This is part of a series regarding the adventures of Thatcher and Fraser at Disney World. The due South characters belong to Alliance, not me. As always, all of the corporations referrred to in these stories are used without their permission; however, I make no monetary gain from their abuse, either.

This series assumes that season 3/4 did not take place; that Ray and the Riv are still around; that Thatcher never cut her hair or got as strange as she did toward the end, but that Fraser's apartment was burned down and he did live for a while at the Consulate.

RATING: PG

Comments: tomato_3@excite.com

"Fraser, just how far south of Chicago have you ever been?" Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Constable Benton Fraser boarded the flight for Orlando and settled into their seats. As with most flights now, they would not get any service beyond soft drinks, coffee and tea so there was little to distract them from thinking about what lay ahead of them. Two weeks in Disney World, trapped in a management-training seminar. Together.

Both of them were as tense as cats in a car wash.

Fraser appeared to be sitting at attention, wrapped in an invisible coat of armored solitude. In fact, he was feeling naked and vulnerable without his Stetson. Failing to convince Ray that the Stetson was an acceptable head protection for the Florida sun, Fraser had been forced to take drastic action. He had Federal Expressed one of his spares to be delivered to Gorilla Compound office two days hence. While he could grudgingly accept Ray's sartorial advice, there was really no need to be foolhardy. From painful personal experience, Fraser knew that he was always safer with the Stetson at least in his proximity, if not actually on his person. There was no reason to be foolish, this trip was already almost collapsing under the impending cascade of possible dangers.

Meg, as always, tried to handle her stress by talking. Similar to the matching of the masochist, who says "beat me, beat me," with the sadist, who says "No," stressed extroverts can either provide a welcome distraction, or drive stressed introverts to thoughts of homicide. Trying to manage her anxiety, Meg thought talking would be better than sitting there twitching for the next four hours. She had already ascertained that Diefenbaker was being cared for by Detective Vecchio, and that Inspector Carlisle and Sergeant Deegan, their replacements from Toronto, understood that Constable Turnbull was not allowed to operate any of the office equipment without personal supervision.

Next on her list was climatic preparation procedures. This issue had arisen from her mindless fear that Fraser was going to walk off the plane and keel over from immediate heat prostration. She had absolutely no reason to believe that he wasn't adequately prepared. She could not recall any situation when he hadn't prepared for virtually every eventuality. It was just that co-mingled with all of the other nightmares she'd been having lately, this one seemed to be one she could act on. As opposed to the one where she attacks him in the aisle on the way back from the bathroom and, while straddling his prostrate body, sings "Ah Sweet Mystery of Life" at the top of her lungs.

"I arrested a man in Wyoming once. Sir, if I may ask, why?"

"It's just that I am a little concerned that you may need some time to acclimate to the hotter weather. Even though it's September, it will still be quite warm in Florida. Many Canadians have reported that the climate change is the most difficult aspect of going to Florida." She explained. Meg took her responsibilities as Fraser's superior officer quite seriously, and regularly wrapped herself in the mantle of authority, somewhat like an Iron Maiden.

Fraser had read the information packets very carefully and also consulted with Ray to determine what to take with him. Ray had relatives in Florida and was familiar with the weather. He had also been to Disney Word several times. Fraser winced at the recollection of Ray's reaction to the news of his orders. The shopping trip had been even worse.

"It's become quite a popular winter escape location for some of our older citizens. There are whole communities in central Florida where the majority of properties are owned by Canadians, although why is beyond my ability to grasp. According to our export administration, Florida is the single largest importer of frozen caribou burgers outside of the Australians, who use them for kangaroo bait. God only knows what it smells like when all of those retirees fire up their Webber grills and get those burgers going." This was the most Meg had talked to Fraser about the trip since they had received their orders. Fraser was not sure if she were in a state of shock or just profound denial, but after their initial conversations, she refused to discuss their coming sojourn in the lap of the American Cultural Identity.

Each in their own way had tried to prepare for this trip, primarily by conditioning themselves to avoid thinking about the possible opportunities for fraternization that were likely to arise. Fraser had been teased virtually non-stop by Ray regarding the situation. Ray had even attempted to tease Meg, once. However between her freezing frown and Fraser's clear mortification, he had eased up.

While Meg had no one around to tease her, that didn't mean that she had not thought about certain aspects of the situation. If anything, her mental gyrations were even more intense than her subordinate's.

~ You have got to get control of yourself! Just because you are going to be together, probably for large segments of the day - and night - does not mean that you can suddenly give into your impulses regarding Benton Fraser. It would be destructive to your work environment for you to pursue such an 'interaction'. Getting involved like that is against the regulations for damn good reasons, Margaret . . . . Of course, it doesn't help that you think you may possibly have more than just a superficial physical attraction to him. You are not in love with him; you wouldn't possibly let that happen! However, even an infatuation with a subordinate would be totally unacceptable. Think of your career. Think of what your Mother would say! ~

That mental conversation had taken up the whole evening that she had spent packing - and repacking - and repacking - and finally, repacking - the one suitcase she was permitting herself to bring. She continued to have this now familiar debate between her intellectual self and her emotional self throughout the 6 day period leading up to the departure. The intellectual side usually won these debates, since it could cite rules and regulations. Meg tended to distrust her emotional side, giving into those impulses had gotten her into trouble more than once in her youth. As she'd matured, she tended to rely more heavily on structure rather than instinct. She also covered her bases with hypnosis, when she felt particularly edgy, and intense kick boxing sessions.

Sometimes, she thought she should let instinct have a chance, usually when she was thinking about Fraser.

~ So, Meggie, you've finally come up against a situation you can't reason your way out of. One you don't want to follow the rules and regulations for. You know, eventually you are going to have to do something about this. The situation cannot stay like this forever, kiddo. The governor on our impulses is getting really worn out. Some day you are going to have to follow up on that kiss on the train. Remember the kiss? Hah! You know, the one that had you curling your toes for over a week . . . . ~

The yellow tee shirt or the pink tee shirt? Oh hell, they were small, try for both. Her internal debate raged on as she worked her way through the pile of summer clothes. She had already had to restart once, after she discovered that she had packed only red clothing.

~ Think of it as resolving an outstanding issue regarding office relationships, if you need a reason to kiss Ben Fraser again. Although, by now, I think we've managed to accumulate something like the Guinness Book of World Records worth of reasons to kiss the man. The one where you should have kissed him when he rescued the Mexican Ambassador's Chihuahua from the six crazed pit bulls would have been good enough, but just pick one and go with it. You know you're in love with him, you have been for it seems like forever. My God, you hardly even flirt with strange men anymore, its gotten so bad! Deal with this fixation, don't deny it. It's making you crazy! Look how many times you've had this conversation with yourself. MY God, Turnbull is beginning to think that you have multiple personality disorder, he's found you talking to yourself so many times! Worry about the job implications after you get your heart straightened out. ~

So the tug of war had continued. In some ways, she thought that this seminar might be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps some event would occur that would show her a path to resolving this internal conflict. Perhaps she would get some clearer indicator about how Fraser felt about her. Perhaps she would come down with some weird disease from repressing the urge to run her fingernails up and down his back. The acrylic coating made them almost indestructible. She could just imagine . . . . STOP!!!

Deep down, she had a nagging fear that her feelings were one-sided, that Fraser didn't have any romantic inclinations toward her. But then he'd do something, like walk into a wall; or look at her in a certain way, like she'd seen him look at the mound of snow outside the consulate after the last blizzard, and she'd think that there was something going on behind that controlled face. Something that might be tugging at him the way her feelings were tugging at her. Then she'd get caught in wondering whether a possible involvement with him was worth the risk of throwing her career away. Then she'd think about all that she knew about him that attracted her, and think that, yes it might all be worth it. Back and forth, back and forth it went. Usually, she just fell asleep exhausted with the unresolved conflict. Maybe she would get some resolution this time. Or maybe she'd just decide to join some kind of religious order that went off and meditated on a South Pacific Island, far away from snow and anything else that might remind her of Fraser.

In the end, she had mapped out a mental strategy for handling her relations with Fraser on this trip. It was composed of equal parts of official concern for his well being, collegial cooperation, and disengagement. She believed that she could accomplish this last by studiously avoiding any prolonged periods alone with him in potentially dangerous situations. She did not know how she would define 'dangerous' at this point, but she was confident that she would know such a situation when she saw it. She hoped fervently that she would have the presence of mind to actually do something about it when the time came.

She also decided to take the tan sandals instead of the black ones. Now to decide on whether to bring a nightshirt, pajamas, or a nightgown? Would she run into him in the kitchen at night or wouldn't she? OH GOD!

Benton Fraser did not have to go through the wardrobe selection issue, since Ray had insisted on choosing everything. He had strictly forbidden Fraser to take the long johns, reminding him once more that he was going to hot, humid Orlando. Fraser had a hard time imagining the true import of that statement, which Ray repeated frequently, like a mantra. Every once in a while, he would throw in steamy, usually when he was musing aloud on the potential opportunities for Fraser and Inspector Thatcher to embark on a more intimate relationship.

They had undergone a protracted, and Fraser thought needlessly childish discussion of his Stetson. Fraser still did not comprehend why Ray was so concerned about whether he wore his hat or not. It was, after all purely a personal decision, and did not have to be interpreted as a fashion statement. Fraser had done as Ray asked and put on his 'seminar uniform' - tee shirt, shorts, sandals. And, as asked he had also donned his hat and his newly acquired sunglasses. He still did not see what Ray had thought was so funny, and he wasn't the least bit sorry that Ray had wrenched his back and sprained his neck when he fell off the chair. Fraser did think that Ray went a bit too far when he took Fraser's picture and hung it all the wall full of wanted posters at the 27^th.

Ben's self-control regarding this issue of the trip and its potentialities was starting to wear a little. He was fully cognizant of the possible implications of having to share an apartment with Margaret Thatcher for the two-week course. At least to the degree that he could actually imagine such a situation. The issue rarely left his mind. He was attempting to view it as an exercise in self-discipline. His father had other views.

"Good Lord, Son, only monks would view two weeks alone with the woman you're in love with as an opportunity for self discipline! And suffice it to say you are no monk, although you do live like one. By the way, the sofa is a nice touch. Color's a bit unusual, but at least it makes the place look a little more lived in; less like a camp. Anyway, to return to this issue of your sexual repression . . . ." Robert Fraser had been known in life for his way with words, and it hadn't gotten any better afterwards.

"Dad, I am not sexually repressed! I just understand the limitations on the interactions Inspector Thatcher and I are permitted . . . ." Ben had been through this with his father many times before, it was a well-worn path through the forest of the younger man's emotions. The problem was that he couldn't see anyway to another path that would allow him to fulfill his desires for Meg.

Adding to the internal conflict was his recognition that this seminar would likely provide more than one opportunity to surface the issue. He both feared the possibility of her rejecting his feelings for her and was drawn to the potential to follow up on the possibilities briefly glimpsed on top of a train speeding toward catastrophe. What he knew was that he was drawn to her as he had never been drawn to any other woman, even Victoria.

He'd pondered the reasons for the powerful force Meg seemed to exert on him over many a sleepless night. All he could conclude was that her frequently paradoxical behavior toward him was like a large knotted ball of very hairy twine that he needed to untangle. He would not be able to emotionally rest until he understood her, knew her as he would know himself. He also realized that one kiss was not nearly enough. Counterbalancing his strong desire for her was the realization that any relationship between them would likely jeopardize her career. He also didn't fail to recognize that his career, such as it was, could not tolerate another major hit.

Disrupting this familiar internal debate was his Father's insistence on continuing his examination of his son's prospects for resolution.

"Benton, you have been saying that nothing can happen between the two of you for over two years now, and you don't really expect me to believe it. Son, you don't even believe it anymore. What I see is a man in his prime, whiling away the best years of your life mooning over a woman he thinks he can't have, but has never tried to get, either. Good Lord, Son, you could get a 'condition' if you keep on going the way you are!" Robert Fraser was a font of wisdom at times, although this might not be one of them.

"Dad, I don't know what kind of 'condition' you think I run the risk of contracting. And please do not tell me any stories of obscure myths of Mounties who have gone off the deep end over unrequited love, Corporal Redfern had an allergic reaction to red moss cookies." Ben was washing the dishes as he spoke, trying to discourage his father from following this trail.

"Well, son, all I can say is that our motto has been that we always get our man, and you have done that, for which I am very proud of you. Now I think it is time for you to get your woman, too." Ben turned to reply that men no longer discussed women in such a way, only to discover that once again he father had disappeared.

Ben stood for a long time staring at the place where is father had been. Perhaps . . . .

So that is how Meg Thatcher and Ben Fraser ended up sitting on a plane heading for a rendezvous with fate, destiny and a heat index of 120 degrees Fahrenheit; talking about suntan lotion and the early warning signs of heat prostration; but not very well prepared for what lay in store for them.

And somewhere else a man received a call to Orlando.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, but you know, I've never done anything like this before. I still have some qualms. We did agree that it was up to me to assess the situation. If I agree with your view of things, then I'll put through our plan. But, if it doesn't seem appropriate, then all bets are off and we just let nature take its course."

"I know, I know. But I really think that once you see the situation, you'll agree with me. And it's not as if you will need to take significant action. I really don't think more than a few small nudges will be needed. You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was in the very best interests of the individuals involved."

"Yeah, but I remember your attempts at something similar when we were in graduate school. I sure hope it doesn't turn out like that!"

"Hey, don't worry, I've gotten much better at spotting the situations. How was I to know she was really a transvestite hooker instead of the 'Meals on Wheels' lady? I really think you will go along with this once you see what's going on. It's not as if you'll be likely to miss the signs. They are not very good at hiding them anymore."

"Just a little nudge?"

"Just a little nudge, that's probably all it will take."

"Okay, we'll see. I'll call you once I've decided."

The initiator smiled as he hung up the phone. Meg Thatcher and Ben Fraser were as good as caught.

Wending our way toward Orlando, we land in the next chapter.