Ambassadoral Status - Part 1	  The Due South Fiction Archive Entry	 
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      	  Ambassadoral Status - Part 1 
 by Diefs Girl	

 Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em and hand 'em back, none
the worse for wear.

 Author's Notes: I briefly OD'd on Geometry, here's a few other bits to
read while I get back into the swing of it. This is a straight due South
story.

 Story Notes: Set between 'Hunting Season' and 'Call of the Wild'; this is
a Diefenbaker story, all the way!

 

 "Fraser, pigs would be more likely to fly." Fraser's expression was so
crestfallen even Thatcher felt a twinge of guilt. "I tried, Fraser, I
really did. The Ambassador's refusal was very firm."

 Fraser swallowed his disappointment. "Thank you, Inspector. I know you
did your best."

 Thatcher shoved the file folder at Fraser, irritated by her inability to
execute a low-level diplomatic request. She'd intended to hand approval
for the exchange student program to Fraser with careless ease, an example
of what diplomatic procedure -when properly followed- could do, but the
Tehari ambassador listened with excruciating politeness then told her no,
and in no uncertain terms. Worse, she'd gotten the distinct impression it
wasn't the program the Ambassador objected to... it was her. Not that she
had any intention of admitting that... it was only a supposition, anyway.

 "Yo, Fraser!" Ray came breezing into the embassy, leather jacket flung
over his shoulder, shades cocked at a jaunty angle. He got a good look at
Fraser and the grin fell off his face. "Who's rainin' on yer parade,
buddy? Ya want I should go kick their ass?"

 Fraser had to smile in spite of his disappointment. "That will not be
necessary, Ray; thank you kindly. I think precipitating a diplomatic
incident might irritate Leftenant Welsh."

 "Probably," Ray said cheerfully, throwing an arm around Fraser and
steering him towards the door, away from the Ice Queen. "But I'd a done it
fer ya."

 "I know you would, Ray."

 Ray studied his friend closely. "Not gonna let this go, are ya?"

 Ray's words only crystallized Fraser's nebulous resolve. "No, Ray."

 "Ya never do, Frase. Where's Dief?"

 The wolf came trotting out of Fraser's office, saw Ray and yipped a
welcome, tail wagging cheerfully.

 "Heya, boy," Ray chirruped and when Inspector Thatcher cleared her throat
and Fraser's gaze snapped around, surreptitiously slipped Dief a toffee
cream. The wolf nipped it out of his fingers with a graceful swipe and
gulped it down, nudging Ray's hand affectionately. Thatcher rolled her
eyes in exasperation as she watched, and when Fraser turned back around,
Ray and Dief gave Fraser an innocent 'who, us?' stare.

 "Dismissed, Constable." Thatcher sighed. She was in no mood for the
trio's antics this late in the day.

 "Ma'am?" Fraser said cautiously.

 "It's five minutes of five, Fraser. Constable Turnbull can lock up, if
you hurry you might catch the Tehari ambassador at the embassy."

 Fraser beamed. "Thank you, Inspector."

 "Go," she said shortly, "and take them with you." She waved an impatient
hand at Ray and Dief as she stalked into her office.

 "Yes, ma'am." Fraser knew Thatcher's moods well enough now to know this
was her version of an apology.

 "Could I trouble you for a ride to the Tehari Islands embassy, Ray?"
Fraser asked politely as he held the door for Ray.

 "Sure thing, Frase."

 "Thank you kindly, Ray."

 "Hey, Frase?"

 "Yes, Ray?"

 "Where is the Tehari Islands embassy? An' fer that matter, where are the
Tehari Islands?"

 "I'll give you directions on the way. The Tehari Islands are a small
chain of islands in the Pacific Rim made up of the extinct cones of
kimberlitic volcanoes. The nation is a democratic monarchy, and noteworthy
for an extremely low crime rate, and a closed immigration policy..."

 * * *

 Fifteen minutes later, Ray pulled up in front of the Tehari Embassy and
pinned Fraser with an incredulous stare. "Ya tellin' me on this island ya
ken reach down and pick up a diamond?"

 "Technically yes, Ray," Fraser explained. "Although I understand today
the diamond mines operate under strict state of the art security. But
there are still incidents where locals have simply reached down and picked
up a diamond on the beach. Kimberlitic volcanoes are one of the principal
geological methods by which diamonds are formed, and when the original
settlers to the islands arrived and realized what they had discovered,
they immediately closed all immigration and instituted vigorous population
control measures. As a result the Tehari Islands are one of the smallest,
and richest, nations in the world."

 "Tourists must love the place."

 "Actually they have no tourism policy at all and it's extremely difficult
to get a visa to visit."

 "Wow. With all them diamonds lyin' around, how come nobody jes' conquered
'em?"

 "Several attempts have been made over the last two hundred and seventy
years," Fraser admitted, skimming a finger over his eyebrow. "Every one
was repulsed by armed citizenry rising up and driving the invaders out.
Generally on the same day."

 Ray looked disbelieving. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me! Jes' like that?"

 "Not at all, Ray. Apparently the original settlers planned for such an
eventuality. Education in Tehari is mandatory through a bachelor's degree
in college, with a likewise mandatory two-year term of service from
eighteen to twenty in the Tehari Army to pay for the education; and two of
the qualifications for college graduation are a black belt in three
different forms of martial arts and a sharpshooter's certification, all
acquired as soldiers."

 "What? You tellin' me every citizen is Bruce Lee and the Rifleman
combined?"

 Fraser shot him a blank, baffled glance.

 "Sorry, sorry," Ray grumbled. "Jeez, ya gotta watch more TV, Frase. So
they're all black belts and sharpshooters, huh?"

 "Correct, Ray."

 "What about, ya know, political takeovers?"

 "Again, the original settlers planned for this; and as the islands hold a
key strategic position in the Pacific Rim, they have mutual protection
treaties with the United States, Japan and China that predate both the
World Wars. With the Soviet Union as well, before its collapse," Fraser
added. "They are officially a neutral nation, despite rumors they were
definitely partial to the Allied side during World War I and II."

 "Jeez... bizarre. So why open a new embassy here in Chicago?"

 "It was moved here from New York City after the new ambassador, and I
quote, 'would sooner live in hell than spend five more minutes in that
wretched, filthy, urine-soaked cesspit'."

 Ray laughed. "Classic! Bet the New Yorkers loved that."

 "I understand it nearly precipitated a international incident."

 Ray roared. "Ya want me ta pick ya up?"

 "No thank you, Ray. Your apartment is a pleasant constitutional from
here, and Diefenbaker can certainly use the exercise."

 "Fraser, my apartment's ten miles away."

 "Exactly, Ray."

 "Yer a freak, Frase."

 "Understood. Give my parents your regards."

 "Will do. I'll be home about nine, and Fraser?"

 "Yes, Ray?"

 "If ya get there first, use the damn key I gave ya?"

 "Thank you kindly, Ray. I'll do that."

 "Freak," Ray muttered under his breath as the GTO pulled away, but Fraser
could hear the affection in his best friend's tone.

 Fraser turned around and inspected the embassy. It was larger than the
Canadian Consulate, an imposing, four-story building of red brick, river
rock and gray slate with rambling, neatly manicured grounds inside a brick
and iron fence. A wrought iron security gate with the roaring dragon crest
of the Tehari Islands guarded the entrance, but when Fraser tried the
smaller pedestrian gate next to the main gate, it opened readily.

 He checked his father's watch, the embassy hours on the gate sign
specified the gates closed at five-fifteen and the embassy closed at
five-thirty. He had twenty minutes to find the Ambassador and convince him
to agree to the exchange student program. Plenty of time... he hoped.

 Unfortunately, the double-paneled mahogany front doors proved to be
locked and pressing the buzzer did not seem to accomplish anything.
Stymied, Fraser looked down at Diefenbaker for suggestions... but the wolf
was no longer at his side. A white tail was disappearing around the
right-hand corner of the building.

 "Diefenbaker," Fraser sighed, resigned to chasing his deaf friend, who
was undoubtedly already in love with the thick pines and huge old
hardwoods dotting the grounds. He vaulted the side of the brick and slate
stairs and loped after Dief.

 But Fraser had to slow down as he walked under the pines, the Norwegian
and Fraser fir trees smelled heavenly -smelled of home- and he breathed in
air mercifully free of most of the city-stench perpetually filling his
nostrils. No wonder Dief had gone snuffling around, he even spotted the
flash of a gray squirrel tail overhead and could hear the loud squawks of
blue jays. Dief's happy yip came from around the back of the building and
as Fraser rounded the corner, he realized Diefenbaker had found someone.

 A blond woman in jeans and a t-shirt was three stories up on an extension
ladder and painting a last few strokes on a small white balcony that
jutted out from the third floor. It had to be new construction; it was the
only balcony on the backside of the building and while there was an
obvious, and quite good, attempt to merge it with the current
architecture, it stood out a bit oddly from the rest of the building. A
radio was playing inside the third floor and she was whistling along with
the music. Dief was sniffing around the base of the ladder and Fraser
frowned. The ladder was braced on a four-foot square of plywood, but the
combined weight of the girl and the ladder was cracking one corner of the
square.

 "Excuse me, Miss?" Fraser called, staring up the ladder.

 She looked down, paintbrush momentarily stilled. "Can I help you with
something?"

 "I was hoping to speak to the Ambassador."

 She regarded the balcony railing critically and touched up a last spot
with the brush. "Have I missed any spots?" she asked.

 Fraser examined the balcony. There were no bare patches visible from his
vantage point. "I don't see any."

 "All right, hang on a second and I'll come down." She dropped the brush
into the paint bucket, untied it from the ladder and started climbing
down. "What time is it?"

 Fraser checked his watch again. "Five-fifteen."

 "Embassy closes in fifteen minutes. You're not going to get much time to
talk."

 That was true enough. "Whom should I talk to about making an
appointment?"

 "That would be me," she answered, and as Fraser reached out and steadied
the ladder, the plywood square cracked like a pistol shot and the ladder
lurched several feet to one side. The girl yelped in surprise, and as
Fraser struggled to hold the ladder in place, she wrapped her feet around
the sides of the ladder and tried to slide down, but the lurch jerked the
top of the ladder loose from the building and it was skidding on the red
brick.

 The girl gasped as the ladder swayed, and dropping both paintbrush and
bucket, she jumped free as it toppled. Fraser frantically tried to get
underneath to catch her and mostly succeeded, but the footing was poor on
the soft wet ground and they tumbled to the ground together in a tangle of
limbs. The bucket of paint hit the ground beside them and a wave of wet
white paint splashed up and covered both.

 "Are you all right?" Fraser said anxiously, supporting the girl's back as
she sat up and regarded the wet paint coating their clothes with an
utterly disgusted glare.

 "Crap." She wiggled her fingers, rotated both ankles, cracked her neck
and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ok. You?"

 "I'm fine, thank you kindly."

 She transferred her glare to the ladder as she climbed gingerly to her
feet, rolling her left shoulder absently as she walked over to the fallen
ladder. "Dammit, I braced that thing. Why'd it fall?"

 "I noticed the plywood was cracking. I suspect there was a hidden flaw in
the wood that gave under the weight of the ladder."

 She toed the broken square of plywood resignedly. "Yeah, you're right."
She took a good look at Fraser for the first time and an expression of
unalloyed dismay crossed her face. "Your uniform! Oh, damn, I'm so sorry!"

 "It's nothing," Fraser sighed. This would be the third uniform he'd
ruined this year and it was only May. Replacing them was getting
expensive, even if he was issued three per year without charge. "Do you
see my hat?"

 "Your dog has it." Safely out of range of the paint, Diefenbaker was
holding Fraser's Stetson in his mouth and the wolf was patently laughing.

 "Thank you for your concern for our well-being, Diefenbaker," Fraser said
dryly, holding out his hand. Dief trotted over and placed the hat in
Fraser's one non-splattered hand.

 The woman was staring at Dief with knitted brows, temporarily oblivious
to her disheveled state. "Hey, is that a wolf?"

 "Half wolf, actually," Fraser explained. "His name is Diefenbaker."

 To Fraser's surprise, she knelt right down and held out a hand. "Hello,
Diefenbaker," she said coaxingly. "My name's Kat. Would you like to be
friends?"

 Never averse to getting better acquainted with a pretty blonde, Dief
trotted right over and sniffed her fingers, then carefully licked the side
of her face that wasn't paint-smeared. She chuckled and rubbed noses with
the wolf.

 "I'd pet you but trust me, you don't want me touching you until I get
cleaned up, Diefenbaker."

 Surprised, Fraser watched them make friends in the space of a few
seconds.

 She stood up. "Come on inside, both of you. Leave the mess, I'll clean it
up once it dries."

 "Thank you kindly."

 She led them to a bulkhead cellar door and down inside, Diefenbaker
trotting happily at her side, and Fraser followed. They went through a
workshop that Fraser eyed wistfully, it had a woodworking station he liked
the look of, past several storage rooms and into a large laundry room
floored in bright white tile and painted an equally eye blinding white.
Four extra-large capacity washers and dryers stood next to drying racks,
ironing boards and a row of big, deep steel sinks.

 "This is water-based paint. Is your uniform washable or dry-clean only?"
she inquired, flipping the taps at the nearest sink and handing over a bar
of pumice soap as she started scrubbing off the paint splattered on her
hands and arms.

 "Dry-clean only," Fraser sighed, and started unfastening his Sam Browne.
At least he hadn't been wearing his red dress uniform, it was considerably
more expensive to replace.

 "There's a drycleaner up the street that we have a contract with, they do
one-hour service. I'll call in a minute and have them send someone over to
pick up your uniform. They might be able to save it if they get it before
the paint dries."

 "That's not necessary," Fraser objected.

 "Like hell it isn't," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "This is my
fault and I fix my own mistakes, thank you very much."

 His eyebrows went up as he dumped his belt into an unused sink and
stripped off his tunic. "Thank you kindly."

 "No worries," she said cheerfully, ire gone. "Yick, my hair's covered
with this goop." She rummaged around several shelves until she turned up a
bottle of Ivory dishwashing soap. "This'll do, I guess." She smiled
apologetically at Fraser. "Get the majority of the paint off and I'll show
you to one of the guest suites upstairs and you can get a proper shower.
I'll scrounge you up something to wear while your uniform's getting
cleaned and we'll get you that appointment to show how sorry I am."

 Fraser blinked. The loss of a uniform would a small price to pay if he
could convince the Ambassador to agree to his exchange student program,
and if she was an attache or aide, she would be able to get him into see
the Ambassador.

 "That would be very kind." Tehari nationals seemed very self-reliant and
independent but quite nice, on the whole, if a bit prickly around the
edges; and for some reason suddenly this woman reminded him of Ray, with
his poet interior and "grr, shake, bad guy, shake" exterior.

 "It's the least I can do." She leaned down and stuck her whole head under
the running water, working her fingers through the blond mass and soaping
it up liberally with the Ivory liquid.

 Fraser poked around those storage shelves until he located a box of large
white trash bags and dumped his brown uniform jacket in one. His tie and
shirt were a mess too and he stripped them off. Even his undershirt was
wet with paint; it had soaked right through the fabric. He started to
strip it off then hesitated, glancing over at his companion.

 She was rinsing off that long wet tail of hair, and wrung it out. "I
guess that's most of it. Toss me a towel, please?"

 There was a neat stack of white towels on the shelf above the trash bags
and he handed her one politely. She dried her arms, neck and face, then
wound the towel around her dripping hair and glanced down at her t-shirt,
jeans and sneakers.

 "I'm not even going to try. Would you turn around for a minute?"

 Fraser flushed as her hands went to the bottom of her tee and he turned
around quickly, staring resolutely at the wall. The muffled purr of a
zipper made him blush harder, and the wet smack of clothing hitting the
steel sink made his imagination conjure up unnervingly vivid images of
what she might look like right now... The outline of her body had been
willow-slim rather than sturdy or athletic like he usually favored, but
Fraser found himself wondering if he could wrap his body right around hers
like a blanket. That conjured up unpleasant images of Victoria and he
flinched as the memories tore at him savagely.

 "I'll be right back," she said then paused. "Hey, are you all right? You
didn't hit your head or anything?"

 Fraser recalled to the present with a jerk. "Fine. Why do you ask?"

 "I dunno," she said uncertainly. "I just... felt pain for a minute
there... the kind of agony that rips at your soul... jeez, would you
listen to me! Maybe I hit my head. Back in a sec..."

 He could hear soft, nearly soundless footfalls padding down the hall.
Diefenbaker nosed his hand in an effort to reassure his partner, and
Fraser ruffled his ears in thanks. He stripped off his undershirt and
followed her example in removing the paint from his hair. Five minutes
later those soft footfalls alerted him to her return. He straightened at a
rap on the doorframe, toweling his hair dry.

 "OK to come in?"

 "Yes, thank you for asking."

 She was wearing a thick white terrycloth bathrobe with that dragon crest,
and another one was draped over her arm.

 "You're the shy type," she said absently, handing the robe over and
staring at him critically. "Six feet, one ninety-five?"

 He accepted the robe a trifle distractedly. "You have a good eye."

 "Just practice." She fished her clothes out of the sink and tossed them
into the nearest washer. Fraser tried not to notice the tiny, adorably
cute blue thong panties on top of the clothes. It had pretty pale blue
asters dotted over the cotton and reminded him of spring flowers in the
Yukon.

 "Got anything washable in the sink?"

 "Only my undershirt."

 She nodded, tossed it in and measured out laundry soap with a practiced
hand. "Throw anything else wash-safe in here and bag the rest of the
dry-cleaning. I'll wait outside 'til you're done." And she walked back
out, Diefenbaker tagging at her heels.

 A trifle nervous, Fraser stripped off his boots and trousers in a hurry
and pulled on the robe, added his socks, undershirt and boxers -wet
through from landing hard in the soggy ground- into the washer and closed
the top. Bagging his tie, pants and dress shirt with his tunic jacket, he
filled the robe pockets with his insignia and suspenders and picked up his
shoes, which thankfully escaped the paint, if not the mud. He ventured out
into the hall, where she and Dief were sitting side by side and rubbing
noses amiably.

 She stood up and smiled. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up the rest of the
way." She held out a hand for the dry-cleaning bag and Fraser handed it to
her mostly because he couldn't figure out a polite way to refuse.

 "Elevator's this way. Would you like some coffee or tea while you're
waiting?"

 "Tea would be very nice, thank you kindly."

 "You got a name, or should I just stick with Constable?" She frowned.
"Did I read the insignia right? I'm not all that familiar with the
Canadian versions yet."

 Fraser flushed uncomfortably. How very rude not to have introduced
himself previously. "Uh, yes, you did. Please excuse me, Constable Benton
Fraser, ma'am." He held out a hand and she took it. Her grip was firm, but
friendly... he had the random thought his father would have approved. He
always commented a first handshake was a good way to judge a man, Fraser
supposed it would work just as well for a woman.

 "Katrina Cutter. Nice to meet you, Benton Fraser."

 Dief yipped and gazed up at her inquiringly.

 Fraser rubbed an eyebrow. "Ah, Diefenbaker is curious to know why you
introduced yourself as 'Kat' earlier, if your given name is 'Katrina'."

 "Katrina's my legal name. Kat's a nickname my friends use." She cocked an
eyebrow at him. "Diefenbaker asked that?"

 "Yes."

 "He must be very intelligent for a wolf."

 Dief barked and nuzzled her hand appreciatively.

 Both eyebrows went up. "He understands what I'm saying? Beyond tone and
inflection?"

 "Actually he's reading your lips, but yes, he understands several
languages, including English."

 "He's reading my lips?" she repeated, astonished.

 How interesting, Fraser observed. She didn't doubt the statement, amazed
but not disbelieving. "Yes, Diefenbaker's deaf. Several years ago, he
pulled me out of Prince Rupert Sound after I fell through the ice, but his
eardrums burst in the process. He's been deaf ever since."

 She absorbed that thoughtfully, scratching Dief's ears with gentle
fingers. "So you're a hero, boy? I fail to be surprised. And he reads lips
and you can understand wolf? I had no idea Canada was so interesting."

 "I can understand Diefenbaker, but we've been companions since he was a
cub. I've never had the opportunity to have an extended conversation with
a wild wolf."

 "Fascinating." She looked down at Dief. "You're very intriguing,
Diefenbaker. Would you care to go out with me sometime?"

 Diefenbaker barked enthusiastically and his tail whipped back and forth
as the wolf danced in a small circle.

 She smiled but transferred her gaze to Fraser questioningly.

 "Diefenbaker says yes," Fraser said dryly. "He's free tomorrow, if that's
acceptable." Katrina also seemed quite pleased her offer was accepted, he
noted.

 "Six okay?"

 Dief rumbled.

 "Six is fine," Fraser sighed. "He's looking forward to it."

 "Where shall I pick him up?"

 "The Precinct 27 station house will be fine. I'll write down the address
for you."

 Her eyebrows went way, way up this time. "He's a police wolf?"

 "Unofficially Diefenbaker and I are partnered with Detective Ray Vecchio
of the Chicago Police Department."

 "How utterly absorbing." She fondled Dief's head affectionately. "I'm
sure we'll have a very enjoyable time, Diefenbaker."

 Dief whined and nuzzled her hand.

 Fraser frowned down at him. "I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate at
this juncture, Diefenbaker."

 Lively curiosity lit up her eyes. "What did he say?"

 Fraser sighed and gave up. Apparently she was hooked, and so was Dief...
far be it from him to stand in the way of a budding romance.

 "As you were kind enough to offer Diefenbaker a name reserved for your
friends, he would be pleased if you would call him Dief."

 During this conversation they'd ridden the elevator up to the second
floor, exited into an extremely handsome hallway paneled in mahogany and
papered with green brocade wallpaper with gold fleur-de-lis, and Katrina
stopped at a richly carved door.

 "This is one of our guest suites, it should have everything you need.
I'll find some clothes for you and leave them in the outer room."

 "Thank you kindly, Ms. Cutter."

 "Go ahead and use Kat. The formality around here's stifling... it's
making me crazy, frankly. May I call you Benton?"

 Fraser hesitated, then for Dief's sake gathered up his courage. "Perhaps
you could call me Ben instead?"

 She smiled. "Ben it is."

 Katrina turned away and wise to Diefenbaker's sneaky ways, Fraser caught
the wolf's ruff before he could follow her and ushered the wolf firmly
into the guest suite.

 "You are not going to join her into the shower before your first date,
Diefenbaker."

 Dief grumbled, then jumped up onto the draped, canopied bed and pointedly
ignored him.

 "That's entirely uncalled for," Fraser said severely.

 Half an hour later after an extremely pleasant shower in a luxuriously
appointed bathroom larger than his entire office at the Consulate, Fraser
emerged with one unbelievably fluffy soft towel slung around his hips,
toweling his hair dry with another. Teharians didn't stint on their
hospitality either, the guest suite bathroom was fully stocked right down
to a dazzling array of soaps, shampoos, toothpastes, combs, brushes, and
hair styling products. He'd nearly swooned at the heavenly scent of the
juniper and sandalwood soap he'd finally settled on using, and if Ray had
been here Fraser fancied his best friend might have tried every product
there just for experimentation's sake.

 Ms. Cutter had obviously been in the room while he was showering, a set
of pristine exercise wear lay neatly folded on the end of the enormous
bed. Fraser sorted through it curiously, socks, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a
pair of the stretchy shorts Ray referred to as 'bike shorts', obviously
intended to do double-duty as underwear, all bearing the Tehari roaring
dragon crest. No shoes, but the Embassy staff could hardly be expected to
have those on hand in a variety of sizes. Fraser donned it willingly; it
was certainly comfortable if more casual than was his usual wont.

 Dief rumbled as he was wondering what to do with his damp towels, and
Fraser nodded thanks at his friend's explanation.

 "Thank you kindly, Diefenbaker." He went back into the bathroom, and sure
enough, in the bathroom linen closet was a laundry chute, he tossed the
damp towels and bathrobe down it and ran a comb through his hair before
returning to the outer room.

 Diefenbaker was waiting by the door to the hallway and Fraser gathered up
his hat, belt and insignia, only then realizing his muddy shoes were
missing. A quick sweep of the suite revealed they were nowhere to be
found, apparently Ms. Cutter spirited them away to be cleaned, he
surmised. Really, Tehari hospitality was extremely thorough.

 Diefenbaker sniffed the air and at once trotted off down the hallway.
Fraser followed, catching the scent trail his wolf was following after a
few paces, a subtly compelling smell that puzzled Fraser as he tried to
untangle it. A blend of almond and jasmine, cinnamon, nutmeg... what were
those fainter traces? Bergamot... sandalwood... and a last fragrance he
simply could not place. Some exotic floral scent... what was it?

 Fraser puzzled at it as he followed Dief down the hall into a large
kitchen, decorated in a peasant, country-French style that rather
surprised him. It was... homey. Copper pots hung from wrought iron racks
on the ceiling with braided lengths of garlic and bunches of drying herbs,
more watercolor sketches of herbs hung on honey-colored walls edged with
feathery fern and leaf stencils in muted moss green. Comfortable captain's
chairs surrounded a wide plank table crowded with oil and vinegar cruets,
salt and pepper mills, glass pitchers of flowers and an oddly out-of-place
tall, slim crystal cylinder of thriving bamboo hung with Shinto charms.

 Behind the table, a weathered red brick and stone fireplace complete with
a black iron warming-oven dominated one whole wall. The hardwood lengths
in the brass and oak barrel on the hearth were apple wood; Fraser
observed, he could smell the faint ashy tang mixed in the fresher scent of
green herbs that grew in fanciful clay pots on the windowsills. A long
teak hutch was crowded with teapots from all over the world and even more
china jars of teas added their familiar traces to the air.

 The room soothed in an instinctual level, spoke of warm comforting food
and good smells and peaceful camaraderie. Fraser wanted to drink in it
like water to store up for later and the antique brass teakettle singing
on the modern stove made him smile. Diefenbaker trotted up to where
Katrina was standing at the kitchen counter and nudged her hip as she
smiled down. Barefoot, clad in jeans and a soft lavender cotton tank,
half-dry hair tumbling loose down her back, she appeared so vulnerable and
lonely. He was quite sure they were the only people in the Embassy and on
the grounds, what was she doing here all alone?

 A silver chain around her neck carried a Tehari dragon pendant with what
he surmised were miniscule black diamonds for eyes. Far from arousing
envy, the shining ornament stirred his heart with pity for someone exiled
even farther from home than he and Diefenbaker.

 But some things crossed national barriers, she was setting out a tea tray
his own grandmother would have approved of; two cups, sugar bowl, cream
pitcher, honey-pot, dish of lemon wedges, shortbread biscuits, little
sandwiches, even cranberry scones and clotted dream with jam. His mouth
watered like he was Diefenbaker. She poured steaming water into a
brilliant red enameled Chinese teapot sporting flying blue and purple
dragons to warm it.

 "What kind of tea would you like?" Her smile was open and friendly but
there was a ghost eddy of sadness in her eyes that troubled Fraser.

 "May I?" He gestured toward the bewildering variety of tea jars on the
hutch.

 She nodded. "Herbal teas in the side cabinets," she offered.

 Fraser spent several minutes opening jars and drinking in the scents of
the blends; there were precisely thirty-four varieties of tea on the
hutch, fifteen herbal blends and nineteen 'true' teas, black, white and
green, from teas as familiar as Earl Grey to exotic, delicate blends he
was sure were hand-mixed by a master.

 "They're glorious," he murmured, intoxicated. "It's like a tea shop in
here. You even have..." he slid a red and white china jar off the hutch
and handed it over the counter, "...maple tea."

 Katrina took the jar and Fraser sank down on the stool by the butcher
block island and watched, rapt, as she measured out the loose, fragrant
tea into a tea ball, sliced open and added a whole vanilla bean and closed
the metal sphere with a quick, feathery twist. Pouring off the warming
water, she let the teapot steam dry before suspending the tea ball in the
blue dragon's mouth and filling it with fresh boiling water from the brass
kettle. Her fingers danced over the enamel teapot as she settled the lid
into place, leaving the tea to steep. Maple and vanilla scented the air
even more and Fraser wondered dazedly if he could get drunk just breathing
in here.

 "You know the traditional Shinto tea ceremony."

 She studied him curiously, her graceful movements briefly stilled. "Yes."

 "I could tell by the way your hands move."

 Fraser was mesmerized by her fingers- slim and deft with skin... like
nothing he'd ever seen. It defied description, brown and smooth and softly
shining, like the polished enamel surfaces under her fingertips but warm
and breathing. Her unpainted nails shone subtle pink and white and he
wanted to draw those fingers into his mouth; taste them, know them more
intimately than sight and touch, make them real in his mind's eye with the
feel of each fingertip in the wet well of his mouth, over the textures of
his tongue.

 "What are you thinking?" Her voice was so soft, so soothing, it blended
with the silence here in this big, empty building, wreathed among the
swirling scents and darkened by the shadows that were gathering in the
corners as the setting sun washed the room in reds, purples and violets.
It was captivating.

 "Your fingers... I merely wanted to... examine them better..."

 "My fingers? How?"

 Entranced, Fraser held out a hand, feeling Katrina place those alluring
fingertips in his broad, white palm, so like the tundra, and her slim
brown fingers... what did they resemble from her homeland? He couldn't
possibly imagine... her lush island jungle was so alien to everything he'd
ever known. Fraser lifted her hand to his face, closed his eyes and
breathed in the scent of those fingertips, fresh and sharp with the
cinnamon spice hand soap he'd observed by the sink. He drank in the odor,
absorbed it, savored the lighter smell of her skin underneath, traced her
fingertips over his lips and felt a tremor run down her arm.

 Fraser drew her fingertips into his mouth and a soft sigh shivered on the
still twilight air, hers or his, he couldn't have said. His tongue circled
the soft pads, tracing the whorls there, suckling each fingertip
separately and memorizing it before moving on to the next. Slow, dreamy,
fascinated exploration, sensual beyond belief and drugging his glutted
senses with her taste and texture. Sliding her last fingertip out of his
mouth was almost painful, left him feeling bereft of something he hadn't
known was missing until it washed over his senses in warm ocean waves,
salty like tears. Shaken to the core by the experience Fraser lifted his
head and met her eyes, dark purple with the reflected colors of the
sunset... and realized she was just as shaken.

 "Thank you," he murmured. Fraser released her hand reluctantly and
wondered in a curiously remote manner if he should feel embarrassed. He
didn't. He probably should, but he didn't. A gift of breathtaking
intimacy, exchanged in the gathering twilight between two brutally lonely
souls... how strange and beautiful it was, how close he felt to this
forlorn waif, like himself hiding a wealth of weary sadness behind the
shifting colors of her reflective eyes.

 After a long moment she sighed and let the fragile bond between them slip
away... Fraser felt her pain mirror his own as she did.

 "So what can the Tehari do for you, Constable?" she murmured, putting the
teakettle back on the stove.

 Recalled to the present, Fraser ran a finger over his eyebrow. "I need to
speak to the Ambassador regarding an official request of the Canadian
government."

 Katrina half-smiled. "Official business with the Ambassador, is it? All
right then, come on along." She started to pick up the tea tray and Fraser
jumped.

 "May I?" he offered. She half-smiled again and Fraser wished he could see
her smile without that ghostly sadness lurking behind it. She let him take
the tea tray and follow her down the hallway to an impressive set of
double doors bearing a brass plaque with 'Office of the Ambassador'
engraved on it in flowing script.

 She pushed the door open casually and held it for him; the office inside
was lushly appointed and very large, but Katrina gestured to two large
leather armchairs situated in front of a marble fireplace in the coziest
corner of the room. Dief flopped down on a Persian rug in front of the
hearthstone and stretched out.

 "You can put the tray on the table and sit down, Ben."

 Fraser set the tray down on the little table between the armchairs but
remained standing and watched, perplexed, as she padded over to the
mahogany desk and rummaged casually in the top right-hand drawer. Katrina
withdrew a length of flexible metal that glittered in the remaining light
and flipping her mane of hair out of the way, settled the heavy chain
around her neck as she wandered back over and curled up in the other
chair, tucking her bare feet under her legs for warmth. He sat down only
after she did.

 "All right, the Ambassador is officially listening. So I reiterate, what
can I do for you, Constable?"

 Fraser's gaze fixed on the Ambassador's chain of office around her neck
and realization crashed in on him.

 "You're the Ambassador?"

 Katrina nodded and picked up the teapot. "I kinda figured you hadn't
realized that," she explained, pouring a teacup full of the fragrant
liquid and handing it to him on a saucer. "Cream and sugar? Or lemon?"

 "Lemon, please," he said uncomfortably. "I feel I owe you an apology,
Ambassador, I didn't realize..."

 She shrugged, so unworried about his faux pas Fraser felt himself relax a
bit in response. "No way you could have known, Constable. There was a
mix-up with scheduling in moving the Embassy and the staff isn't due to be
transferred in for another month, so it's just me right now. We're not
usually quite this informal but I like the quiet." She cocked an eyebrow
at him. "Can we go back to Ben and Kat or would you prefer to keep it
official? Your choice."

 Dear Lord, he'd had this woman's fingers in his mouth five minutes ago.
He'd had the Ambassador's fingers in his mouth! Inspector Thatcher would
have his head on a plate, and rightfully so.

 And yet... Katrina sounded so hopeful he would be willing to return to
that informal friendliness. And rank was no safeguard against homesickness
and a lonely heart.

 He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Ben and Kat... is fine with
me, if it's acceptable with you, Ambassador."

 "It's preferable," she told him, amused. "But you Canadians are so
formal... I met with Inspector Thatcher earlier today and I think the poor
woman's face might crack if she smiled. I felt sorry for her."

 Unable to answer that in any way that might not be construed as
derogatory to his commanding officer, Fraser cracked his neck and sought
for a way introduce his point. She spared him the trouble.

 "I was sorry to refuse her request," she said absently, adding a swirl of
honey to her tea. "I liked the idea of the exchange student program.
Scone?"

 "Thank you. Then why did you refuse her request?"

 "Her." At Fraser's puzzled look she explained further. "We're a very
small nation, Ben. Less than a million people all told. And when it comes
to politics we have only one rule. Never do business with someone you
don't trust. That's it... the entirety of our foreign policy in a
nutshell. And while I liked the exchange student idea, I wouldn't trust
that woman to spit in the correct direction, much less control what is a
very sensitive area of our national trust. We don't let many people on our
islands, Ben, and I didn't think for a minute she'd be a responsible
guardian of our borders. Sorry, but there it is."

 "I see." That was direct enough. And not unreasonable, Katrina was quite
correct, his program would not have been a priority for Inspector
Thatcher, and the Ambassador had clearly seen that and deemed it unsafe
for her nation. But if that was the problem... Fraser almost choked on his
next mouthful of tea.

 "Too bad, really... if you'd been the officer in charge I would have
granted it immediately."

 Her thoughts mirrored his, exactly. Fraser spread jam and cream on a
scone pensively and marshaled his powers of persuasion. "If I were to
superintend the exchange student program you would agree to it?"

 "Certainly."

 "May I ask why?"

 A wry smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Because you'd care,
Ben, whereas she doesn't."

 A definite hit... Fraser made a mental note never to fence -verbally or
otherwise- with this woman, she would cut him to ribbons with nary an
effort. "Touche."

 "Truth's not that much of an effort, Ben, even in international
relations. Just somewhat unusual." She set her teacup down. "But I'll tell
you what... send me the exchange student proposal back with your name as
supervisor and I'll not only approve it, I'll ramrod it through the
bureaucratic red tape on our end personally. You have my word."

 Fraser snapped his mouth shut on the series of arguments he'd rehearsed
on the ride over in Ray's car. "That's it?" he blurted out. Tehari foreign
policy was certainly flexible; he'd give it that!

 "That's it."

 "Done," he said it fast, before she could change her mind.

 "Was that the extent of your official business?"

 "Er, yes, actually."

 "Good. Then we can talk about more pleasant things. So how'd you and
Diefenbaker end up so far from home?"

 He chuckled. "That's a long story."

 And as a prize, she smiled with no sadness in it, just like he'd wanted
to see.

 "The kind I like best. Another cup of tea?"

 Fraser nodded. "Please. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my
father's killers..."

 * * *	
  

End Ambassadoral Status - Part 1 by Diefs Girl 

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