Application for Victoria Metcalf (Due South)

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

((Done with permission from the relevant DS-muns.))



There weren't a lot of things that could surprise her anymore. More was the pity, really; life was supposed to be one big wonderland ride, full of unexpected moments. But once you figured out the little secrets, once you'd peeked behind the curtain and seen up the dress of the wizard, it all got a little too mundane.

Victoria Metcalf strode into the Sorting Room, bag in hand, every hair in place, thanks to the washroom in the train station, coat clutched tightly around her. She was always cold, it seemed, but at least she could blame the Scottish winter for it now. She walked in and she didn't blink when the quill started writing out her answers for her, didn't show a flicker of surprise at the unusual questions. Because even if you didn't know what was going on, you had to act as if you did.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

Voice smooth and with a calculated edge of whimsy, Victoria tapped the edge of the table with one finger and said, "Is it out of place if I say whatever you use for baked macaroni and cheese? I know that I'm probably supposed to say something like Brie or Royal Blue Stilton, but I guess I just have simple tastes," she smiled, a little shyly, and shrugged.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

A little blink, a head tilt, the slightest widening of her eyes and Victoria looked up at the room, confused. "I'm sorry," she said, tone apologetic. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

3. What time is it where you are?

Pushing back the sleeve of her black coat, Victoria peered down at a simple gold watch before shaking the cuff back down over her wrist.

"Quarter past three."

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

For a moment, she was quiet. Then, head tilting back a little to expose the curve of a pale neck, teeth flashing slightly between upturned lips, Victoria laughed. There was really nothing more to say to that.

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

"The Purple Rose." The answer came a little too quickly and Victoria shrugged, pushing her finger slowly along the top of the desk, eyes lowered to watch its path. "I like the flower."

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

This elicited another laugh, though this one was slightly bitter. Pausing, formulating her response, Victoria tapped her nail against the wood lightly. A frown creased her forehead just for a second before smoothing out, and she answered quietly, "In Alaska, there's a legend of a race of giants who once inhabited the land. There was a woman who loved a warrior, and he loved her. But on the day they were set to be married, a battle broke out, and he had to leave her. So the woman lay down by the river to wait for him. She fell asleep, and when the news came that her love had died, no one in the village had the heart to wake her."

Victoria took a breath, smiling sadly. "She's there even now. Never stirring, turned to stone, still waiting." One slim shoulder lifted slightly and she looked up. "I supposed Harry should be with the one that he'd turn to stone without."

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

Wrinkling her nose a little, Victoria waved her hand. "Oh, I'm worthless at paperwork, really. I suppose it's just one of those things."

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

"Ah." Leaning back a little, as if she'd been waiting for this question, Victoria smoothed her coat over her knees as she thought. "Well, how would one prove that, really? You'll probably have to take my word for it, no matter what I say. Unless," she chuckled a little, amused, "you're running background checks on my answers."

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.

Reaching into her pocket, Victoria smoothly pulled out a pocketbook. "So, this is where I write a check?" she asked innocently. "I was lead to believe that there was no tuition, but I can manage a small donation. Or..." She paused, considering. "Well, I do have a few books with me. And I'm a decent cook, if you wanted something homemade? Other than that," she spread her arms a little and smiled awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I don't know what else to offer."

"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___VM_________
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___VM________.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____VM______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____VM_________"

Comments

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

She shook her head quickly, almost as if dislodging snow from her curls, and breathed out a soft laugh. "You found me," she corrected, still drinking in his face like she couldn't bear to tear her eyes away.

Another step forward and then none of the steps between mattered. The only space that ever was between them was space they put there themselves, space she could take away with a gesture, space he could erase with word. She wanted to reach out for him, but her hand fell short; fingers curling back as she caught her lip between her teeth.

"I thought you were dead."

She'd assumed. Never found out because confirming it would mean it was true, and though Victoria needed to know everything, needed to stay a hundred steps ahead, that one thing she couldn't bear. Because what would be the point, if Fraser was gone?

Who would pull her from the snow if he really was gone?

"Ben." His name again, this time softer. A question and a reprimand and a plea all at once. Diamonds spilled on the ground and him falling from her arms and it all came down to what now?

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Almost unconsciously, he found himself mimicking her head shake. "No." He hadn't-- he had been in the hospital, at the Consulate, at the 27, and here. He had been all over Chicago and Scotland, but he had never been wherever she was, and he had never tried. He'd never tried to go looking for her after her escape, because what could possibly happen?

What was going to happen now?

"No, Victoria, I--" He still couldn't get it out. His eyes fell to her hands, back up to the catch of her teeth on her mouth, up to her eyes.

Out of nowhere, he felt an irrational surge of anger. She was lying. She had to be lying. What was that line? Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world-- but this couldn't just be coincidence. She had come for him, and now she was covering it up, and why? To pick up where she'd left off? To finish the job?

In a sudden flurry of animation he leapt from his spot and crossed the room to her, grabbing her coat, sinking his fingers into the thick fur as he yanked her towards him. His eyes scanned hers, hot and desperate, his jaw clenched tight. "Tell me the truth," he ground out. "Why are you here?"

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

He was angry.

With her, he was angry, and Victoria just stared up at him for a second, wide-eyed. Then her hands went up to hold his and with just a small movement forward she turned a grasp into almost an embrace.

There were tears in her eyes as she studied Fraser's face; only he could make her cry. Ten years in prison, all those years being made hard, being made numb, always cold, and only Ben could make her feel enough to cry.

"I came to pull a job," she admitted in a miserable little sigh, voice cracking a little. But she didn't look away. "After--"

Well, after. The train. The end.

"What else was I going to do? I was dead, Ben; I couldn't get work, I couldn't..." Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head again. Almost looking ashamed. "I'm here to pull a job. I didn't know--"

[themountie.livejournal.com]

No, he wanted to say again when she took his hands. No, not again. But the words died in his throat, and when she moved towards him he shuddered and tightened his grip. He felt sick, hot all over, like he had a virus, and when she spoke again he felt a wave of nausea pass over him.

A job: she was here to rob the place.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, fighting back the swell of emotion. "A job," he echoed woodenly. He ought to arrest her, right here, right now. He was on leave, he had no jurisdiction here, he didn't even have handcuffs or his lanyard, but he ought to do... something. He shouldn't have let her go at all -- although he hadn't had much of a choice at the time with a bullet in him -- but now, here was his second chance. His third chance. It was more than he deserved, and he shouldn't waste it.

He didn't move.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

"Ben," she breathed out, so close that every exhale from him was her shared air, so close that all she could do was watch his face. Was try to reach him through the glass that he seemed to have put up between them. "You were dead. What was I supposed to do?"

A quick, desperate smile crossed Victoria's face and she moved another half-step in. Now they were pressed against each other, she could feel his body warming hers, like he had before, like he was meant to do. "But you're here, now, Ben."

One hand left his to go up and brush cold fingers across his cheek. Just the barest ghost of a touch. "Aren't you?"

Because he could walk away again. He had before. He'd chosen a thousand things over her, had let her go despite everything she'd done to keep him. Victoria loved him. Of course she loved him. She hated him, she loved him, but no matter what, she needed him. And if Fraser was there, then it could be all right. Then somehow, she could make it all right.

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser let out a soft, choked sound as she pressed in close, his eyes startling open as her fingers grazed his cheek. He stared down at her, his face a mask of anguish -- he had no guard with her the way he did with everyone else, his usual shields completely useless against her. His mouth was painfully dry.

How was it that he was the police officer, yet she was the one who had him trapped? He had to get out -- had to escape, get help -- he had to put her where she belonged, back into prison. But he couldn't move, not when she was staring at him like that. He'd nearly left with her, and the first thing she'd done was remind him why. They'd only been reunited for a matter of minutes and already his entire world was turned on its end.

Still, he struggled to pull away. "You know I can't just let you," he whispered. "You know I can't." Saying it aloud somehow gave him a renewed sense of power. He shook his head and took a step back, reaching up to circle her wrists with his hands. Gently, but quite firmly, he pried her hands away and pushed her wrists down, holding onto them like handcuffs.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Letting him hold her, she just kept staring into his face. Silently asking, accusing without words, telling him a thousand things without ever giving them voice. At his words she gave a hoarse little sob, smiling brokenly. "Then don't," she murmured.

Fraser did two things exceptionally well. He saved her and he turned her in. For one she loved him, was consumed by him. For the other she quite simply hated him. Since he'd died, since she had watched him fall from her arms onto the train station platform, since she'd turned the corner and lost him, Victoria had been trapped in a storm. Without path markers, without supplies, hopelessly lost.

And now, here was Fraser. Her Ben. So it was with hope and fear and love that she whispered, "Save me, Ben." Because he could. Only he could.

And because maybe, this time, he'd let her go.

Maybe, this time, he'd come with her.

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Save me. It was the one thing Fraser least expected her to say. He looked at her uncomprehendingly, thrown. This wasn't in their usual routine. This wasn't what they did. Let me go, come with me-- you're gonna regret it if you don't. Victoria's last words to him still rang in his ears, so like the words of ten years before. Let me go, Ben, just let me go.

He hadn't, once, and regretted it-- and he had once and regretted it-- and what else was there? He knew he couldn't turn her in this time, not really. Her only future here would be Azkaban, and the Dementors, and that was... unthinkable. And he couldn't just let her go and turn a blind eye while she robbed the school, while she--

While she did what he had done. Whatever blood was left in his face drained away, his heart thumping hard in his chest. "Oh God," he said, more to himself than to her, his eyes going glassy and unfocused. His hands left her wrists and moved up, loosely gripping the arms of her coat.

He sucked in a sudden, shuddering breath and let it out. When he spoke again, his voice was ragged. "I can't, Victoria. Things have... have changed. I've..."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

It wasn't that she didn't know how this would go. Prison had taught her to be cold, but Fraser showed her that cold didn't always kill. That you could live when every breath was agony, that you could push on when every step was your last. He'd held her once, in the snow, in the cold, and he'd put her fingers in his mouth to warm them. Had wrapped his arms around her to make her warm.

And she'd spoken to him to keep him sane. Her voice the only rope she could throw him. They had saved each other, maybe, a little.

Then he'd turned her in.

And ten years of her life had slipped through her fingers while she watched. Behind bars, behind glass, she watched.

"And you think I haven't?" she asked him, tenderly. Loving him in every breath, in every heartbeat, in the way she looked up at him. Hating him, too; but what was the difference? "We change, Ben. But this is our third chance. This time, you're here. And I'm here. And we're not dying in a storm and I'm not trying to escape. So what's so wrong with taking this chance?" She tilted her head forward, resting her forehead against his. "Don't you want to take this chance?"

It wasn't that she didn't know how this would end. But Victoria had to try. If she just worked hard enough, planned far enough ahead, if she just made sure it stayed her and him, then maybe. Maybe they could save each other again.

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Change? She hadn't changed at all. She was still beautiful, whole and perfect, with the angelic voice he'd fallen in love with all those years ago -- and she was still a murderer and a thief. A job, he reminded himself harshly. She's here for a job. Not for you.

That didn't stop him from swaying forward as she touched him, leaning into the contact. He couldn't not, any more than he could have stopped an avalanche. But the distress was clear on his face, and at her question he shook his head. "I can't save anyone," he explained.

He wasn't a Mountie; he was a man. A criminal, himself. How could he save her when he'd already done what she'd come here to do? He still remembered stalking these very halls, breaking locks, walking away with gold and silver... And he remembered running after a train. He remembered that he was going to go with her, once, and he hadn't been hexed then. So who was he to fix anything? Who was he to declare that he could save her? The only reason he didn't have a record was...

...that he'd been forgiven. By Ray Vecchio and Lieutenant Welsh and Diefenbaker; by Ray Kowalski Vecchio and Lily and Stephanie and all the people he'd stolen from.

He closed his eyes again, feeling woozy. "You don't want me to save you," he insisted. "You're here for a job."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Complete understanding, patient and sweet, was in Victoria's eyes as she once more cupped Fraser's face, as she closed her eyes as well. As her inhale and exhale slowed to meet his. "I was here for a job," she told him quietly, slight emphasis on the important word, "because I didn't know you were here."

She huffed out a little incredulous laugh and shook her head. "Ben, please, look at me." She ducked her head, a tiny smile growing as she studied his face. One finger went to trace, feather light, around his lips and Victoria sighed. "Fine. Don't save me," she said this with a rueful little tilt of her eyebrow, almost teasing him. "Why don't we try something different this time? How about," Victoria moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, "I save you? And then, you can save me, too. How about we just save each other, Ben?"

The smile cracked slightly, vulnerability only he could pull out showing through. "God, I missed you."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser still couldn't bring himself to move away. It was all he could do, even now, after everything, not to take her fingers into his mouth the way he'd done in the snow; or not to take her into his arms and kiss her. He still wanted to. She had ruined his life, and he still wanted to more than anything. Was this how she'd felt three years ago, when she saw him again after prison? He couldn't help but wonder. It would make so many things make sense.

His back was stiff, his posture rigid when she embraced him, but his hands slid up to rest on her shoulders despite himself. He stared at the lopsided smile on her lips, and then made himself look away.

"You're telling me you'd change just like that -- just because I'm here? You'd give it all up?" He smiled too, bitterly, and shook his head. "I know you, Victoria."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

There was a sad little acceptance to her smile, which was at odds with the flash of anger in her eyes. "Why do you think I did any of that, Fraser? Everything I did, all of--" She broke off, shaking her head, gaze searching the ceiling rather than looking at him. Than seeing how far away he still was, the distance he'd chosen.

"I did it for you," she finally admitted in a quiet voice. Head bowed, lashes brushing her cheeks. "Because I need you. Because I wanted to be with you."

And it was true. She wasn't a thief. She wasn't a murderer. She'd done what she had to because she loved him. Because all Victoria wanted was for them to be together.

[themountie.livejournal.com]

It would have sounded laughable to anyone else -- I killed him for you, I stole for you -- but he didn't laugh, and he didn't bother to deny it. He knew it was true. It was sick and horrible, but he knew that in her own way, everything she had done -- even framing him for murder -- had been to bring him closer to her. So that he'd have no life to go back to, no choice but to go with her. It had almost worked, too.

That didn't mean she wasn't a killer. He knew her better than that. "And now?" he asked. "What's different now?" He pulled back and spread his hands out helplessly. "You'll what-- try it my way this time? Just for a change of pace?"

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Lips thinning out as he pulled away, Victoria took an equal step back. Her arms folded tightly across her chest as if she'd been struck by a sudden chill and she raised her chin slightly. "What is your way, Ben?" Her words were clipped ice and she stared him down. "Is this the way you save me only to throw me in jail? Where my entire life is ripped apart in front of me and all I can do is watch? Or is this where you choose everyone over me?"

She gave a caustic little laugh and stepped forward, eyes blazing, finger poking into his chest. "Because I've got to say, Ben, your way isn't working so hot for us so far. So forgive me if I'm not really sure what you mean."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser flinched as she folded her arms and looked away, unable to meet the force of her glare; he felt irrationally guilty for making her angry, even if the question had been justified. "No," he protested over her questions, "no, Victoria--" But she kept talking, and even now, even after everything she'd done to him, the reminder of what he'd done to her still cut like knives, like the bite of ice on uncovered skin. He cringed back from it, staring at the ground.

Until the last question, anyway, and then he looked up again, shocked, bewildered. "I what?" he shot back. As she poked him, he reached out and grabbed her hand. "I chose everyone over you? What are you talking about? I chose you over everything! I was--" He laughed now, too, an acrid, hopeless laugh, and rubbed at his eyes with his other hand. "I was going to go with you." The admission made his stomach twist; the muscles around the bullet in his back throbbed sympathetically.

"But that can't happen again, Victoria," he murmured. Not now. There was too much keeping him here, this time, and she couldn't-- wouldn't-- take it away from him the way she had before. She would have to kill him first. "So I don't..." He looked at her, then looked away again, staring at the far wall, his lips quirked sadly. "What do you want?" Him, he knew. But that wasn't enough. "Was that it? You wanted me to go with you this time?" She said she wanted him to save her, but he didn't know what that meant anymore. He wasn't even sure if she did.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

What did she want?

Honestly? He was asking her that? What did she want?

There was a flicker of irritation, a moment when it seemed she'd just hit him or walk away. Then Victoria sagged against the wall, pushing her hair back with a shaking hand. "You," she said, resigned. Tired. Looking frail. "Why isn't that enough, Ben? Before--"

She tugged lightly on the neck of her sweater, trying to clutch it closer to her. Trying to get warm. "Don't you ever just want to start over?"

[themountie.livejournal.com]

To say Fraser was agitated would have been a gross understatement. "Very well," he snapped, turning back upon her, "and how do you propose we do that? What do you propose to do?"

There was too much to deal with, too much to do. It had taken him so long to get over what she'd done to him -- if he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd never really gotten over it. How could he? She had never forgiven him for putting her in prison. It seemed to be a common theme of their relationship.

They couldn't just turn back the clock and forget it all happened; she had said so herself, once. They had come much too far. She had killed people, killed Jolly and, he suspected others, innocents. She had shot Dief, and it was only Ray Vecchio's gun and the wound he'd given Fraser that had kept him from total destitution. He ought to turn her in -- and he couldn't, he couldn't, but what else could he possibly give her? To go with her again? Impossible with Stephanie and Ray to think about. And the very idea of her getting near them... even the thought made it difficult to breathe.

So where did that leave them? He knew what her way was -- and no matter what she claimed, she had been here on a job before she saw him. She hadn't changed. She didn't want to change that. She didn't seem to want to go clean -- perhaps she resented him too much for that -- and even if she did, could she possibly keep it up? So where were they now?

"What do you want, Victoria?" he asked again, desperately. "And don't just say me. It's not that simple."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

She was losing control of the situation. Losing control of him. And one of them needed to know the answers; that's what she had learned, all those years locked away. One of them had to know.

Ten years and she'd planned every step. Every moment. Ten years and knowing him like she knew her own heartbeat. And now, suddenly, she'd be thrust into a situation with no plan. And three years had changed him, changed her even if he didn't realize it yet, both of them apart and she wasn't quite sure how to reach him.

Still absently tugging on the neck of her sweater, Victoria frowned slightly, a crease appearing in her brow. "Ben," she half-pleaded, half snapped. "I thought you were dead. Don't you understand that? For three years - three years - I thought you were gone. And I was alone. So forgive me if I suddenly don't have the answers. I'd--" She choked out a little almost sob and looked up at him. Her eyes were accusing, her lashes damp with tears she kept blinking away.

"I'd give up hope, Ben. Do you know what that's like? I'd given up. Where were you?" The last forced out in a wretched shout and she pushed forward. "Where were you? Why didn't you come find me? Why didn't you, Fraser? All I wanted was you. All I wanted, and you were coming with me. I thought you'd died in my arms. You could have come after me." She was standing in front of him, arms at her side, face little girl lost. Angry and hurt and bewildered. Needing him, hating him, loving him, all wrapped up together.

"Why didn't you come find me?"

[themountie.livejournal.com]

He should have realized what was going on. He should have, but it was Victoria, and she... confused everything for him, clouded his mind. Coming upon her again like this, seeing her again out of the blue, it was a miracle he could think clearly at all. He should have been able to reason it out, but there were tears in her eyes and that little break in her voice -- that voice -- and he lost whatever handle he had on things. His face fell, the hardness and determination in him melting away in an instant with the hitch in her breath. "Victoria," he whispered guiltily.

He nearly stepped back when she pushed forward, reflexively, almost like she'd shoved him herself-- but he caught himself and stopped, stayed, and then moved forward himself as if to catch her. "I'm sorry," he murmured hoarsely. "I was-- I was in the hospital, and then..." Of course he knew what giving up felt like. He'd given up on everything, lying in that hospital bed. Not just on finding her again, but on work, on Dief and Ray, on everything. He hadn't even wanted to live.

He stepped closer, staring at the floor. "And you were gone and I... couldn't..." He bit his lip, pleading with her. "No one knew where you'd gone or what had happened to you. No one knew anything. And to track you down..." He would have had to use police resources. He would have needed Ray's help. And he would have had to arrest her, at the end of it, or go on the run himself, or die.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing the distance between them, extending a hand to take her arm gently. "I'm so sorry."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Thawing, melting, tumbling against him, Victoria rested her forehead on his chest for a second. Bowing her head to the fact they both were adrift, her fingers clutching at his shirt fiercely. "I needed you to find me," she admitted quietly.

And then that smell crashed over her, some scent that was uniquely him, that she remembered from all those years ago, and Virginia tilted her head back to look up at him. Eyes lidded as she watched his face, as her lips parted slightly in an almost smile. "Please, Ben," she asked, voice that husky low plea. "Can we try? I've lost you, so many times. I don't think I can again."

Pulling herself a little closer to him, shivering without realizing it, Victoria's breath caught somewhere in her throat. "Please."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser breathed in sharply as she collapsed against him, stiffening up again; but he caught her in his arms this time and held her tight, his fingers knitting in the thick warmth of her coat. "I'm sorry," he murmured again helplessly, burying his face in her wild hair.

He knew he should walk away. There was no way to make this work, no good that could come of it, and it would end again with one of them lost, dying, dead, ruined. Maybe both of them this time. Maybe everyone. There was no way they could be together, and if he were half the mountie he claimed to be, he would take responsibility and walk away now.

But then she pulled back and looked at him, and smiled, and his heart nearly stopped beating all on its own. Whatever masks he had left crumbled, leaving him naked and exposed to her. His face was the very picture of torment. "Victoria," he begged. Let me go.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Let me go.

How could she not recognize those words hanging unspoken in the air between them, falling like shards of glass and pulling them apart? This was her Ben, her Ben, and she could read his expression in a snowstorm with the world crumbling around them. Like this, with him so close and yet so remote, begging her to let him go...

She had done everything for him. For them. So they could be together, so they could find a place where it was just the two of them. Because that's where they'd come together, in the middle of white so deep that it felt like breathing cotton, that canceled out all sounds but your ragged heartbeat. Where it became you and him and the entire universe was nothing but a cocoon that you were wrapped in. It only made sense that she had to repeat that, that she'd pulled away everything holding him back from the pure void that had surrounded them, that needed to surround them.

Some days Victoria wasn't sure if she'd ever really walked out of that storm. Maybe, until she had Fraser, really had Fraser, maybe until he chose her, she'd just be stuck there. It sounded too metaphysical to really be taken seriously. A never ending snowstorm? Being trapped in the cold, near death, until some fairy tale prince breathed life back into her? But whenever she thought of Ben it was against a pristine white, it was with the sound of nothingness pressing into her senses, it was his breath the only warmth against her skin.

And now he was asking her to let him go.

She'd pulled down his world because she knew he loved her, and she knew what needed to be done for them to be together. But now he wanted to go. Wanted to be free.

Softly, sweetly, she kissed him. Her lips meeting his with a quiet murmur of his name, her fingers relaxing from fists to lay hands flat against his chest. Saying goodbye.

Because she couldn't hold him. Victoria would do anything to stay with him, but if Fraser asked to be let go, how could she do anything but let him?

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Oh, God, she had him. He inhaled sharply as her lips touched his and held it, breathless as he tilted his head forward to meet her. He felt rather than heard his name pass between them, moving from her lips to his, and a shudder passed through him like live current. Like he was being plugged in. And just like that, he was hers, and once again there was no turning back. As she started to draw away he breathed out a choked sob and pulled her back, pressing his mouth hard to hers, kissing her fiercely, desperately, miserably. There was nothing else he could do.

There had been no woman for him since Victoria. He'd been interested once or twice -- Janet Morris with her dark curls, Meg Thatcher with her hard edges and soft eyes, wicked Denny Scarpa with her cruel smile -- but it had never gone father than a kiss with any of them, and it had never been like this. He couldn't remember being with Robin, but he was sure it hadn't been like this. Kissing Victoria was like willing the entire world away, like they were the only two people in the universe and all he could feel was her and he didn't care.

He shut his eyes tight and held her, his hands in white-knuckled fists in her coat, the kiss almost bruisingly hard. Let the world melt away. Let it burn. Nothing else mattered. Not Hogwarts, not Chicago, not his wasted, lonely life. It was the hex all over again, but what he'd never told anyone was that he knew what he'd said while hexed and he knew he'd been right. His life here was meaningless, worthless. He could disappear right now as long as he had her and Steph and Ray--

Steph and Ray. He pulled back sharply, his eyes opening wide and panicked. Oh, God. What had he done?

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

With a touch, just one touch, just that little hitch of his breath, Fraser could erase everything else in the world. Could catch her and pull her in and she was nothing but wrapped up in him. She felt herself thaw, warm, as only he could do, and Victoria let her hands slide up to twine in his hair, to pull them so close that they were one and the same.

This was what she wanted. Just this. Him and her and forever. Because that's what it felt like when he touched her. Like this was what it all came down to, like this is what it always would be. And since the very first time Ben had touched her, this was all Victoria had wanted, had craved, had needed.

When he broke away she didn't move. Eyes closed, fingers moving to brush along his neck, down to rest on his shoulders, Victoria let herself bask in him. Just in him. Then she looked up at him.

And she wanted to see love there. She wanted to see Ben looking at her the way he had, once. But it was fear and it was regret and it was nothing she'd felt in his embrace, nothing she wished to find.

Face falling, Victoria stepped back. Away from him. "I love you," she said, as a final explanation, as one last plea. "I need you." And that was all she had.

"Ben."