She had awakened early, at five, strangely content but at the same time agitated and of that mix of emotions she could make no sense. She had given up trying to figure it out, having grown accustomed to making no sense of her feelings where Ben Fraser was concerned. She knew that the envelope beside her held the key to releasing her troubled mind, just as she knew that she could put it off no longer. 'Now or never, Phil', she told herself and brought her Ford Escort to a halt at the kerb.

Without looking, she grabbed the envelope and launched herself out of the car before she could change her mind. Breaking into a run she set her sights on a post box she had passed a hundred yards down the street. Without pausing in her stride, Phil opened the post box flap, dropped the envelope inside and spun on her heel, heading back towards the parked car, noting with some small part of her mind the sign on the post box that told her that mail posted there would not reach central Chicago until the day after tomorrow.

Her pace slowed and she took a deep, cleansing breath. She had done it. The letters were on their way to Ben. In a few short days he would know about his child. In a few short days there would be an end to the story. A slightly hysterical laugh passed her lips.

Back in the safety of her car, Phil found herself heading back to her apartment, although she hadn't made a conscious decision to return there. Just as she didn't make a conscious decision to sneak into her office, leave a hasty note for her colleagues and then dash to her apartment, pack a bag and head for the airport. Before she knew it she was behind the controls of her Cessna Centurion.

The force of the shot slammed the rifle butt into Sergeant Cathy Madden's shoulder, but her stance held firm, her small body absorbing the shock easily. She lowered the rifle to her side, gripping it in one hand as she watched the heavy body of her quarry amble towards the forest, taking a final look at her over a large furred shoulder before disappearing between the trees.

"Goddamn!" she cursed, her breath fogging in the winter morning air. "She wasn't even scared of me! I could have petted her on the head! Every year she just gets bolder!"

Cat turned in time to see Constable Marchand smirking at her from where he leaned against the side of the RCMP cruiser. It was the third time in as many days they had come to this same location for the same reason.

"Next time Amy or any of the other bears come to town, you're on scare duty," she said, knowing that when the call came again tomorrow, she would drive out here to move Amy on, as she had done for three years now.

"I don't know how you do it, Sergeant," Marchand said taking the rifle from her. "After all these years, you still don't mind being on bear patrol."

Cat watched Marchand check the barrel was clear and then stow the gun carefully in the purpose built rack at the back of the vehicle. It still surprised her how like Ben he could be at times.

"Well, if I didn't, who knows what would happen if one of the other guys came out here? They're all pretty bad shots. Instead of shooting to scare, they might actually hit something."

Marchand laughed. Like Cat, he knew that none of the 'guys' she referred to were bad shots. The Moose Jaw Depot had some of the highest-ranking marksmen and women in the RCMP. Truth was, he knew, she liked seeing Amy each year and it was her way of checking that the mother bear was in good health.

"Well, it still impresses me," Marchand said, with real admiration. "You're the only Sergeant I've worked with who doesn't mind doing the dirty work. Not many people are comfortable with shifting between the action stuff and then having to scare bears away from town."

Cat smiled at her friend and colleague, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "You've got to be able to run with the tide, Marchand," she said, propelling him towards the driver's door. "That's the secret to being a good Mountie."

Cat didn't know it at the time, but the conviction in her words was about to be put to the test.

"There's a link here somewhere, Vecchio, I know it," Stan Kowalski told his partner, turning away from the bulletin board filled with photos, maps and notes, the set of his shoulders broadcasting his frustration.

Stan's equally dejected partner sat atop his desk, swinging legs crossed at the ankles as he, too, contemplated the board. Ray observed that the notes, which had been previously written in Stan's scrawly handwriting, were now neatly typed and ordered and briefly he wondered whom his partner had talked into doing it.

"Fucked if I know what it is," Ray said. "We've talked to all the usual suspects and a few besides and no one's talking."

Stan scrubbed a hand through his blonde spikes. "We just got to find the pattern, Vecchio, that's all, like them code breakers during the war." He stepped back to the board and stared again at the photos.

In the brief moment before either man could think what to do or say next, Benton Fraser strode purposefully through the bullpen door, a long roll of some sort of paper tucked under his right arm. Diefenbaker headed straight to Stan's side, nudging at his hand. Stan dropped to his knees in front of the wolf.

"Good morning, Ray, Stan," Ben said, actively ignoring the fact that Diefenbaker was on the hunt for donuts.

"Hey, Benny," Ray said, "shouldn't you be picking up the Dragon Lady's dry cleaning or something?"

"Well, actually, yes," Ben said, matter of factly, "but I have something here that might help with your car thefts." He moved to a table in the centre of the room and began unrolling the papers from under his arm.

Stan's eyes widened and he rose from his kneeling position where he had been feeding Dief the remains of the cherry danish he had picked up on his way to work.

"What you got there, Frase?" he asked, joining the Mountie at the table.

Ben unrolled the first sheet across the table. "I took the liberty of marking several maps with coloured dots to represent the different cars in order to establish whether there is some sort of pattern."

Ray looked up from picking imaginary lint from his wool Armani pants, suddenly interested in what Ben had been working on. Maybe his friend could help them through this case after all.

"So what's this?" Stan asked, pointing to the sheet of paper, which turned out to be a map of Chicago, marked with red and green dots.

"The red dots are luxury cars and the green dots are cheaper, budget priced cars. This one," he said, pulling forth another map from the roll, "is marked in yellow and black. The yellow dots are American made cars and the black dots are imported cars."

"So what's your point, Benny," Ray asked, slipping in beside Ben on the right.

"I don't have one, Ray. So far I can see no pattern. I was rather hoping that these maps might help you and Stan come up with something." He unrolled another map. "This one here is marked in orange and green. The orange represents thefts that occurred at night and the green represents thefts that occurred in the day. And I have another, showing the colours of the cars stolen and another breaking them up according to the year of manufacture."

Stan reached for the rest of the maps, still rolled up. "Wow, Fraser, you must have been up all night doing this!"

"No, Stan, it really didn't take very long. I worked from the original map you gave me and it was just a simple matter of marking the coloured dots."

"Yeah, but what does it mean, Benny?" Ray scowled, turning away from the maps more disappointed than he had first realised. "If you can't find a pattern, then there ain't one." He flopped onto his chair and grabbed a file at random, making a big show of doing something constructive. "We still got nothing."

Stan and Ben exchanged a look and then turned back to the maps. Stan leaned over the table, resting his weight on his elbows as he inspected Ben's handiwork. "Can I keep these, Fraser? I want to go over them more closely."

"Of course, Stan. I hope they help you."

"They just might," Stan said, reaching a hand down absently to pet the wolf that stood adoringly at his side.

Ray snorted with disgust, not even bothering to look up."Well, I really must collect Inspector Thatcher's dry cleaning now. She is attending the opera this evening and will be furious if her red velvet cloak is not ready." Looking down at his feet, Ben coloured slightly and lowered his voice. "I believe she has a date."

Ray looked up from the file now spread across his desk, fixing Ben with a look he could not interpret. Stan arched an eyebrow and decided to say no more. He had no understanding of the goings on at the Consulate and nor did he want to. He rolled the maps and carried them to his desk.

Still panting with the exhilaration of a long and arduous solo climb, Becka gratefully fingered the heavy web strapping of her brand new, top of the range climbing harness. It had passed the test of a lengthy and difficult climb and was as comfortable on her descent as it had been on ascent at dawn three hours earlier. She was extremely pleased with her choice. Along with 500m of high grade static rope, two dozen rock bolts in four sizes, a selection of carabiners, a pair of climbing shoes and a three skimpy climbing outfits it had made a sizable dent in her bank balance the day before. She had wasted no time in putting her purchases through their paces and to reassure herself it was money well spent. 'Might as well buy these things while I can', she told herself. 'I may not be able to afford things like this once I leave the RCMP.'

For a moment Becka froze, startled beyond belief that such a thought could enter her head. Like her brother and father before her, the RCMP was her life. She had never given any thought to what she would do if her days as a police officer ended. But at the same time as one part of her mind was denying it, another part of her mind was already exploring possibilities. She knew that between her long service leave and what she had managed to save over the years, she had plenty to survive for several months, maybe even a year. Enough time for her life's future to present itself to her. Unbidden, TJ McKenzie sprang to mind, but she clamped down on the thought and pushed it aside. No matter how strong her feelings for him were, the chances of them having a future together seemed too remote. Unless, of course, Ben and Phil could sort out their differences and reach a resolution. The same part of Becka's mind that was busy considering her options outside the RCMP made her hope that it would happen soon. She shivered suddenly, cold for the first time since coming off the mountain. She gathered her ropes and ran to where her jeep was parked outside Earl's studio.

Earl had been waiting for Becka. As she drew near her vehicle, he opened the door of his studio and called to her. She gave him a wave and told him she would join him in a minute. Opening the back of her jeep, she loaded her ropes and harness into a tub she had purchased for the purpose, pulled a set of RCMP sweats over her climbing outfit and slipped her feet into a pair of sheepskin lined boots. She pulled an elastic band from the end of her braid and shook her hair loose, running strong fingers through it as she dashed across the snow to Earl's studio.

"Good climb?" Earl asked as she closed the door and moved into the warm circle cast by his fire.

Her eyes lit up. "It was excellent. I bought some new stuff and I wanted to give it a try." Becka settled into her usual chair and accepted a cup of tea Earl held out to her, trying not to think about the last time she had sat in the same chair about what had happened in the days that followed. She sipped her tea, thankful for the steam curling around her face.

Earl settled opposite Becka on an old tree stump. Worn smooth by years of use, it had been his favourite seat for all that time. He watched Becka unashamedly until she felt an unnerving tingle.

"What?" she asked, lowering her mug to meet his eyes.

"The climb seems to have got your blood flowing. You seem more relaxed than last time you came out here."

Remembering all that had taken place since she had last since Earl, Becka's cheeks reddened, and she lifted her mug and sipped, more to hide her face than for the tea. She recalled Earl's knowing eyes when she and TJ had encountered each other in front of this same fire.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" the old man stated more than asked.

Becka lowered her mug once again. How did Earl know? The thought had only occurred to her a minute earlier. Was he a mind reader? Sighing, she leaned over and set her unfinished tea on the floor beside her.

"I won't lie. I've thought about it, Earl."

Earl sipped his brew and nodded, but did not speak.

Misunderstanding his silence, Becka said, "I know you probably think it's sudden, but there are all sorts of things you don't know about. I don't think I can go on."

Earl swallowed the last of his tea and slowly, but deliberately put his mug on the floor. "Good," he said finally. "Your heart isn't in it."

Becka let out a relieved laugh. "I just hope my family thinks the same way."

Reaching across the space between them, Earl grasped her hand and smiled.

"Those who really love you will be happy if you do what is best for you."

Becka's eyes filled. "Thanks, Earl, it means a lot to hear that."

"Tell me, does Dr McKenzie figure in your decision in any way?"

Becka pulled her hand away and pushed at the hair falling onto her face. "Of course not."

The old man registered the change in Becka, but said nothing. Rising to his feet, he tossed a log on the fire and headed back to his workbench.

"So what are your plans?"

Becka twirled the bracelet on her left arm, the first item of Earl's jewelry she had purchased. Her voice was low and meek, like a child. "I don't have any."

Earl seemed unconcerned. He shrugged. "You're young, Rebecca. You've seen a lot in your short life. I think you know how to run with the tide."

The sea of children around Ben swelled and abated as they jostled and pushed and giggled. His patience grew thin. Today of all days he was not up to dealing with a school tour group. And where was Turnbull when he needed him? The younger Constable had readily agreed to take care of the catering arrangements and now that twenty hungry children surrounded him, Turnbull was nowhere to be found.

Ben took a step backwards and held up his hands, addressing the sea of faces around him. "I must insist you to keep your voices down. We are nearing the end of the Consulate Tour and very soon you will be able to go out into the grounds for a picnic lunch, prepared for you by our own staff."

At the mention of lunch, Diefenbaker appeared suddenly. Ben shot him a stern glance, knowing that he had probably been asleep in the Queen's bedroom. The wolf ignored the look and insinuated himself amongst the children. Equally as suddenly, Constable Turnbull emerged from one of the closed doors down the corridor and dashed towards the group, tugging at the hem of his tunic. Sliding to a halt in front of the children, Turnbull clapped his hands and grinned at them, gaining their interest immediately. Somehow, miraculously, in less than fifteen seconds Turnbull had the twenty children gazing at him and silently obeying his request that they go out into the garden. Ben watched in awe and wondered how the younger Constable had succeeded where he had failed. Turnbull shepherded the children out the nearest door and then turned his radiant smile on Ben.

"Now let's get these little beggars fed. The lunches are all prepared and waiting in the kitchen. If we work together they'll all have their meals in no time."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

Ben was about to follow Turnbull to the kitchen when a movement in the corridor to the left caught his eye. It was Inspector Thatcher, coming through the door from where he had watched Turnbull emerge only a few minutes earlier. She stopped to fiddle with the strap of her shoe and then tug at her skirt.

Heat rushed through Ben's body as he realised what had been going on in that room. He twisted his head to look at Turnbull, whose gaze was fixed on Thatcher with a look that Ben could only describe as hungry. As Thatcher strode down the corridor away from them Turnbull, finally aware of Ben's eyes, turned to look at his colleague.

Raw, irrational anger welled up in Ben and for a while he was unable to think of what to do or say. Raking his eyes over the younger Constable he searched for something to pass comment on, something to take the satisfied look from his eyes.

"Your lanyard is crooked," Ben snapped finally, stomping off to the kitchen to deal with the children's' meals.

"I'm going to lunch, Vecchio," Stan Kowalski told his partner as he rose from his desk and reached for his coat.

"Bring me back a sandwich?" Ray asked, not looking up from his inspection of Ben's maps, the very same maps he had dismissed as useless earlier in the day.

Stan hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Ah ... yeah, sure ... but, I'll be a while."

Ray glanced up at his partner, noticing something strange in his behaviour. "Something wrong?"

"No, no," Stan assured him, reaching for his scarf and tying it around his neck with suddenly clumsy fingers. "Pastrami on rye?"

"Yeah, from that place on Houston."

"Houston, yeah, got it," Stan said, leaning over his desk looking for something he had placed there earlier. In his haste to find what he had lost he forgot that Ray was watching him.

"Shit."

Ray watched Stan's behaviour with interest. The 27th precinct's newest addition had been acting strangely quite a lot. As if he was trying to keep a secret, Ray thought. When Stan finally found what he searched for, he straightened and glanced in Ray's direction, frozen in place by the look on Ray's face. A look, Stan knew from experience, that had startled confessions out of street wise criminals.

"Where you going, Kowalski?" Ray's voice was low and ever so slightly menacing.

"Just out to lunch, I told you." He backed away, tucking the paper from his desk into the pocket of his coat. "Pastrami, from the place on Houston, right, Vecchio?" Stan's voice took on a nervous edge.

Ray rose and stepped towards Stan. In a split second, he had slipped his hand into Stan's coat pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. He looked at it briefly and then met Stan's wary gaze.

"This is a list of used car dealers." Ray waved the paper menacingly at his partner. "You holding out on me? Something you know that you're not telling me?"

Stan stepped back. "No, nothing, Vecchio. Nothing at all."

"So what are you doing checking out used car dealers in your lunch break?"

Stan laughed nervously. "Hey, Vecchio, it's nothing. Just a hunch, you know. That's why I'm doing it on my lunch hour."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "You don't get hunches. I get hunches."

Stan laughed again. "Well, I got one of your hunches."

Ray's eyes narrowed even further. Hadn't Benny once said the same thing to him? Was he being snowed? Or was Stan really trying to search something out on his break? He recalled their discussion about trust when they first started working together. He had to trust his partner. He smiled and handed the paper back.

"Go on, Kowalski, pound the pavements on your lunch hour if you have to. Just don't forget my sandwich."

"Yeah, right, see ya."

Stan skipped off down the hall, breaking into a run almost immediately. He was anxious to get to the parking lot where Francesca Vecchio waited for him. Today was the day he would help her select a new used car.

With the school tour of the Consulate finally over and the halls once again silent, Ben returned to his office to deal with the paperwork that had lain abandoned on his desk since the morning. The agitation that began when he realised that Thatcher and Turnbull had been intimate within the walls of the Consulate was still with him, although he could not say why it upset him so. A burst of contrariness struck him. If his colleagues could pursue personal pleasures during work hours, so could he.

Pushing aside the stack of visa applications, he reached into a lower drawer and pulled out a letter from his old friend Eric that had awaited a response for nearly two weeks, an eternity in his eyes. On a sheet of blank paper he began to write in his perfect hand. Beginning was simple; he apologised for not writing sooner, asked about Eric's friends and family, answered Eric's questions. After that, he found it hard to continue. Ben simply could not get the scene with Thatcher and Turnbull out of his mind.

It wasn't jealousy, or at least not jealousy that Turnbull seemed to have succeeded with Thatcher where he had failed. His jealousy stemmed from the knowledge that his subordinate had found what he himself longed for, what he was beginning to think he could never have again.

Closing his eyes, he thought of Phil McKenzie and how she had looked the last time he saw her. With no effort he could see her in his bed, naked, eyes heavy lidded with passion, her breasts heaving and sweat sheened. A rush of heat went to his groin and he dropped one hand below his desk to press against the erection that swelled in his jodhpurs, all at once willing it away and reveling in the desire Phil's image still aroused in him.

"It's no good having thoughts like that if you don't plan to do anything about them, Son."

Ben's eyes shot open in shock as his father emerged from the closet opposite him. Could his father see into his mind, read his thoughts?

"Dad! It really is disconcerting when you appear with no warning." Ben fumbled with papers on his desk, as if to cover the fact that he hadn't been working.

Bob Fraser settled onto the edge of Ben's desk, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "So you didn't know about Thatcher and Turnbull, eh?" He leaned close, a strange grin on his face. "Jealous?"

Still unsettled by being caught whilst engaging in lascivious thoughts, Ben flushed and avoided his father's knowing eyes.

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

Bob waved a finger at him. "Two reasons, Son. First of all, there was a time when you and Thatcher had a thing going, I seem to recall."

"A thing, Dad?" Ben let his indignation cover his embarrassment. "You're starting to sound like Cat. There was never anything between Inspector Thatcher and I."

"Phooey!" Bob Fraser, cried, sliding off the desk and crossing to the window. "Anyway, it's a moot point now, isn't it? Nice cottage, by the way. Much better than that dreadful apartment ...."

"I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my living arrangements or any thing I had with Inspector Thatcher and I'm not saying I did," he defended, before Bob could comment. "You said there were two reasons to my jealousy, not that I'm admitting I am jealous about anything. Make your point, Dad."

Bob Fraser regarded his son with raised eyebrows. "Mmm, we are in a mood, aren't we?"

"Dad!"

The older Mountie held up his hands. "OK, OK. I know when I'm not wanted." He crossed the room and laid a hand on the closet door. "I just wanted to point out that if you play your cards right you won't have to sit here at your desk thinking thoughts like you were thinking instead of taking it out on Constable Turnbull. Now I know the boy's an idiot, but he got lucky. He's in love. That's the problem, isn't it?"

"I don't have a problem."

Bob opened the door to the closet and stepped through the opening. "Well, there you go, Son. If you don't think you have a problem, I guess you don't have a problem. Still," the older Mountie mused, pulling the door closed behind him, "if you did, I would have to say that you only have yourself to blame. Run with the tide, Benton."

Ben stared at the closet door, listening to his father move around on the other side, muttering to himself. What his father had said was true. He was jealous that Turnbull was happily in love and that the love seemed to be returned. It was also true that he only had himself to blame for his predicament. But could he run with the tide? He could not say, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the time was coming when he would have his answer.

Phil McKenzie ran a nervous glance around the Moose Jaw RCMP depot. She didn't know if Cat would even be there this late in the afternoon. Finally, she saw Cat through the glass wall of her office and moved towards her.

At exactly the same moment, Cat looked up from the last of her filing and caught sight of the familiar figure looking her way. Already unsettled by an odd phone call from Buck Frobisher earlier in the day, something about Phil's expression made her spring from her chair. She quickly rounded her desk and bounded out to the main office before any of her subordinates could announce her visitor.

Phil gave a watery smile and Cat's heart pounded. Why, after months of silence was she here, unannounced? She knew there could only be one answer. The look on Phil's face said it all. Phil had made the decision to tell Ben about his daughter.

Cat's hand flew to her throat. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, the power of sensible speech leaving with her breath. What she had anticipated for months, with more than a little dread, had finally happened and there was worse to come.

The two women gravitated towards each other. Cat held out her arms and Phil stepped into the hug, immediately bursting into tears. Cat rocked her in the sudden silence of the Depot, some small part of her brain registering that her staff had all averted their eyes. She made a mental note to thank them. But for now she needed to get Phil home.

"Thanks for handling my unexpected visit so well," Phil said, settling against Cat's ample sofa and sipping the hot chocolate the other woman had pressed on her as soon as they had arrived home. "I'm sorry I fell apart like that."

"Hey, don't even think about it," Cat answered, nestling into the cushions at the other end of the sofa. "After years of Ben and Becka turning up here whenever it takes their fancy, I'm immune ... " her voice trailed off when she saw the startled look on Phil's face. "Sorry, you don't need me reminding you about Ben right now."

Phil tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, her restless movements belying her words. "It's fine. I guess I have to deal with it, don't I? I sent the letters to Ben, in a few days he'll know about Lindy and then I have to see him. If I wanted to avoid talking about Ben, I wouldn't have come here, Cat."

Cat narrowed her eyes and fixed Phil in place. "What do you mean?" A chill ran through her and she found herself thinking about a conversation with Ben ten years earlier. "Sent what letters?"

Flushing slightly under Cat's strong gaze, Phil hastily explained the series of letters she had written all those years ago and how she had forwarded them to Ben with the request that he read them in order.

"What is it with you and Ben? I can't believe you two!" Cat leapt to her feet, unseating cats and causing them to dash for cover under the coffee table. "When Ben told me he'd broken your engagement by mail I damn near tore him a new one and now you've told him about Lindy in a fucking letter!" She shoved an errant lock of hair off her face and spun to look at Phil. "I told him he was a coward then and I say the same to you now. When are you two going to deal with this like a pair of adults?"

Determined not to be intimidated, Phil rose from the sofa and stood towering over Cat. "Well I'd say Ben and I are pretty evenly matched in the grand scheme of things. What you said to him is true for me. I'm a coward, too, and the only way I could tell him this news was in a letter. He devastated my life with one letter and now I'm going to hurt him in a similar way. There's no malice in it, Cat, just sheer cowardice. And as for acting like adults, the time will come when Ben and I deal with this face to face but right now I don't want to think about that."

Cat and Phil stared at each other, the heat of the moment slowly dissipating. "So why did you come here?" Cat asked eventually. Phil sat down and stretched her legs along the length of the sofa then reached for her abandoned hot chocolate before answering.

"I honestly don't know." She shrugged and answered quietly, "I just found myself suddenly throwing stuff in a pack and driving to the airport." She stared into her mug for long moments, then looked up and fixed Cat with her soft brown eyes. "I guess I needed to be with someone who understood."

Settling back onto the sofa beside Phil, Cat reached over and squeezed Phil's hand. "But what about your family? Lloyd?"

Sighing softly, Phil said, "They get too worried about me. They forget that this is happening to Ben, too. I know you understand how worried I am for him."

Cat nodded agreement. She had feared this moment ever since she first learned of Ben's child. "Worried isn't the word for it."

Phil drained her hot chocolate and set the empty mug down on the coffee table. "But we can't do anything about it tonight." With false bravado she clapped her hands together. "Why don't we get into that well stocked kitchen of yours and see what we can rustle up for dinner?"

Cat grinned. "Good idea."

"No, Diefenbaker, cheese and bacon scrolls do not constitute a healthy meal," Ben told his wolf as he whined at the bakery they were passing. "Just because a pastry is savoury does not mean it's good for you."

The wolf said nothing, but moved away slightly from his human, hoping the distance showed his displeasure.

"Sulk all you want, mister," Ben continued, regardless of his lupine companion's mood. "I've told you that so long as you continue guilt tripping Stan into feeding you sweets, I will ensure that all your other meals are nutritionally balanced."

For the next few minutes, Mountie and wolf walked in silence, heading for the one diner in Chicago where Ben knew he good get a large bowl of rabbit and vegetable stew for both of them. The fact that it was the exact opposite direction to Phil McKenzie's building was irrelevant.

A short while later Dief made a sound that could have been considered haughty.

"No I am not jealous of your friendship with Stan. On the contrary, I am pleased to see that you're finding other companions," Ben said, tilting his head to look at Dief.

Almost immediately, Dief cocked his head to one side and dashed across the street.

"Oh dear!" Ben cried, following after him, certain that the wolf was on the trail of a hot dog vendor or some other food source. It took him only a second to locate Dief and he shook his head in dismay when he saw the source of the lupine's interest. Fifty metres ahead of him Stan Kowalski was disappearing into a cosy Italian trattoria, one hand encircling the neck of a bottle of Chianti. Stan obviously did not see Diefenbaker and the door swung closed behind him, leaving the wolf on the street peering through the glass. By the time Ben reached the restaurant, Dief's eyes were fixed firmly on the scene on the other side of the glass.

"Pay and pay and pay," Ben muttered, realising those words passed his lips far too often these days. "Diefenbaker! I think you should leave Stan to eat his dinner in peace. He probably has a date and I don't think we should disturb him."

Drawing alongside the wolf Ben encouraged him to leave, but Dief was not to be deterred. Ben reached for the wolf's muzzle, pulling it to face him so he could speak directly. Dief pulled his head away and looked back to the restaurant.

"OK, OK, you win." A note of exasperation crept into his voice. "You can have a slice of pie for dessert."

Still Diefenbaker did not pull his attention away from the restaurant. Puzzled, Ben ran a thumb over his eyebrow and after a moment, let his eyes drift to the interior of the restaurant to see what held Dief so entranced.

"Oh," he said, louder than he had intended. "Oh, I see." He stepped back into the shadows, heart pounding. Inside the trattoria, Stan Kowalski leaned in close and nuzzled Francesca Vecchio's neck while the waiter opened the bottle of red wine.

Outside, on the street, Ben backed away from the restaurant, not caring if Diefenbaker came or not. The scene in the Italian trattoria had filled him with an ache that he didn't want to think about too closely. It seemed that these days near everything he saw mocked him, taunted him with the reminder of the love he might possibly never have again.

Several hours later when the two women had cooked, eaten and cleaned up, Phil and Cat returned to share the sofa in front of the fire with the cats. "I think I'll have a brandy. Can I get you anything?" Cat pushed off the sofa and crossed to the oak sideboard that was her liquor cabinet.

"Do you have any wine?"

Cat paused in her pouring. "Of course I have wine, but I'm not going to sit here and let you get drunk, Phil. Every time we talk about Ben you drink."

Leaning over the back of the sofa to catch her friend's eye, Phil protested, "No, no, I won't. I don't want to. I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to be able to accept a drink now and again ... without embarrassing myself."

Cat frowned, but reached into the cupboard and pulled forth a bottle of ten year old port that Bob Fraser had given her not long before his death. She thought it a fitting after dinner drink for Phil. She gave a sad smile, silently toasted her departed friend, and poured a small measure of port for Phil, then handed it to her.

"You sure you're OK?" Cat asked, settling back at her end of the sofa, not entirely convinced by Phil's assertion.

Phil smiled warmly. "I'm great, Cat. The soup was great, the fire is great, the company is great ... this is the best I've felt in ages."

Swirling the brandy snifter in one hand and staring into its golden depths, Cat said, "Because you know it's nearly over."

"I guess so," Phil agreed, taking a small sip from her glass. "I'm so used to having this thing with Ben hanging over me that I didn't realise how stressed it made me. It's actually a relief in some ways."

"But you still have to deal with Ben."

"Yes, but that's easy," Phil reassured her friend. "You see, I already know what he's going to feel. I know how much it hurts." Her eyes misted over and she dropped her gaze to the fireplace, staring into the flames. Her voice was soft and low when she continued. "I've had eleven years to deal with it. I've got a head start."

Phil's resigned tone made Cat's heart ache anew. "Oh, Phil ..."

"Don't be worried, Cat. I feel good about this." Phil's smile was strong and heartfelt. "I'll be there to help Ben through this ... if he needs me."

Cat frowned and took a long draught of her brandy, trembling with something akin to fear. Phil was definitely the strongest person she knew. After all, Phil was handling this much better than she herself. She knew this wasn't a night for sadness. Ben and Phil were about to overcome the last hurdle, the last thing that had kept them apart. This was a night for moving on. She gave a smile that matched Phil's and said, "I never told you about the time that Ben told me about you, did I?"

Phil's face softened into a dreamy smile; she remembered how Ben had told her he was looking forward to getting home and telling Cat about their relationship. Back then she had been scared, even jealous, of the woman who had played such a big part in his life. But now she was very fond of her, now Cat was attached to her in so many ways.

"That first time I was here, Cat, I didn't much want to hear about things like that, you may recall."

Cat grinned and leaned back against the voluminous cushions of the sofa. "I remember." She twisted the brandy snifter in her hand and smiled into the contents. "But things have changed a little since then."

Phil chuckled. "You can say that again." She settled back against the cushions and nudged her friend with her foot, smiling warmly. "So tell me now. I know you want to." Somehow Phil knew that hearing this story now was something she wanted. It might be the reason she came to Canada. It might ease her heart the way she needed it to.

Cat sipped her brandy and licked her lips before she began. "It was near the end of 1985. I remember because I was stationed up in Aklavik over a bad winter and you don't forget times like that."

WINTER 1985

The tiny tavern was dark and cosy as Cat stepped inside, shaking the snow from her boots. She greeted most of the men there by name as she strode across the floor to take her place at the bar, not at all bothered by the fact that she was the only woman there.

"Finished work, Cathy?" The sturdy Inuit man behind the bar asked, sliding a glass onto the bar in front of her.

"Yeah, Leon. Pretty quiet day." She sat down, nodding as he gestured with a bottle, then poured a good measure.

"Some guy was in here looking for you earlier." Leon said, in the laconic tone common to his people. "Asking directions to your place."

Cat sipped at the scotch just poured and pulled a face. It was rough stuff, but in a remote place like this, you took what you could get. "Wasn't one of the Arkloq boys was it?" She had taken their father to Inuvik for medical treatment the day before and she knew they would be looking for news of him soon.

"No." Leon pushed off the bar and served another customer. "Some crazy white guy."

Cat laughed at Leon's comment. It seemed that the locals had chosen to forget she, too, was white. It must be the red heart that Calvin Sunsinger told her she had.

"Came on a dog sled. Can you believe it?" He asked of the man he was serving.

Several people chuckled in response and shook their heads. No one used dog sleds any more. "Anyways, he said he was a Mountie so I sent him up to your place."

Cat's eyebrows shot up. "A dog sled? A Mountie? What did he look like?"

Leon shrugged. "Tall, I guess. Dunno, really."

Cat slid off her stool and swallowed the rest of her drink. She reached into her pocket and tossed a five-dollar bill on the bar. "Keep the change."

As she dashed to the door, Leon called to her. "You want one of us should come up with you?"

"It's OK, Leon, I know this guy."

Cat pulled into the RCMP compound and parked her jeep in the garage, then dashed across the snow to her cabin. Ben opened the door just as she stepped onto the verandah. He swept her into a tight hug before she could even speak.

"It's good to see you, Ben," she said when he finally released her.

"Ah, Cat, it's great to see you, too," he said, pulling her into the warmth of the cabin and helping her out of her bulky parka.

"Thanks for lighting the fire," she gestured towards the blaze in the hearth and the cat that sat before it. "Laura thanks you, too, I'm sure."

"You're both welcome."

Cat stared at the big man before her as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You OK?" Although accustomed to these unannounced visits, there was something about his stance that unnerved her, something about his behaviour that wasn't right.

"Never better," he announced, almost standing at attention. "Come sit down, I've made some soup."

"Soup, Ben?" she smiled. "You sure know the way to a girl's heart."

He laughed heartily and pushed Cat towards the sofa while he prepared the simple meal for her.

When they had eaten and were once again seated in front of the fire, Ben took her hand and held it between his two, a grave look on his face. "The most wonderful thing has happened."

"I can see, you've hardly stopped smiling since I got home. What is it? Promotion?" Ben shook his head. "Transfer?" She frowned as he shook his head again, trying to think of something else that would excite Ben Fraser. "You cracked a big case?"

Ben shook his head and smiled even wider. "You'll never guess..."

"Oh, stop teasing me, Ben. You know I hate suspense. Just tell me."

"What is the last thing you thought would happen to me in Colorado?" He tried his best to look enigmatic, but the smile on his face would not stop.

Cat frowned, trying to come up with something. She wanted to ask if he got laid, but knew that was a little too blunt for Ben.

"Are you in love?" she asked, a little tentatively.

"Oh yes," he gushed. "I've met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with." Ben covered their joined hands with his free one and smiled warmly.

"I am in love, Cat, just like you always said."

Cat squeezed Ben's hand and shifted closer. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you. Tell me more. Who is this lucky person?"

Ben sat up straight and lifted his head proudly. "Philippe McKenzie. We met in Colorado."

Cat's mouth opened and closed several times before she could speak. She raised a hand to her throat. "Philip McKenzie? You're in love with a guy?" She swallowed. "Not that it's a problem, Ben. If you're happy with another man, I don't care. I mean, you know me well enough to know that this isn't an issue for me, it's just that I didn't expect.... I mean...oh god...I never suspected...after all we...and you seem... well I guess.... after all the things we did.....oh my..." Cat stopped when Ben started to laugh.

"Oh, Cat, I wish you could see the look on your face."

"What's so funny?" She frowned at him. "You come out to me, after all this time, and you're laughing about it! Who are you and what have you done with Ben Fraser?"

Ben threw back his head and laughed harder, until tears ran down his face. "I couldn't help myself." He wiped his eyes. "I can assure you that Phil McKenzie is very definitely, 100%, no mistake about it, all woman."

"But, Ben, the name? Philip?"

"It's P.H.I.L.I.P.P.E. All the McKenzie children have names like that. Seems their father had a penchant for Civil War generals."

"Who could saddle a little girl with a name like that? I wouldn't even call my dog something like that."

"It would be just like naming a pet after a Prime Minister."

Cat laughed. "I can just see it now, 'here Trudeau, come get your dinner'."

Phil laughed so hard tears ran down her face. "You thought Ben was in love with a guy? That's so funny."

Cat gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Well, I never knew what to expect from Ben. I learned a long time ago that nothing is impossible with him."

Phil suddenly turned serious. "Well, if I had been a guy at least we wouldn't have had to worry about what happens when Ben gets the letters."

"Don't even say that, Phil. I know you don't regret bringing Lindy into the world."

She brightened visibly. "No, I don't. Not for one second."

"Good. Now finish your port and put some clothes on. We're going for a walk before bed tonight."

Wrapped snugly against the cold the two women stepped off the back verandah and into the darkness. They strolled past Cat's vegetable patch and Ben's columbine patch, both now covered in a heavy layer of mulch to protect them over winter. For a moment Cat thought of telling Phil about the columbines, but changed her mind. In time, Phil would know.

They didn't speak. Phil followed Cat to the edge of the cleared paddock that made up her back yard and into the forest beyond. After they had walked for about twenty metres she wondered how far they would walk. She asked the other woman.

"I just want to take you up here to a place I know. I come here sometimes when I need to think."

Phil accepted the explanation and followed her friend as the land started to slope upwards. They climbed for another twenty or thirty metres before coming to a large flat sandstone rock that jutted out from the side of the slope. By climbing up onto it, they could sit with legs dangling over the edge, suspended in the cold November night air. Between the trees, the lights of Cat's old rambling house could be seen.

"So this is your land?" Phil asked, settling into a comfortable position and dangling her legs over the side of the chilled rock.

"Uh huh." Cat's voice sounded dreamy as she stared into the distance.

"It's great. I can see why you come up here." She looked around, peering into the distance to see how far away Cat's neighbours were. "How much land do you have?"

"Thirty hectares."

"Around a hundred acres?"

Cat nodded. "Only a small part is cleared, as you can see. It's mostly forest." She turned and looked at Phil. "When I was a kid I used to come up here to get away from my parents. It was my secret place. The first person I ever brought up here was Jimmy Sunsinger."

"Your friend who owns the lumber yard?"

Cat nodded. "He was my first boyfriend. The funny thing is, he's related to Lloyd. Jimmy's grandfather was Emily's uncle."

A pang of jealousy ran through Phil. This was yet another thing that bound Cat and Lloyd together and mocked her connection to Ben. "Small world," she muttered, not realising she spoke aloud.

Cat laughed softly. "When Ben and I were first ... together ... we sometimes used to come up here at night. Since then he's found other places on the property that are his secret places. He never told me where they are maybe he'll show you."

A flutter of hope blossomed in Phil's heart. She imagined Ben leading her up the slope and taking her to his secret place making love to her in his secret place. Would that ever happen? For once she began to feel that it might. As quickly as the hope blossomed it faded again, drowned in the mire of her insecurity. Could she trust him? Could she let go of the past enough to give him the chance? And there were other things. What if he couldn't forgive her for not telling him about Lindy? What if his pain made him turn away from her? Worse still, what if his pain made him look once again to the feelings that Victoria had awakened in him?

From out of nowhere came a question Phil had never realised she needed an answer to. But the words formed in her head and she had no option but to say them. "There's one thing I need to know, Cat."

Alarmed by the change in Phil's tone, Cat faced her friend. "Anything, Phil. You can ask me anything."

"It's about Victoria." Saying the woman's name aloud made Phil suddenly nervous. But why? "You're the only one who knew Ben when he ... when ... when he was ... "

"Obsessed," Cat supplied.

"When he was ... whatever ... I just need to know the truth. Is it over? Has Ben really let go?"

Cat stared at her friend, her whole body trembling with the ramifications of what Phil asked. When she spoke the drifty, dreamy quality her other responses had held was gone. Her voice was firm and harsh.

"Oh, Phil," she ground out, "it's so over, I can't begin to tell you. It's been over for a long, long time. Since she framed Ben and Ray, since she shot Dief, since Ray nearly lost his house. I don't know how to make it any plainer. It's over. It's done. Ben is in love with you. So much so that it sort of scares me sometimes. He doesn't talk about it, but he doesn't need to."

Although Cat was vehement, something deep inside Phil's mind didn't really believe it. She had no way of knowing how the knowledge of his daughter would make Ben react. Could his anguish drive him back to the arms of the very woman who had caused this situation in the first place? If push came to shove would Ben prove to be the coward a part of her wanted to believe him to be? Would he turn away from her and go looking for Victoria? Phil shuddered, her mind finally accepting a fear that she had denied so far.

They sat in silence for some time, the chill from the rock finally seeping through Phil's clothes. She was just about to say something when Cat fumbled in her pocket and pulled out two small chocolate bars. She handed one to Phil and she ate it in three bites, relishing the rich, smooth taste on her tongue.

Before the taste had faded from Phil's lips, Cat shot to her feet. "My ass is frozen. Let's go back."

Phil followed silently, wondering why Cat had brought her out here. It didn't occur to her until later exactly how much the other woman was worried for Ben and how his knowledge of his long dead child would affect her.

Stan was already at his desk when Ray arrived the next morning. He snorted and gave his partner a once over. The blonde detective was clean-shaven and dressed in a neat black turtleneck sweater with black flannel pants. 'Not his usual getup', Ray noted as he slipped out of his grey cashmere overcoat and mumbled a greeting at his colleague. The half empty coffee cup and empty sandwich wrapper on the desk said Stan had been there for some time and Ray wondered, without really caring, why his usually tardy partner was early this morning.

"You wet the bed, Kowalski?" he asked, leaning over his desk and snagging the coffee cup on the far side.

Stan looked up at him and smiled brilliantly, his eyes clear and bright. "Nah, just woke up feeling real good and thought I'd come in and move some of this paperwork."

"Jee sus," Ray intoned, dropping his head into his hands. "What's with the Dean Martin festival?"

The whistling stopped and Stan paused in his typing. "You know he was Italian?"

"And this is relevant because ... ?"

Stan shrugged, but did not look away from his computer screen. "Just saying. Not like it means nothing. I was just saying ... "

"Well stop, I got work to do over here and you're starting to annoy me."

Stan chuckled and started to type again. "You know what your problem is, Vecchio?"

"Besides you?"

Stan spun his seat around and faced his partner. "Nothing you can say is going to wreck my day, Raymondo, nothing at all ..."

"You keep calling me that and I'm going to wreck that pretty boy face of yours."

Leaning back in his chair, Stan swung a leg onto the edge of his desk, a cat that got the canary smile making his eyes impossibly bright. "What you need, Detective Vecchio is to stop hanging out with the Mountie so much and get yourself a woman. Then, you might come to work with a smile on your face instead of biting everyone's fucking head off."

Ray pushed his chair back, raised his arms and interwove his fingers behind his head, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "So that's what this is about. Kowalski got laid. Now you got a raise I guess you can afford it."

Stan said nothing. He swung his leg down and leaned toward Ray, the muscles in his jaw working. He didn't appreciate the implication in Ray's statement. Several silent minutes passed before he could speak without ripping Ray's head off.

"You don't know shit, Vecchio," Stan said, in a low, firm voice. "It ain't nothing like that. It's so far away from that you ain't never going to know what it is I got going on. This is for real, man, but I guess you ain't got enough class to know what that is." Stan glared for a moment and then turned back to his computer. Ray's cocky retort died on his lips. He recognised a man in love and he knew he had just trodden on sacred ground. One more word from him and Kowalski would reach across the desk and strangle him, no questions asked. This was serious.

"Hey, Kowalski," Ray said a few seconds later, "sorry, man, I was just having a bit of fun."

"S'OK, Vecchio," Stan answered in his usual, easygoing tone, "Like I said, nothing is going to wreck my day." He began to whistle again.

Ray returned to his work, a part of his mind continuing to listen to his partner's contented whistling. 'So the Polack got a woman', he said to himself, just a little jealous that someone like his partner could have success where he himself had failed.

Before he knew it, his thoughts drifted to his own miserable love life. It wasn't that long ago that he had sat at this same desk, whistling carefree love songs just like Stan Kowalski. It wasn't the happiest day of his life to start with and now his mood suddenly plummeted. He had worked hard at not thinking about Casey Sinclair but now his mind was filled with her and that made him even more pissed at his partner than usual.

He looked over at Stan, the signs of a man in love so clear that they may as well been neon lit. 'It's not fair', he said to himself, 'it's just not fucking fair'. His eyes unexpectedly filled and his vision blurred. 'Not the time or place, Vecchio,' he berated, even as he launched himself from his chair in the direction of the men's room.

Locked in the safety of the end stall, Ray let his tears come, flowing freely down his cheeks, he didn't try to stop them. When they slowed, he pulled forth his wallet from the breast pocket of his charcoal Armani suit and opened it, reaching blindly for the photograph he had sworn never to look at again.

The smiling grey eyes of Casey Sinclair stared up at him, making his heart ache anew. He made a sound half way between a whimper and a growl and tucked the photo back into his wallet, then jammed the wallet back into his pocket. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and willed the tears to stop.

'I did this', he reminded himself. 'It was my choice. I walked away, I have to live with this.'

Lurching out of the stall, Ray bent over the nearest sink and splashed cold water on his face. Lifting his head he looked at his reflection in the mirror. As he looked at his haunted eyes, something his grandmother had once said when he was a teenager suddenly came back to him.

"Se non potete funzionare con la marea avete soltanto voi stessi incolpare di," she had repeated to him many, many times.

"If you can't run with the tide, you've got yourself to blame," he told his reflection, then reached for a paper towel to dry his face.

It was snowing lightly when Sergeant Buck Frobisher pulled his RCMP jeep into the carpark of the Kitimat depot. He didn't really like this new job, but he knew it was the best choice of what was turning out to be an increasing limited selection. Too old now and too close to retirement for the rigorous fieldwork he preferred, Buck had fought long and hard to avoid a desk job. Out of respect for all his achievements over the years, in the end the RCMP had come up with this new role Field Duty Supervisor. Given all his glorious exploits in the past, it wasn't much of a job, but Buck decided to make the most of it.

It was his task to travel to various outposts and depots to visit RCMP officers who had suffered trauma as a result of their work; men and women who had lost partners or shot criminals in the line of duty. These men and women were usually transferred to quieter and often more remote posts and it was Buck's job now to visit them regularly and monitor their work, in the hope of eventually returning them to a more active position. The officer he had come to Kitimat to see was a special case and not just because of her involvement with the infamous Soldier organization.

Buck Frobisher had known Rebecca Fraser all her life. He had changed her diapers and bounced her on his knee when she was a baby. Her father had been his best friend. He had known and loved the whole Fraser family for a long time, so it was with a strange mix of concern and fear he strode into the

Kitimat RCMP depot looking for Constable Rebecca Fraser.

From the coffee room where she was sharing morning tea with a colleague, Becka heard a door hit a wall, a body stumble against a desk, a crash of glass and a mumbled formal apology in a voice she would recognise anywhere. Her colleague suddenly forgotten, Becka set her mug down on the coffee room table and dashed into the main office in time to see Buck and one of her colleagues collecting broken glass from the floor.

"Buck!"

The tall Mountie looked up guiltily, a blush stealing over his still handsome face as he rose, kicking the last shards of glass under the desk.

"Rebecca Fraser, look at you!" He held out his arms and the young woman walked into his embrace, pressing her face against his heavy parka. "You look more like your mother every day."

Becka knew Buck had once carried a torch for her mother, although she knew he would be devastated if he ever found out. She pulled back and smiled up at him, pleased to see a familiar face in the place she was beginning to dislike so much.

"So what brings you up here?"

Buck dropped his arms from Becka's shoulders and began fiddling nervously with his zipper. He mumbled something she couldn't quite make out.

"What's that?"

"I'm the new Field Duty Supervisor," he said, in a stage whisper.

The smile fell from Becka's eyes and she took a step back, regarding him with cold, hard eyes. "So you're my new shrink?"

Buck held his hands up in surrender. "I'm a police officer, Rebecca, nothing more."

Becka's eyes narrowed. "But you've come to check up on me."

Her eyes filled with tears and she found she could no longer meet Buck's gaze. It infuriated her that the RCMP continued to treat her this way. After all she had done to bring down the Soldiers and all she had suffered in the name of justice, the RCMP still treated her as though she was the criminal. And now they had sent a family friend to check up on her and report as to the current level of her instability. It just wasn't fair. She knew she was reacting a little too strongly, but ever since her refusal of TJ's proposal she had been more emotional than normal. She didn't care that everyone in the office was now staring at her.

"Rebecca ... " Buck reached for her. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Before she could respond, her superior officer, Staff Sergeant Sharp appeared, a smarmy smile on his face as he pranced across the depot towards them.

"Sergeant Frobisher, you're early," he said, thrusting his right hand at Buck.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

Buck shook the other man's hand and took an instant dislike to him. Cocking his head a little defiantly he said, "That could possibly be because I broke the speed limit for the last 150km ... funny thing was, I didn't see one of your officers anywhere out there. By rights I should have at least two speeding tickets."

Sergeant Sharp coloured slightly. "We don't have enough officers to patrol all the roads. Perhaps if they listened to me in Ottawa, I might get more staff."

Buck pursed his lips and nodded as he listened, casting his eyes around the room, noting that there were two other RCMP officers, besides Becka, who seemed to be assigned to desk duty. He also noted that they were all women. It seemed his initial reaction to Sergeant Sharp was justified.

Crossing his hands behind him, Buck rocked from toe to heel and spoke in his most authoritative tone. "I'll make sure Head Office is aware of the situation here."

Only Becka heard the note of sarcasm in Buck's voice. She brightened visibly and folded her arms across her chest as she watched the display. She had never taken to Staff Sergeant Sharp and it warmed her heart to know that Buck had seen right through him, too.

Leaning towards Sharp, Buck spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "So, is there somewhere that Constable Fraser and I could speak privately?"

Still puffing from what he arrogantly assumed to be Frobisher's concurrence with his staff situation, Sergeant Sharp gestured the pair towards the interview room.

"Please take all the time you need, Sergeant Frobisher. Constable Fraser is not required for anything at the moment."

Becka raised her eyebrows and Buck slid his gaze over to meet hers, winking quickly. He nodded at Sharp and followed Becka into the interview room.

"Not required for anything," Becka mimicked as soon as the door closed behind them. "I might stand a chance at getting my career back if that bastard wasn't such a goddamn misogynist asshole."

Buck raised an eyebrow at Becka's language but did not comment. Besides, he agreed wholly with her summation of the man. "I couldn't help notice that there are three female officers sitting around and no patrols out on the roads."

Becka snorted and sat down on the table that took up most of the room. "It's always the same. If Sharp could get rid of all the women under his command he'd be a happy man. He's made it clear to all of us that he thinks this is no job for a woman and in particular, it's no job for me."

Buck settled his considerable frame into a small metal chair, some tiny part of his mind still remembering the comment Bob Fraser had made about the size of his rear end. He stared up at the woman on the table in front of him, seeing her not as the tenacious firestorm he had watched grow up, but as a woman wearing defeat. Was it Sharp's doing?

"Why don't you make a complaint?"

"With my past? Come on, Buck, you know they already think I'm crazy. Besides, there's no proof. It's his word against mine." Dropping her head, she stared at her uniform pants as if searching for an answer in the weave of the wool.

"Sometimes I think the RCMP won't rest until it's rid of all the Frasers."

"Maybe I can help ... "

Becka's head snapped up. "What can you do? Your job is to make reports about me and all the others with a 'problem' and see we stay in positions where the RCMP appears to be taking care of us but where we can't get into trouble. I might as well be in prison."

Buck frowned. It shocked him to hear Becka speak so negatively about the RCMP. Rebecca and Benton Fraser had both grown up within the circle of the RCMP and all it had to offer an had never wanted to be anywhere else. Even after all Benton had suffered he still believed his duty was to remain a Mountie. What had made Becka so bitter? Was it more than the business with the Soldiers?

Buck thought back to a conversation he had with Cathy Madden only the day before. He had phoned her to get some off the record word about Becka's state of mind. In answer to his question about what he could expect from Becka, Cat had only told him that Becka was 'looking for something bigger'. At the time he had taken it to mean that Becka was keen to get back to more active duty, to something a bit more solid within the bounds of the RCMP. Now he was not so sure.

"What's this about, Rebecca?" Buck inquired, leaning forward and touching a gentle hand to her knee. "Aren't you happy?"

"Oh, Buck, I'm as happy as I'm going to be here. Even I'm not that stupid to see that this post is the best I'm going to get until I've lived up to the expectations of some desk jockey in Ottawa. It's just that I'm ... alone ... Benny's in Chicago and Cat's in Moose Jaw and ... and ... I'm ... here ... and ... and ... no-one here cares what I have to offer the RCMP." She wanted to tell Buck about TJ. She longed to tell someone that it no longer mattered what the RCMP did with her, she had turned her soul mate away and she wouldn't be happy anywhere.

"Would it help if I recommended it best for you to be transferred closer to family? Maybe I can see if I can get you transferred to Moose Jaw. I know Cathy would love to have you and she won't leave you festering behind a desk."

"Cat's already tried, Buck. Moose Jaw is a Level 2 Risk post. They told her I'm still only to be assigned to Level 4 Risk and that only leaves shit jobs like this or a desk job in the city."

Recognising her bitter disappointment, Buck wanted to do whatever he could to help the daughter of his best friend, the young woman he had known all her life. "Why don't you let me try anyway?"

Becka pursed her lips and slid from the desk. What was there to lose? "Sure, why not? But I won't hold my breath." She walked to the window and leaned against the sill, staring out into the carpark where other police officers came and went.

Buck watched the young woman for a moment, deciding a course of action. He consulted his watch. "What time does your shift end?"

"1600."

"Good! I'm sure Staff Sergeant Sharp won't object if I take you away from here a little early." Buck rose and straightened his jacket. "I think we both need a drink, my girl, and I hope you know where to get one."

Becka turned to face her old friend, a slow smile pulling at her lips. "Buck, you old dog."

"Well, do you know a place? I don't mean one of these namby pamby wine bars, I mean a good, old fashioned bar. A place where a man can be a man."

"Or a woman."

Buck coughed, wondering if Becka's ambiguity was intentional. "Indeed."

"I know just the place."

By the end of the night, Buck had asked Becka all the questions on the list supplied by the Field Morale Office and she had answered dutifully, telling the older Mountie all that she knew the people in Ottawa would want to hear. By the end of the night both of them knew that the report Buck would furnish his superiors contained nothing truthful about what Constable Rebecca Fraser really felt. By the end of the night Buck knew that Becka's discontentment did not necessarily have it's source in the RCMP. What the source was, he couldn't say, but he knew that not even a transfer to Moose Jaw would soothe it.

It was with a great sense of trepidation that Ben pushed open the door to the bullpen and stepped inside. He had neither seen nor spoken to Stan since seeing he and Francesca in the restaurant the night before and he was unsure about what, if anything, to say to the fair-haired detective. In addition there was the problem of Ray. Ben recalled only too well Ray's reaction when he thought that he had slept with Francesca. How would he react to the knowledge of his partner and his sister?

The bullpen was almost empty, save for Lieutenant Welsh, who waved from his office, Elaine Besbriss, who was tidying her desk and preparing to depart and Ray, who sat with his feet propped on his desk reading a newspaper. Ben cast a quick glance at Stan's desk, with its untidy stack of files and scattering of pens. The dark, silent computer screen said the detective was long gone.

Ray looked up from his newspaper. "Benny! You're early. The Dragon Lady give you an early mark?"

The memory of Thatcher and Turnbull still not gone from his mind, Ben inserted a finger between his collar and his throat and flushed a gentle pink.

"Inspector Thatcher was ... not present this evening when I departed. I believe she has ... other engagements."

Ray folded his paper and slapped it down on the desk, swinging his legs down to the floor. He coughed nervously, the image of Thatcher and Turnbull in the Queen's bedroom instantly filling his mind. "Other engagements ..." he said, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Assuming Ray's tone to be one of distaste for his superior officer, Ben hurriedly changed the subject, gesturing towards Stan Kowalski's desk.

"Detective Kowalski seems also to have left a little early."

Ray pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, moving away towards the rack where his coat hung. "Yeah, he leapt out of his chair like a startled gazelle at 6 o'clock. He's got a date." Ray shrugged into his coat, trying hard to ignore his resentment. "Seems like he's got a date every night."

Ben's heart sped up. He hoped his panic didn't show on his face. "Oh," he said, in a voice that was just a little too high, too strained. "Well, I'm sure he's ... that he will ... we must be happy for him, Ray. We must wish him well."

Ray pulled a scarf from the pocket of his coat. He snorted derisively. "My condolences to his date." He laid a hand on Ben's arm and propelled him towards the door. "Ma's cooking angiolotti tonight and you're coming with me and before you say anything, don't. Frannie's got a date and she won't be home till late. She's been out every night this week, so you don't got nothing to worry about."

Ben nodded meekly and let Ray lead him away. He wondered how long it would be before Ray figured it out, how long it would take him to realise that Frannie had a date the exact same nights that Stan had a date.

Ray stopped suddenly in the hall and dashed back into the bullpen. When he returned he had the folded newspaper from his desk.

"Nearly forgot the newspaper. There's an article here I want to read. It's by your old girlfriend."

Ben shook his head, bewildered. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ray."

Ray held the newspaper for him to see. "It's right here. Mackenzie King." He slapped the paper with the back of his left hand. "It's something about rich American con men unloading stolen goods in third world countries container loads of stolen video cameras, car radios, cellphones, that sort of junk."

"She was never my girlfriend, Ray."

Rolling his eyes, Ray tugged at his sleeve again. "Come on, let's get going." He stalked off down the corridor towards the stairs.

Ben did not move. "There was nothing between Mackenzie King and I, Ray."

Ray turned and looked back at his companion. "Not for want of her trying though, Benny."

"Ray!"

"OK, sorry. Now come on, I'm hungry." He waited until Ben joined him and then the two men continued down the stairs. "You got to admit, though, Benny, she writes a good story."

Ben nodded his agreement. "Yes, she is a ... persistent ... journalist."

"I mean, where the hell does she get these ideas?" Ray waved the paper again. "Container loads of stolen goods shipped to third world countries? It's all bullshit, but she almost makes me believe it."

"I agree. Miss King is not averse to putting a spin on her stories." But even as the words were out of his mouth, Ben's mind was working. Mackenzie King was like a dog with a bone and had gotten on the wrong side of a lot of people, Ray included, but she was rarely wrong. Was there something to her story?

When Phil rose the next morning, Cat was already in the kitchen eating toast for breakfast.

"You're up early. Do you have to work?"

Cat's head whipped around. So lost in her thoughts was she that she had not heard Phil approach. "No. I just couldn't sleep, so I thought I might as well get up. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No. I didn't even know you were awake. I decided to get up because I couldn't sleep either."

Rising to her feet, Cat nudged Bella off one of the chairs on her way to pour Phil some coffee. Phil settled into the chair as Cat placed a large red mug in front of her and gestured with a milk carton. Phil nodded and Cat poured a little into the mug and returned the carton to the fridge.

"I'm not surprised you couldn't sleep," Cat told her friend as she pulled bread from the fridge and tucked it into the toaster. She had lain awake much of the night worrying about how Ben would react when he received Phil's series of letters.

Phil reached for the sugar bowl and stirred a spoonful into her coffee. "But it might surprise you to know that I wasn't thinking about what you think I was thinking about."

Cat arched her eyebrow but continued with making breakfast.

Reaching for the butter dish, Phil sighed. "We're doing too well. We just can't keep up with the work." She spread a little butter on her toast and looked up as Cat offered her a jar of strawberry jam. "I lost a lot of time between leading the Canyon trip and Martin's kidnapping and TJ's hospital stay and all that happened after that. We've done deals with a major stockbroking firm and two firms of lawyers. Clients are asking for extras and I don't have the staff." She spread some jam on her toast. "I've advertised but the people that have responded weren't ... ah, didn't have ... they just weren't right!"

Cat raised an eyebrow. "Extras? What sort of extras." She sat down opposite Phil and picked up her own, now cold, toast, a cheeky smile on her lips. "Surely you're not providing brothel facilities as well?"

Phil smiled around a mouthful of toast. "Now that I could probably do." She chewed a few times and swallowed. "I've been asked to add a climbing and rappelling leg and possibly a diving or swimming leg."

"You've got a marine biologist on staff, Phil."

Phil nodded agreement, swallowing another mouthful of toast. "But no climb leader."

"But you climb. Surely you could get a leader's ticket?"

"I would love to do it, but I've had one too many broken bones and sprains to be really confident these days. I'd be responsible for other people's lives, Cat. Besides, I just can't spare the time. I've avoided the admin side of BakTrak for months now and I really need to get a handle on it again."

"Maybe you need an assistant?"

"I've already thought of that. I'm hoping to employ Trevor."

"Casey's son? He's a bright young man. He'll be an asset to BakTrak."

Phil nodded. "But it still leaves me short a climb leader." A crafty smile spread across Phil's face and she stared across the table at Cat. "What about you, Cat? Can I convince you to give up your cushy RCMP job and come work for BakTrak? You wouldn't even need to leave here. I could just fly you down whenever I needed you."

Cat stared at her friend, unsure for a moment if the offer was in jest. "I almost believed you there for a second, Phil." She pushed her toast plate aside and rested her elbows on the table. "And anyway, my climbing skills are pretty rudimentary. I learned the basics to get into the RCMP and I dutifully do all the refresher courses they send me on but ... let's just say that if you want someone to drop half your climbers off a cliff, I'm your woman."

Laughing, Phil said, "I guess I can't afford to employ you and pay all the lawsuits. But if you think of anyone ... after all I did so well out of the last friend you sent me."

"Mark's a good guy."

"One of the best. I just need a climber to match."

"If I think of anyone, you'll be the first to know."

It was a slightly hungover Buck Frobisher who visited the Kitimat RCMP Depot to inform Staff Sergeant Sharp that he had all he needed and would be moving on to his next destination. Sergeant Sharp reminded Buck that he had promised to report on his staff situation. Buck smiled and told Sharp that he would, indeed, report his staff situation to his superiors. Sharp shook Buck's hand vigorously and thanked him.

Becka leaned against Buck's jeep and waited for him to emerge from the depths of the Depot. She had drunk far less than Buck but she still felt a little seedy, although some of that could be attributed to her depressed state of mind and inability to sleep. She closed her eyes and waited. Before long she heard his steps crunching on the path toward her. Opening her eyes she watched him zipping up his parka as he strode down the newly cleared path that ran from the building to the carpark.

"You're just like your father, Rebecca Fraser," he told her as he neared. "He would have preferred to wait out in here in the snow rather than be in there with that jerk."

Becka didn't need to ask which jerk Buck meant. "Got all you need?" she asked, pointing with her chin to the leather briefcase slung over Buck's shoulder.

"I've got my report, Becka, but you and I both know it's so much caribou shit."

Becka nodded. "You've known me all my life, Buck. Do you think I'm a fuck up?"

"You're a Fraser." Buck let the sentence hang between them, as if it explained all.

"They won't send you to Chicago to be with Benton," Buck said a moment later, "but I'll recommend that they at least transfer you closer to Moose Jaw, if that helps."

Becka tucked her hands into her armpits. She felt suddenly cold. "Thanks, Buck, I appreciate it."

Wordlessly, Buck took her into his arms and hugged her. After their night in the bar and all she had deliberately not told him, he was worried for her. But she was a Fraser and he knew, from experience, there was little point in pressing her.

They made their farewells and he climbed into his jeep while Becka waited in the snow. He started the engine and waved through the window. As he was about to drive away, he stopped and wound down the window. Becka stepped closer and rested a hand on the side of the car, leaning close to hear what Buck had stopped to say.

Buck covered Becka's smaller hand with his and said the words he thought would never pass his lips.

"There's more to life than the RCMP, Becka, maybe you should check it out?"

Becka held Buck's gaze long enough to realise that he was serious. She nodded silently and then backed away from the jeep. Buck wound up the window, waved again and drove away, leaving Becka standing in the snow that was melting in the morning sun. Neither of them knew it then, but by the time Buck's report hit the desk of the Morale Office, Becka would have already taken his advice.

"It doesn't look like this rain will stop any time soon," Ben told Diefenbaker as he put away his breakfast dishes and tidied the kitchen.

The wolf made a disgusted sound and moved off in the direction of the bedroom.

Ben shook his head and closed the cupboard where he kept his china, then followed the path Dief had taken. It didn't surprise him to find the wolf already curled up in the middle of his bed with his back to the door. His lupine companion had not spoken to him since he returned home last night smelling of Mrs Vecchio's cooking and with no doggy bag. It seemed, he thought, that the wolf had no shame.

"Stay here all then day, mister, see if I care. You know we have a school visit scheduled for this morning and if you stay here and sulk you won't get any of the snacks you usually get from the children."

There was no reply from the bed. Dief's body rose and fell evenly in feigned sleep. Ben shook his head again and crossed to the closet, pulling forth his rain slicker and Stetson. He called a farewell to his pet and then left.

'It's my fault,' he told himself as he donned his rain gear and stepped outside, 'I did this to him, I made him soft, I have to learn to live with it.'

When the first, heavy drops of rain began to fall on him, Ben shuddered. The day had not gotten off to a good start. A sense of dread settled over him. But it was only the rain, wasn't it?

It took Becka less than twenty four hours after Buck's departure to arrive at her decision. It took her fifteen minutes to write the letter that would seal her fate.

Staff Sergeant Sharp didn't even try to talk her out of it. He accepted her resignation with the comment, "I'll notify Ottawa immediately. You will, of course, be required to work the standard two week notice."

"Of course," she answered.

"I must ask your reasons, Constable Fraser, for official purposes only, you understand."

Becka took a moment to think about an answer, constructing and then dismissing as potentially indictable a full range of responses as she stared at the smug little man behind the desk. In the end she gave him a smug smile of her own and an answer that would confound him for a long time.

"I believe in running with the tide, Sergeant Sharp," she told him, then left his office. It didn't occur to her for two full days that she had no idea where she would go or what she would do.

Wet and cold, but strangely elated by their morning walk on what Cat assured her was her own private park of the lake, Phil headed up the stairs to her room to change clothes. She heard the sound of the radio being switched on in the kitchen and then Cat's off tune humming in accompaniment. She smiled, thankful that she had been welcomed into Cat's unusual household and thankful for the short reprieve from her own thoughts. She had been right to come to Canada.

Phil heard the phone ring, but thought nothing of it. In the day and half she had been in Cat's house the phone seemed to have rung constantly. If it wasn't someone calling about injured wildlife, it was one of what seemed like an endless list of Cat's acquaintances. It never occurred to Phil it might be someone she knew. She continued up the stairs to her room, still grinning with barely concealed amusement at a tale Cat had told her during their morning walk.

Phil knew that Lloyd had fallen from a tree during a visit with Cat earlier in the year, but he had never revealed the details. Cat filled her in, telling her that the fall occurred while he and Ben had been trying to return a raven to its nest. The thought of the two of them together, as friends, filled her with more warmth than she thought possible, but it was Cat's story about how she had caught up with them at the hospital that had her laughing out loud as she perched on the edge of her bed and changed her damp socks for dry. Phil's mirth disappeared, though, when Cat's voice drifted up the stairs as she answered the ringing phone.

Cat hummed along with the music playing on the kitchen radio as she prepared a plate of chicken sandwiches for her and Phil. Their morning walk along the lake had left them both cold, wet and starving hungry, but quietly content. Phil seemed at peace and that made Cat feel good. The coming days would be rough.

When the phone rang she set down her butter knife and reached for it, knowing with every cell in her body what the call would be about. Her caller spoke before she even got her greeting out.

"Cat, it's me."

"Ray," she sat in a stilted voice, her heart thudding suddenly in her chest.

On hearing her tone, Ray knew that she already knew the reason for his call, so his next sentence was completely unnecessary.

"Benny knows about Lindy, Cat."

Cat let out the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and when she spoke her voice was old and tired. "Yes."

"You knew? How ... ? Never mind. I'm in the car outside the Consulate. I just left Benny. I just wanted you to know." His short, choppy sentences broadcast his agitation clearly.

"Ray," she ground out, "please ... " She wanted to ask Ray to look out for Ben, to see that he was safe but she couldn't find the words.

"I will, Cat, I promise. I'll take care of him. I got to ..."

The line disconnected suddenly. With surprising calm, Cat set the phone back in its cradle. When she looked up, Phil was coming down the stairs, the look on her face making it clear that she knew what the phone call was about.

There was no place for half truths now. Cat said what she had to. "He knows, Phil."

Phil pursed her lips and nodded grimly. "I shouldn't be here. I didn't think ... I just came here ... he's going to come, isn't he? Of course he'll come here. I'm so stupid. I have to leave."

"He won't come here. This has nothing to do with me. It's between you and Ben. You're the only person he'll want to see now the only person who understands what he's going through."

"But where does he always run to when he has a problem, Cat?" There was no trace of reproach in Phil's voice, just simple acceptance. "Ben will want to talk to you about this."

Cat let out a snort of a laugh. "Oh, he'll want to talk to me, all right. As soon as he figures out I knew about Lindy ... not so long ago we had a less than pleasant discussion about me not telling him things ... he'll want to talk to me, for sure." Cat shuddered, realising for the first time that her friendship with Ben was about to be put to the ultimate test. "It may be the last time he does talk to me."

"I can't believe that. I know he'll come here. I have to leave." She turned on her heel and raced back up to her room, leaving Cat to stare after her.

When Phil came down the stairs again less than five minutes later, she saw that Cat had not moved. Cat did not seem surprised to see Phil with her pack in hand.

"Are you going home? I think that's a good idea. Go home and wait for Ben. He won't come to me this time. Only you can give him what he needs now. I can't do anything for him. Ray will look out for him until you get there."

With tear filled eyes, Phil dropped her pack and crossed the room, hugging Cat wordlessly. Both women had looked forward to this moment with equal amounts of excitement and dread. Now all they could do was wait until the dust settled.

The house was silent and dark after Phil left. Cat missed the sound of her voice. Although the other women had been there less than two days, Cat had relished her cheerful presence, delighting in the new, less burdened Phil who was beginning to emerge. Cat knew that this was the Phil McKenzie Ben had fallen so deeply in love with all those years ago and not for the first time she wondered how he could ever have let her go. She dismissed that thought. It was ancient history. Things were about to change.

She wasn't tired and she wasn't hungry. But she did need a drink. In the silent darkness, Cat poured herself a large measure of scotch and carried it up to her bedroom. Settling into the window seat she was quickly joined by Bella and Sheila. The two cats vied for space pressed against her and she stroked them in turn until they settled into their favourite sleeping positions. She checked her watch and noted that Phil would be well and truly back Chicago by now. Would Ben be waiting for her?

Cat's heart rate picked up. Phil and Ben were probably together now. For a moment she contemplated calling Ray, but knew there was little point. He would call her if there was anything she needed to know. All she could do was wait. She sipped her scotch and watched the stars in the night sky, sending a silent prayer to the spirits she believed were always listening.

As it turned out, one spirit in particular heard her. In the shadows beyond the circle of light coming from the window, Bob Fraser watched, listening to her thoughts shamelessly.

"Sweet Cathy," he said, smiling at her as she stroked the two cats. "You've done all you can for now. It's time to let someone else take the burden. Benton must deal with this himself."

Caroline Fraser appeared suddenly beside her husband, touching a gentle hand to his arm, smiling first at him and then at the woman in the window seat.

"That's easier said than done. Cathy has loved our son for such a long time, it's second nature for her to be concerned about him. Benton is fortunate to have her in his life. He owes her more than he knows."

Bob smiled at his wife and then looked back at Cat. "She's always been there for him. That's why he must do this alone. He got himself into this situation and he has to deal with the consequences of his actions."

"And if he can't?" Caroline asked, slipping her arm about her husband's waist.

"If he can't ... if he can't ... Benton jumped into this particular river on his own. If he can't run with the tide, well, he only has himself to blame."

 Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance; the McKenzies and friends belong to me; Cat Madden belongs to Carol Trendall and is used with permission. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV, or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

Lyrics from Look After Yourself by Stars used without permission.

Copyright July 2001 by Carol Trendall