Disclaimer: I don't own Benton Fraser, Francesca Vecchio or Ray Vecchio. Someone else does, I'm just borrowing them.

Benton Fraser rubbed his eyes and stretched. It took him a few moments to register that he was lying on the floor. He knew that he had gone to sleep, last night, on the floor on purpose because he was lying on his roll mat, but he couldn't remember why. Diefenbaker was lying on the floor next to him so he hadn't given his bed to the wolf, not that he normally would do that. Ben sat up and looked at the figure in his bed. His eyes widened in terror as he spotted the ring on her finger.

"Oh dear," he whispered to himself. Looking at his own hands he breathed a sigh of relief, he wasn't wearing a ring. It was worrying to him that he couldn't remember anything from the night before, the last thing he remembered was Francesca Vecchio meeting him after his shift at the consulate. Ray had been unable to meet him due to the case he was working and so Francesca had offered him a ride home. He'd felt that to refuse her offer would have been taken as an insult so he had accepted. She had given him a cup of coffee and he had felt a little light headed so she had helped him into the car. After that he couldn't remember anything.

The brown haired woman in his bed began to stir. Perhaps she would be able to explain what had happened the night before to him.

"Francesca," he whispered softly. She rolled over to look down at him and smiled. The smile scared him. Heck, the woman scared him.

"Yes Benny?" She asked him. She was going for an innocent expression and tone of voice but she wasn't succeeding. Her wide eyes, predaceous smile and bouncing tone of voice made Ben want to run to the middle of the snow fields in the Northwest Territories, dig the deepest hole he could and hide. He found Francesca Vecchio to be a very intimidating presence. He'd much prefer to be facing a criminal, who was armed with a firearm while he was only armed with his wits, Inuit stories and his hat. The odds were much more in his favour then than when he was in a room with Francesca Vecchio, his arm just inches from the box containing his father's rifle.

"What happened last night?" Francesca looked hurt and Ben began to worry even more. With the low light level he couldn't tell whether her hurt was feigned or genuine but that didn't matter for now. He didn't want to hurt her but he really had to know what had happened and why he couldn't remember.

"You mean you don't remember!" Ben gulped and shook his head. He might not be able to see all the details on Francesca's face but he would have sworn that he could see murder in her eyes. He shook his head again, his mind was playing tricks on him, he reasoned.

"I'm sorry Francesca. The last thing I remember is you helping me into the car because I felt a little light headed." The murderous twinkle in Francesca's eye, that Ben wasn't sure had really been there, suddenly transformed into a rage that covered her whole face, and Ben knew for sure that he wasn't imagining that and it frightened him. When she stood up, though, he was relieved to see that she was wearing a nightgown. She put her left hand on her hip and gestured for him to stand with her right hand. He couldn't help but obey. The slap to his left cheek stung but his only reaction was to lower his head and eyes to the floor. He knew he was in trouble; he just had no idea how deep.

"You bastard! I thought you were different! You're not! If you didn't want to marry me you should have just said so, instead of playing this amnesia game." Ben's eyes widened, his heart pounded and his breath kept catching in his sleep. Marry Francesca! What was she talking about? He didn't have time to think anything else before she continued. "Or better yet… you shouldn't have proposed!" Ben's jaw bobbed up and down several times before he was able to speak.

"Oh dear. What the hell happened last night?" He whispered silently to himself; he was hoping that he would wake up, again, soon and this would all be a bad dream.