A fan fiction based on the television series Due South.

Chapter 1

Inspector Margaret Thatcher loved her job. And she was good at it. She enjoyed keeping busy and prided herself in her efficiency and ability to balance the demand for both quality and productivity in her work. There was no point in completing a task, she believed, if it was not done well, but on the other hand, there was not always time for perfectionism. She gracefully achieved this balance…usually. Today, she found herself overscheduled and slightly flustered. She was running late for a meeting and contrary to her usual level of preparedness had not finished reading the briefing notes and agenda. She would have to read them in the car, she decided, stashing the folder in her large shoulder bag as she hurried down the stairs and into the lobby of the Canadian Consulate.

In her distracted state she almost missed Constable Benton Fraser as he entered the lobby from outside. She paused a moment to admire his strong frame perfectly representing the ideals and stereotype of the Mountie tradition. The sight of him often had this effect on her, making her slow down a little, taking her out of the present moment to almost another time and place. It puzzled and intrigued her. Perhaps it was because he always seemed to stand out, even after years of living in the city, as though he didn't really belong in this fast-paced world. She felt that even after the intimate moments they had shared, she was no closer to understanding him. Perhaps they really were from different worlds. She realised she had missed seeing him around the office lately. Although, technically she was his superior officer and manager, they both lead largely independent roles that didn't rely on day to day contact.

At that moment, Turnbull appeared jolting her out of her reverie. "I've brought the car around to the back door Sir, when you're ready."

"Thank you, Turnbull." She realised she had better hurry. "Nice to see you in the office, Constable," she said to Fraser turning her mind back to work and making her way through the hallway toward the coat stand.

"If I may have a word, Inspector?" requested Fraser.

"Walk and talk Constable. I have a lunch meeting and the traffic's terrible this time of day." At this particular moment Thatcher cursed her busy schedule. She had neglected to check in with Constable Fraser for several weeks and would have liked to hear what he'd been up to.

"Yes Sir." Removing his hat Fraser followed her down the hall. "I have regretfully decided to withdraw my involvement in the training program for new recruits to the Chicago PD, at least in the more physical aspects," he told her.

This stopped Thatcher in her tracks. She removed the scarf she had thrown around her neck and looked back at Fraser's face in puzzlement and frustration. "I think I'll see you in my office," she stated. She was now suddenly reminded that as much as Fraser intrigued and soothed her, he could also frustrate her to the extreme with his unusual and unpredictable requests. Not so long ago he had asked to run some field skills workshops for new recruits to the Chicago PD. Initially against the idea, she had been persuaded by his arguments and now was completely on board. She had even made suggestions to her superiors to initiate similar programs in other jurisdictions. She fought to contain her sudden anger, realising that there must be a reasonable explanation and that part of her frustration stemmed from the fact she was running late. That was her own failing and she shouldn't take it out on Fraser. She turned to climb the stairs hollering over her shoulder for Turnbull to start the car.

"After you, Sir." Fraser nervously followed his commanding officer up the stairs.

"This training program," she began sitting down at her desk as Fraser sat opposite her, placing his hat on his knees, "is the perfect opportunity to encourage good relations between the CPD and the RCMP. Particularly in the more physical challenges that encourage cooperation and build relationships. Not to mention showing the Americans that we're willing to get our hands dirty!"

"Yes Sir, I realise that," interrupted Fraser, "and those are the exact arguments that I put forward when requesting to participate in the program."

"Ah, yes. So, they were," admitted Thatcher. She took a deep breath to calm her anger. "They were your arguments and you made them very well. I am now very keen for this initiative to go ahead, and you seemed so keen… why the sudden turn around?" she added squinting suspiciously at him.

Fraser looked uncomfortable and his brow took on a handsomely pained expression. "The thing is Sir, I sustained a few injuries recently which have taken a little longer to heal," he confessed awkwardly.

Meg raised her eyebrows. It was rare for Fraser to ever admit to any personal discomfort or trouble unless absolutely necessary. Her anger disappeared as she recalled his recent exploits for which she'd had to fill out multiple injury reports, "the bus incident," she noted.

Fraser pursed his lips in agreement. "And the squirrel," he added seriously.

Thatcher looked up confused. "Did you say squirrel?" Although curious, she did not have time for this story. "I do not even want to hear about the squirrel," she begged raising her hand. Her mind was already racing ahead. Perhaps she could find another officer to assist with the training program? Of course no one would be as quite as suitable as Fraser. Turnbull would certainly not do. She resolved to bring it up at the meeting.

"If you are keen on the program, I could organise a replacement," Fraser offered, mirroring Thatcher's thoughts exactly. It reassured her that sometimes they did think alike. "And obviously, I'll still be involved at the organisational and planning level," he assured.

"Very well Constable," Thatcher smiled. "I'll organise a replacement as soon as possible so you'll have time to prepare. You concentrate on the planning…and healing," she added standing up to signal the end of the discussion, then added, "You know, this might actually be good for you Constable - taking a more managerial role. You're not as young as you used to be. You'll have to learn to take a back seat to the action. You can't keep throwing yourself in front of every out of control vehicle and physically chasing down every criminal."

Fraser looked somehow relieved and defeated at the same time. But he thanked her kindly and moved toward the door just as it opened suddenly with a thud into his forehead. Thatcher looked up startled by the sound and saw Fraser wince and raise his hand to his brow as Turnbull apologised profusely and ran to get some ice. She shook her head as she left for her lunch meeting, trying to recall specifically how Fraser had been injured when he'd foolishly but heroically stopped a bus from ploughing through a busy sidewalk. She felt a pang of guilt when she couldn't remember and felt she had neglected her responsibility as manager. Of course, Fraser was competent and independent, but she should try to keep in touch better with how he was faring. She made a mental note to catch up with him properly at the very next opportunity.