Disclaimer: They're not really mine, no matter what I may claim in my less reasonable moments. Alliance actually owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.

This story is rated PG or so, mild suggestion of m/m between Fraser and RayK. Related to the episode "Strange Bedfellows". Major Stella warning.

Note: I kind of fiddled with the Lhasa song in the first little bit. I added a trumpet, mostly because I like trumpets, also because I was listening to a good, soulful trumpet solo at the time of writing that part. Just . . . pretend it's the song on the CD before the song used on the show!<g>

Thank you kindly to Maria Jackson, for reading over and catching any of the more glaring mistakes. Feedback is, as always, worshipped. My e-mail address is bluecast@yahoo.com

Shadow Dancer
by Tara Blue

With a click, the sleek drawer containing a single, shining CD slid into place. The muted *whrrrr* of the disk spinning was drowned out by the first soulful notes being played on a wailing jazz trumpet. The notes themselves were high and clean and sad, floating through the open apartment.

Tossing the empty case onto the top of the stereo, Ray stepped back, shrugging out of his grey suit coat as he went. The trumpet was joined by a singer, a woman, whose crooning voice wrapped around the trumpet's soaring tones, throaty where the other was cutting and pure. Ray tossed the coat over the back of the couch in the center of his living room, sending his holster and gun after it. His shoes were kicked off and sent skittering under the kitchen table.

The smooth duet of trumpet and voice washed over him, pulling him, seducing him. Ray allowed a small smile to quirk up the corner of his mouth as an idea came to him. It was silly . . . but he gave in. Behind the closed and locked doors of his apartment there was no one to mock him for it. Standing up straighter, he held out one hand, as if inviting someone to take it. Alone in an empty room, he led a phantom partner to a clear spot on the floor. A quick tug of his arm reeled his phantom in, and suddenly . . .

His arms were full of Stella again, and they were both kids again. He could feel the pinch of his dress shoes every time he shifted his weight, and the slightly too-short-too-tight suit coat pulled at his shoulders and exposed his bony wrists.

Stella's hair was held back by a light blue headband that matched her pretty, Sunday-school type dress. The white trim of lace at her wrists and neck matched the dress shoes on her feet and equally white nylons on her legs. Ray thought she looked beautiful. He always thought she looked beautiful.

All around them were other pairs. Each boy, including Ray, had their partner's hand in one of theirs and the other lay against their partner's waists. Ray was terrified and exultant and terrified by turns. His arms were full of Stella, the untouchable girl of his dreams. He hoped that the palm pressing against Stella's wasn't sweating as much as he thought it was. Everyone was just standing there, poised, waiting for the music to start.

And there. An old fashioned waltz, filled with stringed instruments like violins and breathy instruments like flutes. It was time to move. The bare wooden floors of the old dance studio creaked as they began, and over it all the scratchy voice of the dance instructor called out "1-2-3 1-2-3, step lightly, 1-2-3 . . ."

The other boys all had sour looks on their faces and they held their bodies stiff as they woodenly clomped out the steps. They didn't want to be there, would rather be outside in a scruffy pair of jeans playing street hockey or something. Their mothers were probably forcing them to go to the dance lessons every Saturday afternoon in the hopes of turning their rough and tumble sons into gentlemen.

With Ray, it was different. The suit chaffed and restricted, and he'd much prefer to be wearing a comfortable pair of jeans himself. But he'd put up with the clothes because that's what it took to be here, with Stella. When she had told him her mother had signed her up for dance class, and how she was worried about not having a partner, Ray had been struck with an image. An extremely unpleasant image.

His Stella. In the arms of another boy. Dancing and laughing and smiling up through her eyelashes in that way that she did with him, only with another boy.

It had made Ray feel sick. He had gone straight home and begged his mother to sign him up for lessons as well. And now he had an armful of Stella and everything was good. It was great. It was greatness.

The waltz faded into something else, something faster with an heavier beat. Ray couldn't make out the words, but it didn't matter. He could hear the beat, feel it even. Gone was the dance studio filled with uncomfortable preteens in starchy dress clothes. In its place was a large, almost garishly decorated school gym filled with excited, half sloshed nearly-adults.

High school graduation. His, not hers. Stella was still in his arms.

Ray wore a black suit - not a tux, no matter how hard his mother and Stella had both begged him to wear one - and Stella wore a black dress. The tow of them, with their golden beauty set off by the stark black clothes, had turned a few heads on the way in, but ray was unconscious of his own good looks. All he was aware of was her. The dark, silky material hugged her slender frame in a way that took his breath away. All he could think was *She's so beautiful, so perfect, and - for some strange reason or due to an act of God - she's mine.* He knew that Stella wouldn't have appreciated his possessive attitude, seeing it as oppressive or something. But it wasn't like that. As much as she was his, he was hers, and that's exactly the way he wanted it.

They were just standing, quietly rocking to the music, when the first strains of a familiar song came skipping across the gym. An upbeat, rock style variation on a classical style waltz. The song was one they both knew, one they had often danced to over the years.

Pulling back a little, Ray cocked one eyebrow in silent query - shall we . . . ? The mischievous light flashing in Stella's eyes was all the answer he needed.

*1-2-3, 1-2-3 . . .* The scratchy voice of their old dance teacher echoed in the back of Ray's head as he lead Stella through the light steps they both knew so well. *1-2-3, 1-2-3 . . .* A flick of the arm spun her out, then a quit tug brought her back to be held flush against his body. Closer than would have been approved of, or even allowed, in the old dance studio. In perfect harmony they moved, stomachs and hips and chests rocking against each other. Never a misstep, only smooth, confident movements on both their parts.

As far as Ray was concerned, this was as good as it got. Him and Stella, doing their thing. Dancing. His world narrowed and contracted until there was only enough room in it for her and him. He didn't even notice the other dancers pull back and stop to watch, except to register that there was more room at his disposal. Room he made good use of.

Around and around the expanding clearing in the crowd they danced, gracefully gliding across the floor. Finally, the song came to an end, and Ray finished by deeply dipping Stella, who lay relaxed in his arms even though she was lying nearly parallel to the floor. She trusted him not to drop her, not to let her get hurt. That trust made his heart swell up in his chest and emotion catch in his throat. As he always did when faced with her trust in him and love for him, he silently repeated the vow he'd first mentally made when they'd both been kids. He hadn't actually said it out loud yet, but over the years, he'd often recited it in his head.

*You're mine, Stella, and I'm yours. I'll love you forever, if you'll let me, and never let anybody hurt you. Ever. This is the way it is meant to be. We were born for each other. I love you.*

He repeated that last part aloud, still slightly marvelling that he had been granted the right to.

"I love you, Stella."

Suddenly, the sound of applause and cheering broke the sweet bubble that had surrounded them. Ray became aware of the fact that he and Stella were standing in the center of a large clear patch on the floor, surrounded by his school mates, most of whom had slightly surprised looks on their faces. Here and there, Ray could pick out the dumfounded faces of his friends. Ray could feel a slight blush staining his cheekbones; he hadn't ever told anyone about the dance lessons he had been taking for years. It didn't fit in with his tough guy image.

Ah, what the hell, he thought. This was his grad, and he wasn't going to see most of these people ever again. It was worth a little embarrassment to be on the receiving end of one of Stella's sweet smiles.

The applause, and the gym, faded away. Instead, he was standing in the first apartment he and Stella had ever shared as a married couple. It was a dump, but it was all they could afford with Ray on a rookie's salary and Stella in law school.

Ray was sitting on the couch in the small living room dressed in a battered pair of jeans and a ratty t-shirt, faded and soft with age, the sleeves rolled up to just under the ball of his shoulder. He'd recently been put on the night shift, and although it had taken a while to get used to, he and Stella had developed a routine that worked out well.

It was almost time for Stella to get home from school. In fact, Ray though he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock over the mellow crooning of one of his favourite blues singers. The music was emerging from the one luxury the young couple had indulged in - a large stereo system that took up nearly a whole wall in the living room all told.

Yes, there was the sound of the front door opening. Stella was home. Ray levered himself out of the depths of the sagging couch cushions and went to meet her.

Giving her a quick peck on the lips, Ray moved around behind her to help her out of her heavy winter coat. She looked tired and strained, more so than usual. Exams were approaching, and he knew that Stella was near to buckling under the mountain of work her professors had heaped on her shoulders. He wished he could help her with it, but all he could do was be there for her and help her unwind every once and a while.

"Hey, Stel, how were your classes today?" he asked, hanging her coat on a hook as she moved to put her heavy book bag down in the living room. After Ray left for work, she would continue studying as she had all day.

"Long," she answered, smiling tiredly at her husband. She raised a hand to her temple and rubbed it in the way that Ray knew meant she was coming down with a tension headache. His brow furrowed with worry; she was working herself so hard and was getting so stressed out that she has been getting tension headaches practically every day. But he knew the best way to help her relax.

As the music swelled with a jaunty blare of brassy instruments, Ray began to shuffle forward, swinging his hips to the rhythm. He reached out and drew Stella in, hugging her tight against his body with one hand and massaging the back of her neck with the other. He could already feel the tight muscles beginning to loosen a little. Together they swayed gently in the center of the room, not trying anything fancy, just feeling the music and each other.

Still using the one hand to hold her close, Ray moved the soothing massage down her spine, finally settling at the base of her back. She had long since relaxed totally, and had even begun to slightly arch into the caresses. The catching of her breath under his ear told Ray that what had begun as a comfort dance was turning into something else. For them, dancing often turned into something else. A quick glance at the clock told him they had time enough.

In small, rocking steps he began to dance her backwards, towards the bedroom that was as small as all the other rooms of the apartment. With her lips brushing against his neck with every breath, he felt as much as heard her small chuckle when she realised what he was doing. As they passed through the open door, Ray bent his head to kiss her, his long fingers tangling in her blond hair.

The cramped, dingy rooms of their first apartment faded into a brightly painted, open room that served as both living room and dining room in one. Ray sat, his lanky body folded into an improbably position, in the single piece of furniture remaining from their early days of marriage, an over stuffed, badly worn, incredibly comfortable brown leather armchair. The light, tumbling notes of one of Strauss' waltzes washed over him as he stared at the bent head of his wife. Stella was sitting on one of the new, straight backed chairs at the new, softly gleaming kitchen table. The table, built large for the express purpose of entertaining, was nearly hidden beneath the piles of paper and files spread atop it. Stella was working late. Again. Working at home. Again.

The sensitive skin between his fingers tingled, remembering the feel of the soft, slippery hair that shifted and slithered over that bent head. He didn't get to play with it much anymore. In fact, he didn't get to play with her much anymore. Or even at all. Between his promotion to detective, and her promotion to Assistant State's Attorney, it seemed like that when one wasn't working, the other one was. There just wasn't any time to be together anymore.

Although it would be tough, Ray was more than willing to make the time, if Stella would only meet him half way. At one time, he would have been able to confidently say that she would be willing to exert the effort. But those days has passed, and now he honestly wouldn't be able to guess what she'd be willing to do.

*I'm losing her*

The thought suddenly appeared with crystal clarity in his mind, causing his stomach to knot in anxiety. He couldn't lose her. Ray wasn't sure he even knew how to live without her anymore, knew how to live without loving her. He realised now that he had been feeling her drifting further and further away, and just hadn't been willing to admit it to himself.

He felt a sudden compulsion to rise from his seat, go over to her, and hug her tight against his body as though to physically prevent her from leaving him.

Restless, tormented by his thoughts, Ray did rise, but not to give in to his urge to cling to Stella. Instead he began pacing the spacious living room. Their new apartment was much more luxurious than any of the ones they'd had during the frugal years of Ray being a rookie cop and Stella in law school. He made a pass around the outside of the room, idly running his fingers along the frames of paintings and pausing to fiddle with the various expensive knick-knacks Stella had begun collecting and placing on shelves. After the third cycle around, he abandoned the walls and began weaving his way through the furniture, rubbing the knobby fabric of the couch, leaving smudged fingerprints on the clear glass coffee table.

Stella looked up, an annoyed look on her face.

"Ray!" She used the tone of voice that Ray had come to know as her 'obey or die' voice. He stopped pacing and stood staring at the stereo system that still held a place of honour in the living room. The 1-2-3, 1-2-3 rhythm called to him, tempting him to dance.

His thoughts, formally zipping around inside his skull like shiny, drunken dragonflies focused with a snap ray almost expected to be audible.

Dancing.

If he and Stella could still dance, then he hadn't truly lost her yet. If they could still move together in that zone of perfect harmony where every step was in unison and perfect, where dancing was somehow more than just a pattern of movements, then it would be okay. If all that was possible, then there was nothing wrong that couldn't be fixed with a little time and effort, no gap so great it could not be bridged.

Filled with purpose where moments before he'd been aimlessly pacing, Ray strode across the living room, crossing the point where carpet became hardwood, signifying the beginning of the dining room. At the sound of his approaching steps, Stella raised her head, the fine strands of hair that had held Ray's attention a brief time earlier sliding out from behind her ear and into her face. With an impatient, unconscious movement that to Ray was pure Stella, she shoved the wayward hair back, ruthlessly securing it behind her ear.

"Yes?" Stella's ability to infuse a single word with layers upon layers of meaning was unmatched. Her 'yes' communicated distraction, annoyance, impatience, and the faintest trace of curiosity all at once, all in that single syllable.

Trying not to be discouraged by the unwelcoming tone of most of the layers, Ray concentrated on the barely there flash of curiosity he'd thought he'd seen.

"Dance with me, Stel," Ray said, holding out his hand to her. He knew his voice had been a tad too pleading, his eyes touched with a hint of desperation, but he couldn't help it. The knowledge that this was the key, the moment when he'd find out if he had a chance to save his marriage, was scrapping his nerves to raw to fully hide his emotions.

Her clear blue eyes narrowed as the curiosity disappeared entirely. All that was left was the annoyance and impatience. She glared up from her seat, ignoring Ray's hand hovering in the gulf between them until it wavered and fell to his side.

"No." The answer was firm, without even a hint of 'maybe'.

Trying not to feel it as his heart sank to his feet, Ray tried one more time. "C'mon, Stella, just one dance. It won't take-"

Stella cut him off with another sharp look and an exasperated huff. "Ray, I said 'no'. I have a ton of work to do, what with the Homrick case going to trial tomorrow, and the Allen case the day after that."

And that was it.

It was over, and Ray knew it. He wasn't ready to accept it just yet, but he knew.

It was just a matter of time.

"And turn that music off," Stella snapped at his back as he turned to return to the living room. "I need to concentrate."

The full orchestra faded into a soulful duet of guitar and female voice. The strains cascaded through the open glass door leading from Stella's apartment to the balcony overlooking the city.

Stella was back in his arms, and they were dancing. They were moving in harmony again, lightly stepping, smoothly gliding. It was almost like it had been in the blissful early days of their marriage, when they had been so happy, so in love. Almost like it, but . . . not. It was vague, Ray knew, but that was as specific as he could manage - almost the same, but not. He knew it would have driven Fraser nuts if he were presented with such a statement.

Something had changed. Maybe he and Stella had too much history now. Ray didn't know, and didn't care. He didn't make it a practice to examine every aspect of every situation, dismantling it and dismantling it again, scrutinising each moment from each possible angle, until every nuance was laid bare. That was Fraser's job. Ray went on his gut more often than not. His gut was telling him to say something. So he did.

"I could stay the night." The suggestion surprised Ray. He hadn't consciously decided to make it.

"You could." Agreeing without actually agreeing to anything. The statement was decidedly neutral. Pure Stella. Pure Assistant State's Attorney Kowalski. But it wasn't negative, either.

"It would be perfect," he coaxed.

"It would be a mistake. You could stay, we could make love, and it would be great, like a thousand times before. But tomorrow we'd be right back where we were this morning. Maybe a couple more regrets."

Ray was vaguely surprised at how little disappointment he felt. He persisted more out of habit than anything else.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Always will. But you know I'm right."

"No, but it could be-"

"I didn't say you couldn't stay."

She was offering him everything he'd thought he wanted. The only thing he'd wanted for so long.

And he didn't really want it anymore. It was . . . a revelation. One he didn't really know how to deal with. He'd always wanted Stella, ever since he was 13 years old. He didn't even remember a time when he hadn't wanted her, wanted her love. It made him feel - *dunno, kinda feels . . . empty, good, something. I dunno.*

Where once he'd though he couldn't exist away from her, he'd now learned to survive without her. More than survive, actually live. He'd moved on.

Stella was waiting for an answer, confidence shining in her eyes. She was assured of his love, secure in the knowledge that, no matter what, he'd always be there for her. And he would be. But he didn't really want her any more.

He compromised by answering with a neutral "Oh" that revealed nothing, answered nothing, committed nothing.

He didn't want her - well, to be honest, he did want her. He wanted her with the same low grade buzz that he wanted Elaine with or Frannie with or any other pretty woman of his acquaintance with. But no more than that. The all-consuming desire of the past was gone.

He loved her. Always would. But he wasn't in love with her. Not any more. That was reserved for someone else. Someone . . . No, he wouldn't think of that now. He was approaching the state of complete peace he usually reached while dancing and- Was that someone pounding on the door?

The music was the same, but the pounding had stopped, and Stella's apartment had faded into Ray's own.

He was still dancing, but his arms were empty. His phantom partner lost her substantiality and dissipated like so much smoke. He was alone.

Ray stopped dead, mid step, and let his arms drop to his sides. His head seemed too heavy for his neck, so he allowed his chin to sink to his chest and he stared at his shoes through tear clouded eyes.

Alone. He was always alone.

Abandoning the impromptu dance floor, formed from the space between his living room furniture, he went over to the window over looking the street. The street was empty, save for the occasional car, headlights cutting through the late night gloom. The street lights illuminated only in patches, which somehow made the street look even more empty that it would have already. Pressing his heated cheek against the cool glass, Ray searched for any sign that he wasn't alone in the world, let alone just in his apartment.

What was that saying? Lucky at cards, unlucky at love? Ray figured he should take up gambling, because considering the state of his love life, he should stand to make a fortune. Always falling for the wrong people, the people he couldn't be with, the people that wouldn't love him back. First there was Stella, then . . . Fraser. Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP. Benny. Ray tried it out in his head, but it seemed wrong to refer to the utterly formal Mountie by so informal a name without his express permission. Even silently. Fraser.

Stella, the Gold Coast girl, an untouchable princess in her ivory tower.

Fraser, the Mountie, the straight as an arrow, doubly untouchable Canadian ice prince.

Fraser.

The glass was getting slick beneath his cheek, and for the first time, Ray became aware of the hot, stinging tears sliding silently down his face.

Alone. Always alone.

And he cried.


End.