Shadow Danc	   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.