she knew, but she was curious about it. She added, "If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, I understand."
"No, it's fine." He paused for a second, thinking. "I saw too much of the effects of alcohol growing up. My grandparents were in the Temperance movement, and we never drank any at home. And then when I moved away--I had a bad experience once, and I swore it off entirely."
He was all about the principles, as always. She'd been quite drunk a couple of times as a teenager, of course, but it hadn't occurred to her never to drink alcohol again. She'd simply grown older, and learned how to drink a glass of wine now and then with no harm done. Meg wondered what his bad experience had been about.
It must have shown on her face, because he said, "It was at Depot. I was quite inexperienced, and my troop thought it would be fun to get me drunk."
She made a sympathetic grimace. "Peer pressure can be cruel."
"It can."
The waitress arrived with his water and her wine, and she sipped at it. It was the house Chianti--perfectly nice, for a neighborhood restaurant like this.
"My parents drank in moderation, mostly wine," she said. "And I suppose I grew up thinking it was the normal thing to do."
Fraser nodded. "What do your parents do?"
"My dad's a lawyer. A fairly high-profile one, and he worked hard. He expected everyone around him to work hard, too." Meg was fairly sure that was where her ambition and her drive to excel had come from. "My mom is a pre-school teacher. They separated when I was thirteen."
He gave an encouraging little hum. His eyes looked dark in the dim light from the candle on their table, and were steady on hers. She paused to sip at her wine, wondering what to tell him about that. He really was a good listener, she decided.
"I suppose that was my first training in diplomacy," she said with a wry smile.
That surprised a little laugh out of Fraser, but he quickly sobered. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said.
"Indeed. They had joint custody of me, and sometimes it seemed like they did all their communication through me."
"That must have been difficult."
She nodded. "It was. How about you? Obviously I know what your father did for a living, but your mother?"
"She died when I was six."
"I know. I've seen your files. And I'm sorry."
He leaned his head in his hands, thoughtful. "It was a long time ago. Anyway, she didn't have a job as such when I was young, that I know of--my parents lived in a remote cabin in the Yukon--but she was a biologist, actually. They met in Regina and then moved up north together."
They'd both been leaning forward and talking in low voices, and out of the corner of her eye Meg saw the waitress arrive and hover a little uncertainly. Meg leaned back and smiled at her, and she came up to set their dishes down.
"It's very good," Fraser said, when they had begun to eat.
Meg smiled, pleased that he liked the restaurant she'd chosen. "It is, isn't it? This is one of my favorite restaurants. It's close to home, and sometimes I go here when I don't have the energy to cook something."
"Do you like cooking?"
She made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Not when it's just for myself, or when I get home late after working overtime. It can be fun when you're doing it for a special occasion, but I wouldn't say it's one of my passions."
He nodded, and Meg watched his hands as he handled the cutlery. She liked his hands--they weren't particularly large, but they looked sturdy. Competent. She imagined them on her body, sliding along her bare skin, and her breath quickened at the thought. Their eyes met, and she looked away, feeling herself color slightly.
They hadn't done anything more than kiss, so far. Meg figured they were both being careful and feeling their way through this, scared that it might mess up their working relationship. But she, at least, was beyond ready to move it to the bedroom, because the slow burn that they were doing was driving her crazy.
They'd only been dating a month or so, but it had started long before that. When she'd first come to Chicago, she'd only thought of Fraser as an inconveniently attractive--and often insubordinate--Constable, but with time she'd come to realize that the attraction wasn't going away, and that there was a lot more to him than first met the eye. She'd resisted it, of course, because fraternizing was against regulations for a good reason. But this wasn't just about physical attraction any more, and there were, after all, things that were more important to her than following RCMP regulations.
"Would you like dessert?" Fraser asked, and his low voice made her heart beat faster.
"Yes," she said, with perhaps more emphasis than the word needed. He was the one to blush now, and Meg was pretty sure he hadn't intended that double entendre.
It was so familiar, this awkwardness between them, that she almost laughed. She did grin, and met his eyes. "I want something with chocolate."
They ended up sharing a plate of chocolate panna cotta with raspberries. It was delicious.
The dinner was inevitably winding to an end, and Meg wondered if their date would end here, too. She didn't want it to. Meg wavered, wondering whether she should invite him home with her--it was quite close, after all, certainly much closer than his own apartment on Racine--but before she could decide, he asked, quite seriously, "May I walk you home?"
"Of course," she said, and he took her arm. He was such a strange man. This kind of old-fashioned politeness wasn't something she was used to in someone her own age, and with any other man it would've put her on her guard. It seemed like the sign of someone with old-fashioned views on the role of women in society, but that certainly wasn't the case with him.
"A penny for your thoughts?" he said, which made her smile again. Who actually said that seriously?
"You're so old-fashioned in some ways," she said, smiling up at him to show it wasn't meant as criticism.
He made one of those gestures he had, with his finger up at his eyebrow. "Ah, well. I have my grandparents to blame, I suppose."
"You grew up with them, right?"
"I did. My grandmother was a formidable woman. Quite old-fashioned in some ways, but in others I suspect she was far ahead of her time."
So that's where he'd got it from, then. They crossed the street, getting near her apartment. Meg was very aware of his arm holding hers, the solid warmth of his body near hers. Would he come up with her? The other times, they'd simply parted with a goodnight kiss. A prolonged kiss, true, one that left no doubt of the chemistry between them, but still just a kiss.
She swallowed. "Will you come up for a cup of tea?"
He cleared his throat, meeting her eyes briefly and then glancing away again. At least she wasn't the only one who was nervous. "I--yes, I'd like that."
Yes, Meg thought, sweet anticipation coursing through her, along with a thrill of nervousness. She slid her hand down his arm and took his hand, pulling him in through the door.
Old Mrs. Cook next door to Meg's apartment was on her way down the stairs, and Meg felt herself blushing as the old lady took them in, but she didn't let go of Fraser's hand. No doubt Mrs. Cook would be by tomorrow with an excuse to ask to borrow an egg or some sugar, and ask her about "that handsome young man she brought home."
"It's a bit of a mess," Meg found herself saying, even though it wasn't actually true. There were a couple of dishes in the sink, but other than that it was mostly clean and tidy. In some ways Depot stamped you for life.
Fraser raised his eyebrows at her statement. "You have clearly never seen the Vecchio household."
"I never have, no." Meg hung her coat up and took his, too, stroking the wool of his RCMP issue peacoat appreciatively. Meg herself didn't often wear hers outside of uniform--it didn't really go with her civilian clothes.
"Please, sit down and I'll put the tea on." She showed Fraser to the living room and put the electric kettle on while she rummaged in her cupboard. "What would you like--Darjeeling, Chinese green tea, or chamomile?"
"Darjeeling, please," she heard Fraser say from the living room. Meg loaded a tray with two cups, the Darjeeling, and a jar of honey--she knew Fraser preferred his tea black, but she liked a dollop of honey.
Fraser was not sitting on the sofa, as she'd expected, but inspecting her bookcase, his head turned sideways to read the titles. Meg bit her lip. Somehow one's bookcase seemed a very revealing thing, and she was suddenly irrationally afraid he wouldn't approve of it.
She put the tray down on the coffeetable and went up to stand beside him. "I was always fond of Austen," he said, indicating her copy of Pride and Prejudice. "I think I was more than a little in love with Elizabeth Bennett when I was young."
Meg laughed, utterly charmed. "I can understand that. I think I enjoy it more for Elizabeth than for Darcy myself."
The electric kettle whistled, and Meg rushed off to the kitchen to get it. She poured for them, and then sat there on the sofa blowing on her hot tea. Meg glanced at Fraser sideways--he was doing the same with his tea. She was ridiculously nervous, and very aware of his body next to hers. And then, because she'd always taken nervousness as a challenge to overcome, she reached over to lace her fingers through his.
Fraser's hand was warm and dry, his fingers more callused than they looked. He stroked his thumb along her hand and looked at her in a way that made her heart thump unevenly. Then he leaned over to kiss her.
Meg jumped when she splashed a little hot tea on her leg. "Mmph," she said, and broke the kiss to set down her cup.
"Sorry," he said, and then they were kissing again. His hand settled lightly on her shoulder, not pulling her in, but more as if he were steadying himself.
It was a slow, sweet, unhurried kiss at first. She put her hand to the side of his head, and his cheek was perfectly smooth, not a trace of stubble against her hand or mouth. He must have shaved before meeting her at the restaurant. He tasted of Darjeeling tea.
Meg turned sideways on the sofa, getting her knees under her to turn more fully towards him. There was more tongue in the kiss now, and Meg closed her eyes in pleasure and turned her head to get a better angle. He made a small noise into her mouth, and tugged her closer.
Meg brought one leg over to straddle his lap, and then they were pressed close together, still kissing, and her whole body was singing and saying yes yes yes and finally. She threaded her fingers through his hair the way she'd wanted to, and held him there so she could kiss him and kiss him, making up for all the times she'd wanted to and couldn't.
Her skirt was rucked up, and his hands were finding their way up her thighs and kneading at her ass through her pantyhose. She moaned and spread her legs shamelessly, trying to get contact with his hips. He scooted forward to help her, and then she could feel him hard through his jeans.
She was so turned on she could hardly think, and they were still fully clothed.
Then Meg thought of one of her fantasies, and decided to make it come true. She wriggled out of his arms, slid down to the floor and kneeled there, stroking her thumb lightly along the front seam of his jeans.
"May I?"
He blinked, and then nodded. "I--yes. If you want to." His voice sounded rough.
She met his eyes. "I do want."
Meg stroked her thumb more firmly along the length of him and felt him twitch. She licked her lips without thinking. Slowly, she undid his belt, then unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged at them. He helped her get them down, along with his boxers, and then she held his erection in her hand. She squeezed it, and smiled when he caught his breath. God, he was lovely.
She took him in her mouth. He must have taken a shower before dinner in addition to shaving, because he tasted clean, and just a little bit like precome. She searched out the taste of it with her tongue, and he moaned.
"Meg," he said, and then, "oh, oh," like he'd lost his words. She took him deeper then, sucked him into her mouth, and the wordless noises got louder. His fingers tensed in her hair. She glanced up at him. He was sprawled back on the sofa as if he'd never heard of a military posture, his mouth open, his eyes half-closed. He saw her looking and their eyes met. Meg felt a zing run through her.
Christ, she loved seeing him lose control like this. Seeing the way he could stand at attention, not a hair or, apparently, a thought out of place, she'd wondered what would make him lose that control. Wondered if she could make him lose it.
But now, despite the fact that she was down on her knees, now she was the one in control, and Meg felt a wild giddy exhilaration as she sucked him, messy and wet. She could hear his quick breathing, hitching on every breath, and felt him grow even harder in her mouth, as if he was close to coming. God, it turned her on.
Meg slid her hands behind his ass and pressed his hips forward into her mouth, giving her a better angle to work at.
"I'm--I'm close," he said, and she should have known that he'd be polite that way, warning her. But of course she wanted him to come, it was exactly what she wanted, and she hummed to let him know she'd heard it. And then he was coming in her mouth, his hands in her hair tightening until it almost hurt, but she didn't mind.
When he'd finished, she licked one last time along his softening cock, and his whole body twitched. "Oh good Lord," he said, and she almost laughed. She swallowed and washed it down with the cooling tea.
"Come here," he said, and then he was kissing her fervently. "It seems you like it fast," he said.
"I couldn't resist," Meg said, smiling like she couldn't stop. "I've been waiting too long."
"Well, I like it slow. And it's my turn now." His smile was playful.
Meg made a protesting noise as she grabbed him to kiss him again. She didn't exactly need more foreplay. "I guess I didn't plan ahead," she said. "Because I want you inside of me now."
He grinned, an open and happy and relaxed expression on his face that she'd never seen before. "Lack of strategic thinking. What would your superiors think of you?"
She swatted him on the leg. "If you mention work again I'll throw you out."
Fraser laughed, then grew sober again. "Meg. Can we--go to bed?" His voice was intent.
As if she could say no to that. She kissed him again, brief and hard, and then led the way to her bedroom. They were still almost fully dressed, she realized, and Fraser had tucked himself back into his jeans. Well, time to do something about that. She started to unbutton her blouse, but Fraser put a hand on her wrist to stop her. "May I?" he said, in the same way she had, before.
"Of course." She dropped her hands to her sides and waited to see what he'd do.
What he did was take it slow, like he'd said he would. He took it one button, one slow inch of uncovered skin at a time, kneeling in front of her on the floor while she sat on the bed. When his lips finally closed on one of her nipples, she felt it in her whole body. She moaned and clutched at his head.
"Don't stop doing that," she said, and brought his hand down between her legs. She still had her skirt and underwear and pantyhose on, although the skirt was up around her hips. He stroked her through the fabric, and she moaned again. She must be almost wet through it. Then his hand moved away, drifting down the inside of her thigh instead, and she made an indignant noise.
She could feel Fraser smiling against her breast, the damned tease. "Soon," he said, and blew on her wet nipple, making goosebumps rise on her bare skin. Meg drew in a startled breath, and he kissed his way up her throat with just the tiniest hint of teeth.
Meg began to unbutton his shirt, sliding her hands greedily over all that smooth warm skin, because it wasn't fair that she was the only one getting naked. He made a small noise of protest when she pushed at him so that he had to take his hands and mouth off her, but then he let her take the shirt off. She couldn't help drawing him close then, and she slid down onto her knees to get as much of his naked skin against hers as she could. Even after all they'd already done, it felt so intimate that she sighed in pleasure.
"Yes," he whispered, and then they were kissing, arms around each other. He was beginning to grow hard again, and she slid her hand down the back of his jeans to tug his hips closer against hers.
"We're still not on the bed," she said, wanting to feel the weight of him against her.
"Mmm," Fraser said, mouth busy on her neck again. Then he seemed to hear what she'd said, and raised his head, lips wet and parted. "All right. Bed."
They scrambled onto the bed, and Meg made to get her skirt off, but Fraser was there before her, carefully sliding it off where she would have shucked it off and thrown it on the floor in impatience.
"Like taking my clothes off, do you?"
"Obviously." His mouth twitched, and then he started on the pantyhose, stroking his hand along her thigh as he did so. "Although I don't see how you can wear this. It must be the least comfortable type of clothing on earth."
"How would you know?" Meg raised her eyebrows. "Oh, wait, you had that undercover case, right?"
"I did." Fraser held her calf in his hand as he tugged off the last bit.
"I don't think it's made with male anatomy in mind," Meg said, stroking her hand along the front of his jeans. He drew in a breath.
"You're probably right," he said, and looked away almost as if he were blushing, and Meg couldn't help drawing him down into a kiss again.
"I never got to see you in a dress," she said when they parted again.
"Well--I still have the clothes. I suppose I could show you some time if you want to," Fraser said, apparently not considering the request as anything out of the ordinary. Yet another way in which he really wasn't typical--Meg had known men for whom the very thought of putting on a dress would be a fate worse than death.
"Mmm," Meg said. "But I think we're getting sidetracked." She started unbuttoning his jeans.
When they were finally naked she rolled him on top of her, greedy for the feel of him against her, warm and smooth and heavy and real. It had been some time since she'd slept with anyone, and much longer since she'd slept with anyone who really mattered to her.
"Condom," he said breathlessly.
"Yes," Meg said, and reached for the pack of condoms in the bedside drawer. He rolled one on, biting his lip slightly in concentration.
Meg pulled him down impatiently. She'd been wanting this for what felt like hours now, but instead of doing what she expected, Fraser went down with his head between her legs and began to explore her with his tongue. And, well. She'd been ready before, but this--his tongue working delicately and unerringly, on and on--
"Please! Oh God, just--"
He lifted his head. "Please what?" he said, probably trying to sound innocent, but she could hear the laughter lurking beneath the surface.
Meg made an incoherent noise and thwapped his shoulder, then found her words again. "Just--come here and fuck me."
He did laugh, then, and she tugged him up and guided him into her, finally, thick and hard and just a little bit too much to take all at once. "All right?" he asked her.
"Give me a moment," she said, clenching around him and feeling herself adjust. He held still, and she began to rock up against him gently, then less so. He continued to hold still, until she tugged on him and said, "I'm not made of glass, you know."
And then they were moving together, both of them in the same rhythm, coming apart and together, steadily growing more urgent. It was glorious, like Meg had known it would be. She rolled them over to straddle him, and he grabbed her arms hard and held on. He wasn't gentle now, and she liked that. Neither was she. He rolled them over again, and lifted her hips up to thrust into her. Meg dug her fingernails into his back, feeling the muscles work underneath. It was good, so good, but not quite enough, and she needed--
"God, I need to come," she gasped. She felt her toes almost tingling with it.
His eyes had been closed in pleasure, but he opened them then, focused on her. "What do you need?"
"Keep doing that," she said, and as he kept up the steady rhythm, she reached down to rub herself off, feeling the pleasure build and crest and finally wash over her as she moaned into his shoulder and held on.
She lay there sated, enjoying the feeling of him still hard inside her. "What do you need?" she asked.
"Would you--with your hand?"
"Mmm," she said. She took the condom off him and began to stroke, slowly, watching his face. "Show me?"
And he did, speeding up her hand, quick and light. "Like this?" she asked.
"Yes--oh. Yes, that's--" He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her greedily, and she kept up movement of her hand. Then she felt him stiffen and come against her belly, hot and wet.
They lay there a little while, breath coming slower, and she almost thought he was falling asleep. She smiled at that--at least he was like a typical man in some ways--but then he stirred and drew back to look at her.
"Meg?"
"Mmm," she replied, then couldn't help tucking her nose into his neck. He smelled like sweat and sex, and she drew in a deep breath of it.
"Meg," he said again, with purpose this time, and her heart gave a lurch as she looked up at him. She was suddenly afraid that he was going to leave, just disappear on her, and she felt her hand tighten on his arm.
"I--May I stay? Tonight?" he said. She let out a breath.
"Yes," she said, and pulled him close.
***
The next morning, Meg woke with a feeling of rightness and of Fraser's solid body wrapped around hers, his half-hard cock warm and enticing against her hip. She stirred, feeling a curl of desire run through her. There was sleepy kissing and then they came together wordlessly in the sunlight streaming in from the window. It was slow and lazy at first, then urgent, and Meg came hard and almost embarrassingly quickly. She'd always been a fan of morning sex.
Later, they both sat at the kitchen table, eating toast and tea. They hadn't said much beyond "could you pass the marmalade", but the silence felt comfortable, not oppressive. Meg kept sneaking glances at him--she found his disordered hair irresistible, and there was something about seeing him sitting there in her familiar kitchen that spread a warm glow of happiness inside her.
Still, she knew this couldn't last. On Monday they would be back at work, and back in the straitjacket of RCMP discipline. Reluctantly, she began thinking of how to bring it up.
But Fraser was there before her. He caught her eye, then said in a low but steady voice, "This wasn't just a one-night-stand for me."
Meg felt her heart skip a beat. She was momentarily undone, but then she raised her eyes to his again and cleared her throat. "Nor for me." Her voice sounded husky in her own ears. "But we have obstacles we need to overcome. It's not exactly regulation to...fall for someone in your chain of command."
"True." He smiled then, and the tension grew a little less. Meg smiled back in relief. Nothing was solved yet, but at least now she knew that he was serious about this, as serious as she was.
He looked away and licked his lips, then took a deep breath. "But I must say that however inconvenient it is to fall for my superior officer, it is an improvement over my last relationship. She was a bank robber and a murderer."
Meg's mouth fell open in shock, but her mind quickly put the pieces together. It had been before her time, but the files were there, and she had looked them through when she first came to Chicago. It wasn't hard to see which case he was referring to.
"I thought you should know," Fraser said in a low voice, and Meg realized she hadn't said anything.
"I think I can guess who you're referring to," Meg said. "I've read your files. As far as I can tell--and I'm aware there are likely gaps in that file--your only mistake was to trust her. You're not responsible for her actions."
"I suppose not," Fraser said. He smiled wryly and looked aside.
Meg took his hand in her own. "I appreciate you telling me. Thank you." She pressed his hand. "What are your thoughts about our...situation?"
He straightened, as if she'd asked him to report at work, but she tugged at his hand and murmured, "At ease," with a smile.
He gave a little laugh and said, "Thank you, Meg," deliberately using her name.
And that reminded her. "May I call you Ben? Or Benton? Which do you prefer? I confess I've been calling you Fraser in my head for a while."
"Many people do call me Fraser. And either of those is fine," he said. Then, with a smile, "Try them out and see which one you like."
"All right, Ben. Benton," taking the names into her mouth. She twined her fingers more firmly in his.
"You asked what I thought of our situation." He bit his lip. "I'm not opposed to a limited amount of subterfuge, especially when it harms no one."
"But you don't like it."
He met her eyes. "I don't, no, but I'm willing to put up with it as a short-term solution. And really, the only one in the office we have to keep up appearances for is Turnbull, so it shouldn't be difficult."
Meg laughed. "No, I suppose not."
"And as for a long-term solution...it shouldn't be impossible to find a posting where we're not in the same chain of command."
Meg had puzzled over this same problem herself for some time. In her more pessimistic moments, it had seemed insurmountable, and hearing his calm and steady voice saying that it wasn't, that they could do it, lifted a weight from her shoulders.
"I'd like that," Meg said. It wasn't her responsibility alone--she wasn't alone, and they were together in this.
Title: Slow Burn
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Fraser/Thatcher
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,700 words
Summary: They hadn't done anything more than kiss, so far. Meg figured they were both being careful and feeling their way through this, scared that it might mess up their working relationship.
Notes: Wintercreek, I hope you enjoy this--I certainly enjoyed writing it for you. Happy holidays! This is set somewhere in the last half of season two. I'm very grateful to akamine-chan and Malnpudl for beta-reading!
Three crisp knocks on the door--Constable Fraser, she could tell from the sound. Meg looked up from her work. "Yes? Come in."
He opened the door. "Sir, there's something I need to bring to your attention."
So formal. But then, so was she, despite the way their relationship was developing outside of work. In fact, that made it all the more important that their work relationship stay professional.
"I'm listening. But I'm a bit short on time--I'd like to finish the press release on the Feldman case before lunch."
He straightened, a reaction she'd come to know meant he was about to say something she wouldn't appreciate. "Yes, well. About that. I'm not sure it would be a good idea, sir. Certain new information has come to light, or at least indications of such information."
"And?" Meg wished he'd come to the point.
"I suspect he's not as innocent as he claims."
"What makes you think so? Are you sure?" It had seemed such an open-and-shut case, and what was more, it illustrated so perfectly the cavalier attitude, bordering on harassment, of certain US customs officials. She was almost tempted to wish Constable Fraser hadn't gone digging deeper into the matter.
"Well, I can't be entirely sure, no." Fraser licked at his lips, and that flash of pink tongue sent a distracting little zing of warmth through her. Not an appropriate thing to notice, and Meg took a sip of cooling coffee from the mug on her desk to cover her reaction. This was work, she reminded herself.
Meg listened as Fraser related an unlikely combination of events involving Diefenbaker's fondness for blondes, shaving-cream containers clearly meant to contain something other than shaving cream, and a lingering smell of marijuana on Feldman. "So you see," Fraser concluded, "I think we should hold off on that press release until this has been cleared up."
Meg sighed. He was right, of course--this was not something that you wanted to come to light after the matter was already in the press. "Yes, we probably should. Good work, Constable. Please continue your investigation into the matter."
"Yes, sir." He stood there, quite correctly at attention, and Meg resisted the urge to ask for confirmation of their date this evening. This was not the time.
Instead, she gave him a small smile and a nod. "Dismissed." He left, and she did not follow him with her eyes as he did so.
Meg had to admit that during her first time at this posting, her kneejerk reaction to Constable Fraser taking matters into his own hands like this would have been more unfavorable. She'd had her authority challenged by male subordinates too often to suffer it gladly. But over time, she'd come to realize that Fraser wasn't motivated in the least by the chauvinist attitudes that usually lay behind such challenges. Instead, he simply wanted to maintain the right, no more and no less. Certainly no less.
Meg put the press release aside and took out the waiting pile of B-362 forms instead.
***
Meg was at the restaurant a few minutes early, and went in to wait for Fraser at the table they had booked. It was an Italian place, small and not particularly fancy, but the food was excellent. She'd gone home to change first, not so much because her work clothes wouldn't be appropriate--she didn't wear a uniform in her daily duties, after all--but because she needed something to mark the change between their roles in the workplace and the relationship that was developing outside it.
Fraser was punctual, of course, as he was whenever an improbable emergency didn't prevent him from being so. He'd changed clothes, too, into a plaid shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. Meg smiled at that. She'd dated François, who was a diplomat in the Foreign Office, for a while when she was posted in Ottawa, and Fraser's clothes were a far cry from the smooth fashion-sense that François had had. Of course, François had also turned out to be not exactly honest about his relationship with his ex-wife, so that had not been a success. She couldn't imagine Fraser being anything less than truthful about such a thing.
Meg had to admit she'd love to see him in a finely-tailored suit, just once. Although on the other hand, she couldn't help but appreciate the snug fit of those jeans, especially when she was used to seeing him in the less-than-revealing RCMP uniform.
"Meg, hello." Fraser sat down across from her at the small table. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Just a few minutes. I was early." Meg fiddled with the napkin before spreading it in her lap, feeling a little awkward. This date wasn't their first, but things had been busy at the Consulate for the last week, and they'd slipped back into work routines enough that it almost felt like a first date.
She studied the menu, and he did likewise. "What will you have?" she asked him.
He bit thoughtfully at his lower lip. "The tortelloni, I think."
"And I'll have the pasta puttanesca." The waitress came, and they ordered. Meg asked for wine before she could think about it, and then glanced at Fraser. Would he mind? She'd drunk wine at many Consulate events where they had both attended, but that had been work. This wasn't.
He shook his head minutely, and she couldn't tell if he meant, no, he didn't mind her drinking, or no, he wouldn't have any wine. "Sparkling water, please," he said.
The waitress left, and Fraser said, "I don't mind if you drink."
"Is there a particular reason you don't?" An intrusive question, she knew, but she was curious about it. She added, "If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, I understand."
"No, it's fine." He paused for a second, thinking. "I saw too much of the effects of alcohol growing up. My grandparents were in the Temperance movement, and we never drank any at home. And then when I moved away--I had a bad experience once, and I swore it off entirely."
He was all about the principles, as always. She'd been quite drunk a couple of times as a teenager, of course, but it hadn't occurred to her never to drink alcohol again. She'd simply grown older, and learned how to drink a glass of wine now and then with no harm done. Meg wondered what his bad experience had been about.
It must have shown on her face, because he said, "It was at Depot. I was quite inexperienced, and my troop thought it would be fun to get me drunk."
She made a sympathetic grimace. "Peer pressure can be cruel."
"It can."
The waitress arrived with his water and her wine, and she sipped at it. It was the house Chianti--perfectly nice, for a neighborhood restaurant like this.
"My parents drank in moderation, mostly wine," she said. "And I suppose I grew up thinking it was the normal thing to do."
Fraser nodded. "What do your parents do?"
"My dad's a lawyer. A fairly high-profile one, and he worked hard. He expected everyone around him to work hard, too." Meg was fairly sure that was where her ambition and her drive to excel had come from. "My mom is a pre-school teacher. They separated when I was thirteen."
He gave an encouraging little hum. His eyes looked dark in the dim light from the candle on their table, and were steady on hers. She paused to sip at her wine, wondering what to tell him about that. He really was a good listener, she decided.
"I suppose that was my first training in diplomacy," she said with a wry smile.
That surprised a little laugh out of Fraser, but he quickly sobered. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said.
"Indeed. They had joint custody of me, and sometimes it seemed like they did all their communication through me."
"That must have been difficult."
She nodded. "It was. How about you? Obviously I know what your father did for a living, but your mother?"
"She died when I was six."
"I know. I've seen your files. And I'm sorry."
He leaned his head in his hands, thoughtful. "It was a long time ago. Anyway, she didn't have a job as such when I was young, that I know of--my parents lived in a remote cabin in the Yukon--but she was a biologist, actually. They met in Regina and then moved up north together."
They'd both been leaning forward and talking in low voices, and out of the corner of her eye Meg saw the waitress arrive and hover a little uncertainly. Meg leaned back and smiled at her, and she came up to set their dishes down.
"It's very good," Fraser said, when they had begun to eat.
Meg smiled, pleased that he liked the restaurant she'd chosen. "It is, isn't it? This is one of my favorite restaurants. It's close to home, and sometimes I go here when I don't have the energy to cook something."
"Do you like cooking?"
She made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Not when it's just for myself, or when I get home late after working overtime. It can be fun when you're doing it for a special occasion, but I wouldn't say it's one of my passions."
He nodded, and Meg watched his hands as he handled the cutlery. She liked his hands--they weren't particularly large, but they looked sturdy. Competent. She imagined them on her body, sliding along her bare skin, and her breath quickened at the thought. Their eyes met, and she looked away, feeling herself color slightly.
They hadn't done anything more than kiss, so far. Meg figured they were both being careful and feeling their way through this, scared that it might mess up their working relationship. But she, at least, was beyond ready to move it to the bedroom, because the slow burn that they were doing was driving her crazy.
They'd only been dating a month or so, but it had started long before that. When she'd first come to Chicago, she'd only thought of Fraser as an inconveniently attractive--and often insubordinate--Constable, but with time she'd come to realize that the attraction wasn't going away, and that there was a lot more to him than first met the eye. She'd resisted it, of course, because fraternizing was against regulations for a good reason. But this wasn't just about physical attraction any more, and there were, after all, things that were more important to her than following RCMP regulations.
"Would you like dessert?" Fraser asked, and his low voice made her heart beat faster.
"Yes," she said, with perhaps more emphasis than the word needed. He was the one to blush now, and Meg was pretty sure he hadn't intended that double entendre.
It was so familiar, this awkwardness between them, that she almost laughed. She did grin, and met his eyes. "I want something with chocolate."
They ended up sharing a plate of chocolate panna cotta with raspberries. It was delicious.
The dinner was inevitably winding to an end, and Meg wondered if their date would end here, too. She didn't want it to. Meg wavered, wondering whether she should invite him home with her--it was quite close, after all, certainly much closer than his own apartment on Racine--but before she could decide, he asked, quite seriously, "May I walk you home?"
"Of course," she said, and he took her arm. He was such a strange man. This kind of old-fashioned politeness wasn't something she was used to in someone her own age, and with any other man it would've put her on her guard. It seemed like the sign of someone with old-fashioned views on the role of women in society, but that certainly wasn't the case with him.
"A penny for your thoughts?" he said, which made her smile again. Who actually said that seriously?
"You're so old-fashioned in some ways," she said, smiling up at him to show it wasn't meant as criticism.
He made one of those gestures he had, with his finger up at his eyebrow. "Ah, well. I have my grandparents to blame, I suppose."
"You grew up with them, right?"
"I did. My grandmother was a formidable woman. Quite old-fashioned in some ways, but in others I suspect she was far ahead of her time."
So that's where he'd got it from, then. They crossed the street, getting near her apartment. Meg was very aware of his arm holding hers, the solid warmth of his body near hers. Would he come up with her? The other times, they'd simply parted with a goodnight kiss. A prolonged kiss, true, one that left no doubt of the chemistry between them, but still just a kiss.
She swallowed. "Will you come up for a cup of tea?"
He cleared his throat, meeting her eyes briefly and then glancing away again. At least she wasn't the only one who was nervous. "I--yes, I'd like that."
Yes, Meg thought, sweet anticipation coursing through her, along with a thrill of nervousness. She slid her hand down his arm and took his hand, pulling him in through the door.
Old Mrs. Cook next door to Meg's apartment was on her way down the stairs, and Meg felt herself blushing as the old lady took them in, but she didn't let go of Fraser's hand. No doubt Mrs. Cook would be by tomorrow with an excuse to ask to borrow an egg or some sugar, and ask her about "that handsome young man she brought home."
"It's a bit of a mess," Meg found herself saying, even though it wasn't actually true. There were a couple of dishes in the sink, but other than that it was mostly clean and tidy. In some ways Depot stamped you for life.
Fraser raised his eyebrows at her statement. "You have clearly never seen the Vecchio household."
"I never have, no." Meg hung her coat up and took his, too, stroking the wool of his RCMP issue peacoat appreciatively. Meg herself didn't often wear hers outside of uniform--it didn't really go with her civilian clothes.
"Please, sit down and I'll put the tea on." She showed Fraser to the living room and put the electric kettle on while she rummaged in her cupboard. "What would you like--Darjeeling, Chinese green tea, or chamomile?"
"Darjeeling, please," she heard Fraser say from the living room. Meg loaded a tray with two cups, the Darjeeling, and a jar of honey--she knew Fraser preferred his tea black, but she liked a dollop of honey.
Fraser was not sitting on the sofa, as she'd expected, but inspecting her bookcase, his head turned sideways to read the titles. Meg bit her lip. Somehow one's bookcase seemed a very revealing thing, and she was suddenly irrationally afraid he wouldn't approve of it.
She put the tray down on the coffeetable and went up to stand beside him. "I was always fond of Austen," he said, indicating her copy of Pride and Prejudice. "I think I was more than a little in love with Elizabeth Bennett when I was young."
Meg laughed, utterly charmed. "I can understand that. I think I enjoy it more for Elizabeth than for Darcy myself."
The electric kettle whistled, and Meg rushed off to the kitchen to get it. She poured for them, and then sat there on the sofa blowing on her hot tea. Meg glanced at Fraser sideways--he was doing the same with his tea. She was ridiculously nervous, and very aware of his body next to hers. And then, because she'd always taken nervousness as a challenge to overcome, she reached over to lace her fingers through his.
Fraser's hand was warm and dry, his fingers more callused than they looked. He stroked his thumb along her hand and looked at her in a way that made her heart thump unevenly. Then he leaned over to kiss her.
Meg jumped when she splashed a little hot tea on her leg. "Mmph," she said, and broke the kiss to set down her cup.
"Sorry," he said, and then they were kissing again. His hand settled lightly on her shoulder, not pulling her in, but more as if he were steadying himself.
It was a slow, sweet, unhurried kiss at first. She put her hand to the side of his head, and his cheek was perfectly smooth, not a trace of stubble against her hand or mouth. He must have shaved before meeting her at the restaurant. He tasted of Darjeeling tea.
Meg turned sideways on the sofa, getting her knees under her to turn more fully towards him. There was more tongue in the kiss now, and Meg closed her eyes in pleasure and turned her head to get a better angle. He made a small noise into her mouth, and tugged her closer.
Meg brought one leg over to straddle his lap, and then they were pressed close together, still kissing, and her whole body was singing and saying yes yes yes and finally. She threaded her fingers through his hair the way she'd wanted to, and held him there so she could kiss him and kiss him, making up for all the times she'd wanted to and couldn't.
Her skirt was rucked up, and his hands were finding their way up her thighs and kneading at her ass through her pantyhose. She moaned and spread her legs shamelessly, trying to get contact with his hips. He scooted forward to help her, and then she could feel him hard through his jeans.
She was so turned on she could hardly think, and they were still fully clothed.
Then Meg thought of one of her fantasies, and decided to make it come true. She wriggled out of his arms, slid down to the floor and kneeled there, stroking her thumb lightly along the front seam of his jeans.
"May I?"
He blinked, and then nodded. "I--yes. If you want to." His voice sounded rough.
She met his eyes. "I do want."
Meg stroked her thumb more firmly along the length of him and felt him twitch. She licked her lips without thinking. Slowly, she undid his belt, then unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged at them. He helped her get them down, along with his boxers, and then she held his erection in her hand. She squeezed it, and smiled when he caught his breath. God, he was lovely.
She took him in her mouth. He must have taken a shower before dinner in addition to shaving, because he tasted clean, and just a little bit like precome. She searched out the taste of it with her tongue, and he moaned.
"Meg," he said, and then, "oh, oh," like he'd lost his words. She took him deeper then, sucked him into her mouth, and the wordless noises got louder. His fingers tensed in her hair. She glanced up at him. He was sprawled back on the sofa as if he'd never heard of a military posture, his mouth open, his eyes half-closed. He saw her looking and their eyes met. Meg felt a zing run through her.
Christ, she loved seeing him lose control like this. Seeing the way he could stand at attention, not a hair or, apparently, a thought out of place, she'd wondered what would make him lose that control. Wondered if she could make him lose it.
But now, despite the fact that she was down on her knees, now she was the one in control, and Meg felt a wild giddy exhilaration as she sucked him, messy and wet. She could hear his quick breathing, hitching on every breath, and felt him grow even harder in her mouth, as if he was close to coming. God, it turned her on.
Meg slid her hands behind his ass and pressed his hips forward into her mouth, giving her a better angle to work at.
"I'm--I'm close," he said, and she should have known that he'd be polite that way, warning her. But of course she wanted him to come, it was exactly what she wanted, and she hummed to let him know she'd heard it. And then he was coming in her mouth, his hands in her hair tightening until it almost hurt, but she didn't mind.
When he'd finished, she licked one last time along his softening cock, and his whole body twitched. "Oh good Lord," he said, and she almost laughed. She swallowed and washed it down with the cooling tea.
"Come here," he said, and then he was kissing her fervently. "It seems you like it fast," he said.
"I couldn't resist," Meg said, smiling like she couldn't stop. "I've been waiting too long."
"Well, I like it slow. And it's my turn now." His smile was playful.
Meg made a protesting noise as she grabbed him to kiss him again. She didn't exactly need more foreplay. "I guess I didn't plan ahead," she said. "Because I want you inside of me now."
He grinned, an open and happy and relaxed expression on his face that she'd never seen before. "Lack of strategic thinking. What would your superiors think of you?"
She swatted him on the leg. "If you mention work again I'll throw you out."
Fraser laughed, then grew sober again. "Meg. Can we--go to bed?" His voice was intent.
As if she could say no to that. She kissed him again, brief and hard, and then led the way to her bedroom. They were still almost fully dressed, she realized, and Fraser had tucked himself back into his jeans. Well, time to do something about that. She started to unbutton her blouse, but Fraser put a hand on her wrist to stop her. "May I?" he said, in the same way she had, before.
"Of course." She dropped her hands to her sides and waited to see what he'd do.
What he did was take it slow, like he'd said he would. He took it one button, one slow inch of uncovered skin at a time, kneeling in front of her on the floor while she sat on the bed. When his lips finally closed on one of her nipples, she felt it in her whole body. She moaned and clutched at his head.
"Don't stop doing that," she said, and brought his hand down between her legs. She still had her skirt and underwear and pantyhose on, although the skirt was up around her hips. He stroked her through the fabric, and she moaned again. She must be almost wet through it. Then his hand moved away, drifting down the inside of her thigh instead, and she made an indignant noise.
She could feel Fraser smiling against her breast, the damned tease. "Soon," he said, and blew on her wet nipple, making goosebumps rise on her bare skin. Meg drew in a startled breath, and he kissed his way up her throat with just the tiniest hint of teeth.
Meg began to unbutton his shirt, sliding her hands greedily over all that smooth warm skin, because it wasn't fair that she was the only one getting naked. He made a small noise of protest when she pushed at him so that he had to take his hands and mouth off her, but then he let her take the shirt off. She couldn't help drawing him close then, and she slid down onto her knees to get as much of his naked skin against hers as she could. Even after all they'd already done, it felt so intimate that she sighed in pleasure.
"Yes," he whispered, and then they were kissing, arms around each other. He was beginning to grow hard again, and she slid her hand down the back of his jeans to tug his hips closer against hers.
"We're still not on the bed," she said, wanting to feel the weight of him against her.
"Mmm," Fraser said, mouth busy on her neck again. Then he seemed to hear what she'd said, and raised his head, lips wet and parted. "All right. Bed."
They scrambled onto the bed, and Meg made to get her skirt off, but Fraser was there before her, carefully sliding it off where she would have shucked it off and thrown it on the floor in impatience.
"Like taking my clothes off, do you?"
"Obviously." His mouth twitched, and then he started on the pantyhose, stroking his hand along her thigh as he did so. "Although I don't see how you can wear this. It must be the least comfortable type of clothing on earth."
"How would you know?" Meg raised her eyebrows. "Oh, wait, you had that undercover case, right?"
"I did." Fraser held her calf in his hand as he tugged off the last bit.
"I don't think it's made with male anatomy in mind," Meg said, stroking her hand along the front of his jeans. He drew in a breath.
"You're probably right," he said, and looked away almost as if he were blushing, and Meg couldn't help drawing him down into a kiss again.
"I never got to see you in a dress," she said when they parted again.
"Well--I still have the clothes. I suppose I could show you some time if you want to," Fraser said, apparently not considering the request as anything out of the ordinary. Yet another way in which he really wasn't typical--Meg had known men for whom the very thought of putting on a dress would be a fate worse than death.
"Mmm," Meg said. "But I think we're getting sidetracked." She started unbuttoning his jeans.
When they were finally naked she rolled him on top of her, greedy for the feel of him against her, warm and smooth and heavy and real. It had been some time since she'd slept with anyone, and much longer since she'd slept with anyone who really mattered to her.
"Condom," he said breathlessly.
"Yes," Meg said, and reached for the pack of condoms in the bedside drawer. He rolled one on, biting his lip slightly in concentration.
Meg pulled him down impatiently. She'd been wanting this for what felt like hours now, but instead of doing what she expected, Fraser went down with his head between her legs and began to explore her with his tongue. And, well. She'd been ready before, but this--his tongue working delicately and unerringly, on and on--
"Please! Oh God, just--"
He lifted his head. "Please what?" he said, probably trying to sound innocent, but she could hear the laughter lurking beneath the surface.
Meg made an incoherent noise and thwapped his shoulder, then found her words again. "Just--come here and fuck me."
He did laugh, then, and she tugged him up and guided him into her, finally, thick and hard and just a little bit too much to take all at once. "All right?" he asked her.
"Give me a moment," she said, clenching around him and feeling herself adjust. He held still, and she began to rock up against him gently, then less so. He continued to hold still, until she tugged on him and said, "I'm not made of glass, you know."
And then they were moving together, both of them in the same rhythm, coming apart and together, steadily growing more urgent. It was glorious, like Meg had known it would be. She rolled them over to straddle him, and he grabbed her arms hard and held on. He wasn't gentle now, and she liked that. Neither was she. He rolled them over again, and lifted her hips up to thrust into her. Meg dug her fingernails into his back, feeling the muscles work underneath. It was good, so good, but not quite enough, and she needed--
"God, I need to come," she gasped. She felt her toes almost tingling with it.
His eyes had been closed in pleasure, but he opened them then, focused on her. "What do you need?"
"Keep doing that," she said, and as he kept up the steady rhythm, she reached down to rub herself off, feeling the pleasure build and crest and finally wash over her as she moaned into his shoulder and held on.
She lay there sated, enjoying the feeling of him still hard inside her. "What do you need?" she asked.
"Would you--with your hand?"
"Mmm," she said. She took the condom off him and began to stroke, slowly, watching his face. "Show me?"
And he did, speeding up her hand, quick and light. "Like this?" she asked.
"Yes--oh. Yes, that's--" He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her greedily, and she kept up movement of her hand. Then she felt him stiffen and come against her belly, hot and wet.
They lay there a little while, breath coming slower, and she almost thought he was falling asleep. She smiled at that--at least he was like a typical man in some ways--but then he stirred and drew back to look at her.
"Meg?"
"Mmm," she replied, then couldn't help tucking her nose into his neck. He smelled like sweat and sex, and she drew in a deep breath of it.
"Meg," he said again, with purpose this time, and her heart gave a lurch as she looked up at him. She was suddenly afraid that he was going to leave, just disappear on her, and she felt her hand tighten on his arm.
"I--May I stay? Tonight?" he said. She let out a breath.
"Yes," she said, and pulled him close.
***
The next morning, Meg woke with a feeling of rightness and of Fraser's solid body wrapped around hers, his half-hard cock warm and enticing against her hip. She stirred, feeling a curl of desire run through her. There was sleepy kissing and then they came together wordlessly in the sunlight streaming in from the window. It was slow and lazy at first, then urgent, and Meg came hard and almost embarrassingly quickly. She'd always been a fan of morning sex.
Later, they both sat at the kitchen table, eating toast and tea. They hadn't said much beyond "could you pass the marmalade", but the silence felt comfortable, not oppressive. Meg kept sneaking glances at him--she found his disordered hair irresistible, and there was something about seeing him sitting there in her familiar kitchen that spread a warm glow of happiness inside her.
Still, she knew this couldn't last. On Monday they would be back at work, and back in the straitjacket of RCMP discipline. Reluctantly, she began thinking of how to bring it up.
But Fraser was there before her. He caught her eye, then said in a low but steady voice, "This wasn't just a one-night-stand for me."
Meg felt her heart skip a beat. She was momentarily undone, but then she raised her eyes to his again and cleared her throat. "Nor for me." Her voice sounded husky in her own ears. "But we have obstacles we need to overcome. It's not exactly regulation to...fall for someone in your chain of command."
"True." He smiled then, and the tension grew a little less. Meg smiled back in relief. Nothing was solved yet, but at least now she knew that he was serious about this, as serious as she was.
He looked away and licked his lips, then took a deep breath. "But I must say that however inconvenient it is to fall for my superior officer, it is an improvement over my last relationship. She was a bank robber and a murderer."
Meg's mouth fell open in shock, but her mind quickly put the pieces together. It had been before her time, but the files were there, and she had looked them through when she first came to Chicago. It wasn't hard to see which case he was referring to.
"I thought you should know," Fraser said in a low voice, and Meg realized she hadn't said anything.
"I think I can guess who you're referring to," Meg said. "I've read your files. As far as I can tell--and I'm aware there are likely gaps in that file--your only mistake was to trust her. You're not responsible for her actions."
"I suppose not," Fraser said. He smiled wryly and looked aside.
Meg took his hand in her own. "I appreciate you telling me. Thank you." She pressed his hand. "What are your thoughts about our...situation?"
He straightened, as if she'd asked him to report at work, but she tugged at his hand and murmured, "At ease," with a smile.
He gave a little laugh and said, "Thank you, Meg," deliberately using her name.
And that reminded her. "May I call you Ben? Or Benton? Which do you prefer? I confess I've been calling you Fraser in my head for a while."
"Many people do call me Fraser. And either of those is fine," he said. Then, with a smile, "Try them out and see which one you like."
"All right, Ben. Benton," taking the names into her mouth. She twined her fingers more firmly in his.
"You asked what I thought of our situation." He bit his lip. "I'm not opposed to a limited amount of subterfuge, especially when it harms no one."
"But you don't like it."
He met her eyes. "I don't, no, but I'm willing to put up with it as a short-term solution. And really, the only one in the office we have to keep up appearances for is Turnbull, so it shouldn't be difficult."
Meg laughed. "No, I suppose not."
"And as for a long-term solution...it shouldn't be impossible to find a posting where we're not in the same chain of command."
Meg had puzzled over this same problem herself for some time. In her more pessimistic moments, it had seemed insurmountable, and hearing his calm and steady voice saying that it wasn't, that they could do it, lifted a weight from her shoulders.
"I'd like that," Meg said. It wasn't her responsibility alone--she wasn't alone, and they were together in this.
