Margaret opened her eyes to find the young Mountie observing her. She had drifted to sleep for what seemed like only seconds until she noticed the dark shadows of evening reaching out towards them. As soon as her emerald pupils locked with his blue ones, he looked swiftly away. She smiled slightly and stretched carefully, feeling the pull of dried blood on the deeper scrapes about her body, but at least the throbbing across her skull had eased.

"How are you feeling, Constable?" she inquired.

"I'm fine," he responded.

But the grimace of pain which flickered briefly across his features told her the truth. She was wonderfully perceptive. It was the one trait that had saved her life when Michael had come up behind her. She had quickly accessed his mood and his intentions. She had tried to reason with him, but it was soon apparent he was no different. When she had tried to move past him, he had painfully grabbed her arms, forcing her to twist away. He misinterpreted the action and shoved her roughly in anger. She felt herself go over and screamed his name.

She had slid face down along the cliff wall grasping at any outcropping or branches she could find. It had slowed her descent. God had intervened by placing the outcrop just below her. Michael had no idea she had survived. He was a coward. The Mountie had told her what he overhead before he fell. Michael had turned into a murderer just to save his own skin. Her own face twisted into a grimace of emotional pain and she shoved those thoughts away.

Margaret moved closer to Fraser. "Where does it hurt, Constable?"

Fraser waved his hand. "I'm fine, really."

"I'm a skilled chiropractor, or at least I was before marrying Michael. It's been about two years but I'm sure I still have the touch. May I, please?"

Fraser hesitated, but then relented. He'd try anything. In this state, he was of little use to anyone. If something happened to Ray, they'd be on their own, and he needed to be mobile. He rolled over and felt her pull his shirt up. Cold fingers brushed over his skin and drew a sharp breath from him.

"Painful?" she asked.

"No," he whispered. It was just the sensation of her touch or perhaps it was the damage to the nerves that made his skin so sensitive.

She gave a low whistle at the sight of the entry wound. Even after all this time, it still looked red and horrible. "Nasty," she said quietly. "Line of duty?"

Fraser was silent for a moment; then he answered. "Yes. I was apprehending a . . . criminal . . . I got in the way of friendly fire."

She could hear unspoken volumes in his tone but she didn't press. "I'll be as gentle as I can. Just bear with me a minute." She began applying small amounts of pressure around the bullet. Each finger was felt, and though it hurt, it was not excruciating. Then she found the bullet. A sharp gasp came out. She immediately released her hold.

"Okay, I found it." She laid a soft hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"No problem," he responded quietly, breathing heavily.

Her hands again roamed along his spine and manipulated it gently with pressure, working her way gently towards the injury. "I'm afraid to do too much without knowing more about it's position, but I might be able to relieve some of the spasms." She kneaded the muscles around the wound and Fraser had to admit it felt better. He began to relax.

He must have dozed off, for when he awoke it was beginning to rain. Margaret was gently shaking him.

"It's raining," she said.

Fraser sat up carefully. His eyes widened in surprise. The pain in his back was greatly reduced. He rubbed his back experimentally. "You do remarkable work, Ms. Williamson."

"Thank you, but call me Margaret from now on. I no longer want to carry Michael's name."

"Understood." He gestured for her to get as close to the cliff wall as possible. The temperature was starting to drop. He could feel it through his damp clothes. There was a deep crack in the edge of the overhang. "Get under there," he suggested. "It looks deep enough to shelter you from the rain."

She took a quick glance for spiders and rolled into the crevice, laying as straight as possible. Her shoulders brushed the stone above her. The rain was slanting slightly and still managed to find her left side. It took Fraser only a second to lie down beside her, his back to the weather, shielding her from the onslaught of the rain.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Fraser shook his head. "I'll be fine."

"You say that a lot, you know," she observed.

Fraser smiled thinly. "Because it's true. Why don't you tell me about yourself? What were you doing up here? It'll help pass the time."

She gave a soft laugh that turned quickly bitter. "I grew up here, so it was the logical place to come to get my head together, gather my nerve to challenge Michael. He was so adamant about not getting a divorce. I knew it was going to be a hard battle, I just didn't think it was going to be for life or death. I never realized he would follow me here." She folded her arms and laid her head upon them, her pale face turned towards Fraser.

He could just barely make out her outline in the dimness of the twilight. Her skin was almost translucent and practically glowed within the small crevice. "You seem to be handling this all quite well," Fraser noted.

She shrugged, the movement only bringing a quiet shifting sound in the darkness. "I started suspecting Michael's darker side about a year ago. I kept thinking it was just a phase, that the things I'd heard about him were rumors and lies." Her tone had dropped lower. There was a sadness to her voice.

Fraser felt the pain of his own recent betrayal. "Maybe you just didn't want to believe," he said thinking more of himself.

Margaret was silent a moment, judging his comment against her own feelings. In the end, she knew he was right. "You sound as if you know what I'm talking about."

"I know a little about the darkness of people's souls. To some that darkness is obvious, but you can't see it because to admit it is to condemn an emotion you thought was as strong as life itself, and a part of yourself will forever doubt that strong of an emotion again."

She felt her eyes moisten as the emotions she had been ignoring this day finally caught up. The Constable was hitting far too close to home. He truly did understand. "I really did love Michael," she offered. "He treated me like no other man before. I was important to him and that mattered to me. But he had a past that he wasn't willing to give up, a darkness that he revelled in. But I couldn't live there with him. I wanted to. God, how I wanted to just be with him." Her voice broke suddenly, but then regained its composure, though it stayed no louder than a whisper. "But it wasn't for me. There's only so far I was willing to go into that realm for someone regardless of how strong I loved him. What he was doing was wrong and my mother taught me well enough to recognize it for what it was."

"What was he doing?" Fraser asked, practically dreading the answer. Margaret seemed far stronger than he in her decisions. Her conviction about what was right was deeper than his. While he was immersed in doubt, she was just sad. She didn't have regrets.

Margaret breathed deeply in the quiet of the small space. "He was selling drugs. Maybe if he was just using them himself it would have been different. I could've helped him then, for he was only hurting himself. But instead, he hurt others, and it was that difference that I couldn't tolerate. He felt no remorse for his actions. He thought he was absolved of all sin because it was their own weakness which brought them to him." She was silent again. "He turned so cold then to me," she finally added. "That wasn't the man I married. That man knew love, knew what love I needed. He wanted to care for me and make me happy, but the price was too high for me. I couldn't, not at someone else's expense."

"Yet he wants to kill you now," Fraser said, understanding more than he wanted.

"I don't think he meant to." Then she laughed humorlessly. "I don't know. I don't know him anymore. He was angry and yet frightened as well, but once I went over the edge he decided it was over. There was only himself to worry about now. All that remained was a clean-up operation." She glanced over at his dim form. "That meant you and your friend."

She turned away ashamed. "What a fool I've been. Whatever love he had for me has twisted into something else. I guess in his mind I had to pay for not doing what he wanted of me." Her voice took on a hard edge. "But he's in for a surprise; I don't die on request. And I can let go of my love for him. He obviously doesn't deserve it."

"No, he doesn't," Fraser said softly.

Margaret laid a soft cold hand on his which warmed slowly by their combined heat. "Thank you for listening. I needed to expel some of that. I'm sorry if I brought back memories for you. It looks like we're quite the pair, you and I."

He grasped her hand. "Letting go is an important step. I'm glad you didn't have to do it alone. I didn't."

"The detective?"

Fraser nodded. Then he realized she couldn't see him in the darkness. "Yes, that's sort of why we're up here. We're rebuilding my father's cabin together. Ray calls it a do over. A chance for me to also start rebuilding my life and forget about her. He's stayed by me like a true friend."

"They're just as hard to find," she said.

"Then consider me one of yours," he offered. He felt her squeeze his hand.

"I already do."

"My name is Benton," he said softly.

"Hello, Benton." She said nothing else, content with the fact that she wasn't alone, and the two of them drifted to sleep.

Ray awoke early the next morning and stretched stiff muscles that argued in protest. "Oww," he murmured. "What I wouldn't give for a soft bed."

"Some pine branches would have softened the ground for both of you," a voice spoke opposite him.

"Ahhh!" Ray jumped back, startled by the red-suited old man sitting across from him. Then he recognized him. It was the Mountie from the woods who wouldn't stop to help. "You! Where the hell have you been? I could have used some help back there. We got two people hanging on a cliff face."

"I was scouting the perimeter."

"For what?" Ray asked. "The bear took care of the murderer. What else is out there?"

"Well, the bear, for one thing. You're staying at his house."

Ray looked about his surroundings. He stood up quickly. "This is the bear's cave?!"

Fraser Sr. nodded. "We've got a long way to go. So let's get a move on." Fraser Sr. rose and walked out of the cave.

Ray fumed as he followed the Mountie. He wasn't gonna lose him this time. He caught up with him outside. Though the Mountie wasn't in a hurry to disappear for a change.

"So where were you when we needed you? Was there some old lady you had to help across a stream?" Ray asked sarcastically.

Fraser Sr. debated whether to leave the detective right then and there, but for his son's sake he relented a little and then he fibbed. "I was tracking the murderer."

"Did you find him? Did the bear get him?" Ray had a morbid curiosity.

"Oh, I definitely think so." Actually, Fraser Sr. had no idea what happened to Williamson. But most likely the bear had finished him off. "What's that on your chest?" Fraser Sr. asked, squinting in the dim light. "It looks like a . . ."

Ray looked down and was shocked to see a big dusty bear print on shirt. "The, uh . . . bear stepped on me in his enthusiasm to eat the murderer."

Fraser Sr. just stared in disbelief. Finally, he said, "Oh."

Ray shrugged. "What's to eat around here, and please don't say nightcrawlers because I'm not eating any."

Fraser Sr. sighed. "They're a good source of protein, but as a substitute there's a plant that is also good to eat. It will give you energy, not to mention keeping your hair nice and shiny. It has two leaves per segment and a frothy yellow top."

"Frothy? What the hell is frothy? Just draw me a picture of the damn thing. Frothy," Ray repeated shaking his head."

"I can't draw," the officer admitted.

"What do you think I am? A critic?"

"Just look for something yellow," Fraser Sr. urged. He knew exactly where it was, but he had to find a way to trick Ray into picking it for him. Being ethereal made it extremely difficult to grasp things.

Five minutes later, he called Ray over. "I've found some."

Ray came trotting over. "Great, pick it and let's go." He turned away.

"Wait," Fraser Sr. said, holding up a hand. "I think I heard something. I'll be right back. Pick the plant and head in that direction." He briskly moved into the woods.

Ray looked around him cautiously but heard nothing. "I don't hear anything," he commented in a whisper, but the Mountie was gone. Ray noticed how still all the branches were as if no one had even passed. "Damn, that Mountie's good," he thought aloud. "Maybe even better than Benny." He picked some of the weed and took off in the direction the Mountie had indicated.

Early the next morning, Margaret awoke to find Fraser already up. The sun was shining brightly and it warmed her spirit as well as her soul. Her bad dreams of the night faded as she looked over at the magnificent view of the valley far below them. She crawled out and did some gentle stretching, muscles still aching in protest. She settled herself near the edge of the overhang watching Fraser.

"Good morning," she said.

Fraser looked over at her. "Good morning." He was wearing his hat, and she had to admit he looked damn good in it.

"What are you up to?" she inquired protectively, watching as he leaned dangerously over the edge of the cliff while clinging to a small outcrop a foot above his head.

"I was studying the handholds from here to the overhang where Detective Vecchio was yesterday. I thought perhaps there might be a chance to reach it."

"And your conclusion."

"It's risky. Too risky."

"Especially in your condition," she pointed out. "I'm willing to just sit and wait for now." She reached for some berries still left over from Ray's bundle. She noticed that Benton hadn't eaten yet. She offered him some.

"No, thank you," he declined and continued studying the immediate area.

"Now there's a man," a voice spoke abruptly beside Margaret.

Margaret jumped and then sighed, "Mother." Unnerved, she scooted a little further from the edge.

"I'm just here to point out the obvious, dear." The small, old woman dressed in a light blue frock and hat pointed at Fraser. "I'm pointing, dear. That's the kind of man you needed to marry."

"Thank you, Mother. I would have never guessed."

"Don't get smart with me. I can't help it if you're unable to recognize a prize when it falls into your lap. Quite literally, I might add. And a Mountie to boot." A grin twisted around the wrinkled face. She glanced around her, sobering. "Good Lord, how are you going to get out of this, Margaret?"

"We're working on it, mother," she whispered, not wanting Fraser to hear her talking apparently to herself. "We're working on it."

Fraser finally limped over and eased carefully down beside her. "There's some possible hand-holds that bridge this ledge to the other. If it comes to it, we'll take the chance. But we got some time." He smiled at her.

Margaret reacted to it in a way she hadn't thought possible. She turned quickly away before he saw any trace of it in her expression. And she came face to face with her mother's leering grin.

"Don't repress those urges, dear. Act upon them." She glanced around her daughter. "If you don't, I will."

Margaret almost reprimanded her, but then she remembered Fraser. Instead, she stood up and moved away from both of them. Unfortunately, she couldn't go very far.

"So what was her name?" she asked of Fraser instead. "The woman who hurt you?"

Her mother jumped right in with her opinions. "What are you doing? The last thing you should be asking about is his old girlfriends. Haven't I taught you anything about how to pick up boys?"

Fraser was silent for a time, but then he remembered how Margaret had opened up to him last night. It was only right to reciprocate. "Victoria," Fraser answered quietly. Her name fell clumsily off his lips. He hadn't spoken her name aloud since it all happened. It was like a shard of glass that bit deep into his heart. It was embedded in his flesh as deeply as the bullet. The even greater pain was the guilt over his desire to leave with her on the train. The fact that he was willing to go with her ate at his very soul. He had admitted as much to Ray that day during his convalescence and Ray somehow had forgiven him. But Fraser couldn't forgive himself. He was ashamed at his own frailty. All those years he had prided himself on his commitment to the law, above all other breeds of police officers. And instead he found he was just a man.

Within minutes he was relating the entire tale to Margaret. It was easier to talk to her than it was even to Ray. Maybe it was because Margaret had no connection to those events, and the overwhelming guilt Fraser felt every time he talked to Ray seemed less painful. He actually spoke of things to Margaret that he never even spoke to Ray about. Of course, Ray knew him so well that some things didn't have to be said, but finally voicing them out loud purged a great deal of Fraser's anxiety.

Margaret only nodded from time to time, sensing the fragile state of this man whose very soul had almost crossed the line from light to dark all for the sake of one woman. A man whose very life was justice and duty, and it had almost been destroyed. She suppressed a shiver at how close they had both come to giving up everything that had meant something in their lives. Her cheeks were damp when Fraser's story ended and he looked out over the divide.

Margaret knelt next to him and encircled his shoulders with her arms. She just held him, saying nothing. She glanced over at her mother and found the woman softly crying as well. Her mother nodded at her and then faded away.

Ray flew into the cabin, hope springing eternal that the radio was operational. Within seconds, the spring ran dry. The remnants of the radio lay strewn about the floor.

"Damn," he cursed, tired, frustrated and now fearful. "Why doesn't he have any damn locks on his property?" he voiced venomously.

Fraser Sr. looked about the skeletal frame of the cabin. Since there were no walls yet entrance was possible from every direction. He raised his eyebrows at Ray.

Ray ignored him. "He's too damn trusting for his own good. And this is what happens."

"And what would you have had him do? Let the woman die and the man get away with murder? He has a duty to perform. I fail to see what this has to do with locks."

"I'm not saying he shouldn't have rescued that woman. I'm saying if he had had a lock on his door, I wouldn't have to go to Tuktoyaktuk. That's what I'm saying! Do you know how long that's gonna take?"

Fraser Sr. missed Ray's point. He waved a hand about him. "Even with a locked door the criminal could just waltz in. The place has no walls, for heaven's sake."

Ray sighed. "He should have locked the radio up somewhere, that's all. Listen to me. They're not gonna last out there while we trudge forty miles through the mud to get a bunch of Eskimos." Ray stooped to grab some rope and extra supplies. "I'm going back up the mountain and try to get them off that cliff. You go on and get help from those Inuits and bring them back here."

Fraser Sr. panicked. Ray was the only one who could convince the Inuit to come. "I can't go to Tuktoyaktuk!"

"You're a Mountie, for christ's sake! What's the big deal?"

"I'm . . . I'm . . ." Fraser Sr. tried desperately to make Ray understand. It wouldn't do him any good to go to Tuktoyaktuk. They wouldn't be able to see him. It just didn't work that way. Finally he knew exactly what he had to say, and he didn't like telling him, not one bit. "I'm old," he told the detective quietly, ashamed of his admission.

Ray stared at him shock and then burst into laughter. "That's it?! You're old! You've been traipsing around this mountain for two days and now you're worried about being over the hill. You've set a hiking pace that Fraser would enjoy and you're not even breathing hard and you expect me to think you're feeble?! After what I saw you do lately, I'm the last one to quibble about your age.

"Besides," Ray continued. "I don't even know where Tuktoyaktuk is. I'd only be guessing and probably guess wrong with the way my luck's been running. Another thing, are you strong enough to pull up Fraser and the woman?"

Fraser Sr. remained silent.

"No, I didn't think so. Look. It's you or nobody going to Tuktoyaktuk." Ray walked past him back outside.

Fraser Sr. followed hesitantly. "Well at least tie a note to Diefenbaker, just in case."

"A note?!" Ray exclaimed.

"I might not make it. Something could happen to me. This way if I don't, the wolf can still bring help," Fraser Sr. explained, proud of his quick thinking.

"You'll make it," Ray said confidently, moving off.

"Detective!" the Mountie yelled. Ray stopped and looked back. "Please write a note and give it to Diefenbaker."

Ray studied the old man. Then asked him one question. "Why can't you?"

"I . . . I . . . only can write French," he replied. "I'm French-Canadian and never learned how to write in English, and this tribe of Inuit can't read French."

Ray's jaw dropped open. Then he just shook his head. The Mountie looked so forlorn that Ray took pity on him. He got some paper and wrote a brief message. He glanced up at Fraser Sr. while tying it to Dief's neck.

"You're not really a Mountie, are you? You're some escaped lunatic wandering the Yukon in red serge."

Fraser Sr. crossed his arms and let loose a humph, ignoring the detective.

Ray stood finally and gathered his things. "There, you happy?"

"Immensely," the Sr. Mountie stated gruffly. What I go through for my son, he thought with irritation. I'll never let him forget this.

Ray trudged back up the mountain after making a stop where Fraser and he had hid the contents of the heavy pack yesterday. That seemed like years ago now. The feel of the rifle in his hands calmed his mind slightly. His new pack was now full of food and medical supplies and rope and tackle. And he actually had a sense of where he was heading. He allowed a small bit of euphoria to creep in. It didn't last long.

"So, you're going back up there to face your fear. It's about time." His father's sharp nasal Italian accent grated in Ray's ears. "I want you to shoot that bear right between the eyes, like a man," he emphasized.

"I am not going back to get the bear," Ray shouted, halting in the middle of the forest. "I don't want anything to do with that bear! Just leave me alone!"

"I'm here to help you get over this phobia of bears."

"I don't have a phobia. I have respect. Anyone with any sense has respect for bears," Ray argued.

"Bears are harmless. They eat berries and bugs, not people," his father countered.

"Since when did you become an expert on bears? Is the Discovery channel available in the afterlife all of a sudden?" Ray sighed, letting go of his frustration. But it continued to burn deep within and he had to expel it. "You know, if you were any kind of father you wouldn't have yelled at me when the circus bear charged in my direction. You should've comforted your son and let him know you were there to protect him. Instead you yelled louder than the damn bear. I was more scared of you than I was of the bear."

"You see, it worked! I got your mind off the bear."

A disgusted Ray continued walking. "Forget it," he threw back over his shoulder. "I'm going to save my friend."

"Some friend," his father retorted. "What's the matter with you? Can't you see he's nothing but trouble?"

Ray turned back around. "What's the matter with me?" he shouted in disbelief. "What's the mater with you?" Ray took a deep, calming breath. His father always did this to him. "Why are you here, pop? You were no help last time and you're no help this time. Just go away."

"Why should I?" his father countered angrily. "So you can keep making the same mistakes over and over again? I can't believe you're still hanging out with that nut. He's trouble, always trouble. Vecchios have always stayed out of harm's way."

"Yeah pop, that's why I became a cop, to stay out of trouble," Ray said sarcastically.

"I never understood that," his father commented. "That's the last thing I expected you to do."

"That's why I did it! I wanted to be someone, to make something of myself."

"And instead you're hanging out with this Mountie character who continually makes you look like a fool in front of the department. Yeah, you're making something of yourself, an ass!"

"You know pop, I bet everyone else's parents come back from the dead and praise their kids, but not mine! You're even worse than when you were alive." Ray moved on down the trail.

"It's because I care about you."

Ray stopped short turning on his father. "No, that's not it!" he said sharply. "If you really cared, you'd see me for what I am, a better man than you. But you don't. You just want me down to your level because you hate the fact that I'm a better person than you ever were." Ray pivoted abruptly and strode away deeper into the woods, leaving his father to stand alone and silent.

It was growing dark and Fraser was occupying his time by creating a rope out of the cut up strips of his pack. Margaret watched him with amazement for a few minutes, and then leaned back against the cliff wall and closed her eyes. It was quite ingenious, but she instinctively knew it would not be long enough to reach either the top of this bluff or the one to their left. But still Fraser worked steadily.

Fraser gave a little start as a flash of red moved in his peripheral vision. "Dad," he whispered.

"Hello son. How are you?" his father responded, sitting with his legs dangling off the edge.

"Where have you been?"

A frown creased the elder Mountie's brow. "With Nanook of the North, where else?"

"Ray? You were following Ray?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't trust him. He really is a complete tenderfoot out here. Didn't even know how to bed down with some pine branches. Just slept on the ground. Pathetic really."

"Where is he now?" Fraser asked, concern creeping in.

Fraser Sr. pointed over to his left. Wide-eyed, Fraser looked over and saw Ray sliding down the steep embankment on the other bluff.

"Ray!"

"Fraser!"

Margaret climbed quickly to her feet, moving past her mother who stood staring at the new Mountie with extreme interest.

"Oh good. Another one," she whispered to her daughter.

"The radio was operational?" Fraser asked hopefully, the only answer for the speed of Ray's return.

"Nope. Shredded like old newspaper," the detective replied.

"You made it all the way to Tuktoyaktuk and back already?" Fraser inquired with new respect for his friend.

"Of course not! Who do you think I am? You?"

"Then what are you doing here?" Margaret argued.

Ray glared at her a moment. "I sent someone even better to Tuktoyaktuk."

"Who?" Fraser queried.

"A Mountie. I found another Mountie in the woods. Can you believe it?! You guys are all over the place out here. Which is great in this instance."

"Who was he?"

"I don't know, actually. Never asked his name but he was, I don't know, about my height, around 60 years old I guess, weathered face, red serge, kinda senile."

As Ray continued to describe the Mountie, Fraser looked over at his father, who smiled and shrugged. Fraser's jaw dropped open.

"Oh my God," Fraser said. "What were you doing?"

"What do you mean what was I doing?" Ray shouted. "I found help. He may be old, but he's a qualified Mountie. He'll be there and back in record time."

Fraser Sr. made an apologetic expression. His son merely dropped his head in his hands. "What was I supposed to do?" his father asked. "He saw me."

"I thought that was impossible," Fraser argued.

Ray spoke up. "That's how much faith you have in other Mounties? I can't believe it. I thought you all stuck together or something. Well, even if he doesn't make it, Dief's with him and I tied a note to him. He'll bring the Eskimos, don't worry."

"The note was actually my idea," Fraser Sr. said aside to his son.

Fraser was still stuck on the fact that Ray had seen his father. "So why can't he see you now?"

His father shrugged. "Don't look to me to explain the afterlife. It's a lot more complicated than the Bible led us to believe. Maybe your friend just doesn't need me anymore. His confidence in his new-found abilities seems to make me unnecessary."

"That note was a very wise idea," Margaret's mother offered, stalking her way behind Benton Fraser.

Fraser Sr. jumped and looked around his son. "Who's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Fraser glanced behind him at the only figure visible. "That's Margaret."

"Hello, Margaret."

The old woman laughed. "My name's Ellen. Margaret is my daughter. He can't see me," she said, indicating Fraser.

"Oh, I thought it odd that you would both have the same name." Fraser Sr. shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the way Ellen was looking at him. It was like a hungry wolverine staring at a cornered field mouse. Ellen just continued to grin at him.

"While we're waiting for the Eskimo Rescue Patrol, I'm gonna get the two of you off that ledge." Ray began unpacking the rope and materials needed.

"Good thinking, Ray."