CINDERELLA	 CINDERELLA By Kay 

	The Christmas snow had long since turned to slush due to an
unseasonable warm spell. As he entered the 27th Precinct building, Benton
Fraser took special care to wipe his boots, despite the wet tracks of
those less thoughtful that had already made the linoleum slick and muddy. 


	Diefenbaker woofed from a few paces ahead. 

	"Safety only takes a moment," Fraser reminded the wolf, giving his
boots a couple of extra swipes for good measure. 

	Just then, a young woman burst through the door, skating on high
heels right across the wet floor and into Fraser's arms. Instinctively, he
grabbed her elbows to steady her as he said, "Good morning, Francesca." 

	Francesca Vecchio swallowed twice. "Um. Hey, Fraser." There was an
awkward silence as she raised her gaze from his brown uniform jacket to
almost meet his eyes. 

	Fraser cleared his throat and opened his mouth. 

	Then a voice said, "Now's your chance, son." 

	Fraser jumped and dropped his hands, at the same time, turning to
see his father, in full RCMP dress uniform, standing behind him. Hearing
footsteps, he whirled back, but caught only a glimpse of Frannie's purse
as she disappeared around the corner. 

	Dief looked after her and whined. 

	"I imagine she had some pressing engagement," Fraser said. 

	But the ghost complained, "Now you've let her get away. You won't
catch her just standing here, you know." 

	"Hello, Dad," Fraser murmured, looking out for passersby. "What
are you doing here?" 

	"I'm here to give you advice about women." 

	Benton glanced around to make sure no one was listening before he
said, "I thought you didn't know anything about women." 

	Fraser Sr. stepped into rhythm beside his son as they strolled up
the hall in the general direction Francesca had taken. "It's obvious I
know more than you," he retorted. "You're going about it all wrong." 

	Benton glared at his father. 

	"You'll never get anywhere mooning about, son," the ghost
insisted. "What are you waiting for?" 

	They rounded a corner, and entered the bullpen. Benton halted.
Across the room, Francesca was pacing before Ray's desk, arguing
vehemently, eyes flashing, fingers flying. She must have felt Fraser's
stare, because she wheeled suddenly catching him in her blazing glare.	

	Benton sucked in a breath, and looked away. 

	The ghost followed the exchange. "The Yank's sister, eh? Isn't she
the one who..." 

	"That was a long time ago, Dad," said Fraser, coloring from the
collar up. 

	"She kissed you last week, didn't she?" 

	"We were under the mistletoe. It was...it may have
been...tradition."  

	"Well, Christmas is over, son. If you want to kiss her more than
once a year, you're going to have to make a move."  

	The living Fraser shook himself. "Dad, you don't just kiss a
woman. You have to get to know her, court her." 

	"I taught you that," said the ghost, proudly. 

	"Actually, Grandma taught me that," said Benton. And he couldn't
resist adding, "You weren't around." 

	"Well, that's what I was going to teach you, if I hadn't been so
busy," the ghost blithered. "The point remains, you've got to show her
your other side." 

	"I beg your pardon." 

	"You have to invite her out with you--to do something fun. Take
her snowshoe racing or let her help you tan a moose hide. Of course, it
helps if you have an inkling how she feels about you." Fraser Sr. gave his
son a broad smile and a wink. "Don't think I didn't know what your mother
was thinking when she agreed to come with me to Eagle Falls and identify
scat," he said. 

	Benton turned away and rolled his eyes. To his father, he said,
"Thanks for the advice, Dad." 

	"Glad to be of help, son," offered the ghost, placidly.  

	Apparently the fight had broken up between Ray and Francesca.
Either that, or they were taking a break before round two. Robert Fraser
cast his eye approvingly over the pretty brunette as she sashayed past
him--well, almost through him--on her way to the water fountain.  

	"I like her. She's got spirit." 

	"Dad, don't you have somewhere to be?" hissed Fraser, dragging his
eyes away from Francesca as she leaned over to drink. 

	Fraser Sr. was now studying his son and slowly shaking his head.
"I can see it in your eyes. It's been known to happen to some of the best
men. Of course, I would have thought my son would be stronger, but that's
your mother in you I suppose." 

	"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

	"You've lost your head, of course--over a woman. You needn't be
afraid to admit it, son. Not everyone will think less of you." 

	"What makes you think I've..." 

	"Well, that wasn't exactly standard procedure in that warehouse,
now was it? And you've been practically stalking her for weeks." 

	"I hardly think..." 

	"Come now, son. I know that look," his father continued.  

	"Dad..." 

	"I've seen it many a time in the eyes of a mountain lion when she
scents cariboo."  

	"Dad! Can't we talk about something else? How are things in the
afterlife?" 

	But the ghost's eyes were sparkling as he pointed across the room.
"Go for it, son. The game's afoot. And there's not a blessed thing
standing in your way." 

	Benton's gaze returned to where Francesca stood, only to find his
vision blocked by his unofficial partner--and Francesca's brother--Ray.
The ghost of Fraser Sr. had disappeared without a trace. 

	"So, Benny? You up for some lunch?" Ray asked. "I know it's early,
but I gotta get out of here for a while." 

	Fraser nodded his assent. But, in the back of his mind, a little
voice whispered, "Oh dear."  

	Ray wasn't in a good mood. Fraser could see that by the way he
drove with more aggression than usual and threatened to strip search the
proprietor of the deli where they were eating when the unlucky man
informed them he was out of dill pickles. Now he sat across the table,
glowering at his sandwich. 

	"What is the point of a corned beef on rye without the pickle?
Tell me that, Benny, huh? What is the point?" 

	"I am a mountie," Fraser muttered under his breath. 

	"You say something, Benny?" 

	"Ray," Fraser began, taking a deep breath, "there's something I'd
like to discuss with you." When he had Ray's attention, he cleared his
throat. "Uhm,...It's about your sister." Pause. "That is, Francesca." 

	"Yeah, well. I didn't think you meant Maria," Ray griped, picking
up the top layer of bread from his sandwich and then slapping it back
down. "I almost never have a problem with Maria, and when I do, Frannie
starts it." 

	Fraser ran a knuckle over his eyebrow. "I wouldn't consider it a
problem exactly, although perhaps you..." 

	"Hey, by the way," Ray interrupted him, slapping the table. "I
figured out what's going on between you and Frannie." 

	Fraser froze. "I beg your pardon?" 

	"The weird way she's been avoiding you lately. In fact, you've
been acting a little strange yourself the last couple of weeks, always
hanging around, actually listening when I complain about her." His eyes
narrowed. "It's like you got some reason to be interested." 

	Fraser cleared his throat and said with a blank face, "Well, uh,
I...ahem. I thought I had explained that to your satisfaction, Ray." 

	"Oh yeah. You mean how you're gonna be "polite but firm" the next
time Frannie comes on to you. Ha! The only problem is, that may take a
while, Benny. Because Frannie's playing hard-to-get." 

	"I don't understand." 

	Ray chuckled. "Look, this is how it works: She gives you the cold
shoulder. You come closer to find out why, and WHAM! she's got you," Ray
explained, slamming his fist into the table for emphasis. 

	Fraser's eyebrows rose slightly. "Then you don't believe she
really wants to avoid me." 

	"Nah, it's gotta be a trick. And believe me, Benny, this is one
bear trap you do not want to fall into." 

	"I do not, as a rule, intentionally throw myself into traps of any
kind, Ray," said Fraser, rubbing one thumbnail over his eyebrow. 

	"That's good, Benny." Ray pushed his plate away with a huff. "Now
if I could just get out of paying Francesca back the money I borrowed for
the poker game last month." 

	Fraser reached for his hat. "If you need money, Ray..." he
offered. 

	"No, no. Thanks, Benny, but it's not that." He sighed. "Frannie
wants the money for this dress--probably some skin-tight number--to wear
to the ball tonight." 

	Fraser blinked. "I wasn't aware that Francesca had an escort for
the New Year's Gala," he said evenly. 

	Ray fixed his eyes on the mountie. "She doesn't," he said,
clenching his fists. "Not yet. And I don't aim for her to get involved
with any of those characters down at the station. Not that she won't try."
He pushed his chair back suddenly. "She can hang around all she wants.
None of those bums better ask her if they know what's good for them!" 

	The detective started toward the door. "You coming, Benny?" 

	Fraser shook himself and got to his feet. "Yes, Ray," he answered
quietly, following his partner out of the deli. 

	They stopped for gas on the way back to the precinct. Ray always
pumped it himself to preserve the paint job. While he was out of the car,
a voice from the back seat spoke. 

	"Chickened out, didn't you, son?" 

	Fraser refused to look at his father. "I merely...postponed the
confrontation. There is no point in upsetting Ray until I know whether
Francesca even wants to spend time with me," he pointed out reasonably.  

	When they returned to the police station, Ray said, "Damn!" 

	"Language, Ray." 

	"Sorry, Benny. But her car's still here. I was hoping Frannie
would have given up and gone home by now. Look, try to keep her out of my
hair for a while so I can get some work done, o.k.? I need to get out of
here early if I'm gonna have time to get ready to take Louise out for
dinner before the dance." 

	Fraser blinked. "As you wish, Ray." 

	When they reached the squad room, Francesca stood by Ray's desk,
hands on her shapely hips, tapping her foot. "What did you do, go to
Shanghai for Chinese?" she asked with a glare that could melt steel. 

	"What's it to you how long I take for lunch?" Ray shot back. "Come
to think of it, don't you have somewhere to be?" 

	"Not really," Frannie sighed, buffing her nails. "I could hang
around all day." 

	Ray threw himself into his chair, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"How am I gonna get rid of you?" 

	Frannie beamed him an evil smile. "You could try paying me the
money you owe me so I can get my dress out of layaway." 

	"Not a chance!" Ray raised his voice and started to stand as
Fraser stepped in to prevent another Vecchio melee. 

	"Uh, perhaps, Francesca, you would be willing to help me in the
file room?" he suggested, one eyebrow cocked. 

	Francesca jumped a little, as if she hadn't noticed him there.
"Um, sure. I guess so, Frase," she agreed and followed him across the
room--not forgetting to turn and stick her tongue out at her brother, who
was looking disturbingly pleased with himself.	

	Once in the file room, Fraser loosened his tie slightly, then
straightened it again. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other
and cleared his throat. Finally, he managed to raise his eyes, only to be
caught by Francesca's soft brown gaze before it fluttered and shifted
away. 

	"So?" she asked, glancing up again quickly and biting a nail.
"What do we do?" 

	Fraser rubbed an eyebrow absently. "Do?" 

	She was tapping her foot again now. "You said you wanted my help."


	"Oh. Ah. Yes. Right you are." He glanced around and quickly
located the piles of used files that needed re-filing. He often took on
this sort of small job in order to make himself useful while waiting for
Ray to be available. 

	Francesca looked at the stack he'd handed her. "Okay, so I put
these..." 

	Fraser opened the nearest drawer and showed her how to file the
folders by name. 

	"Okay, okay. I got it," she insisted, and Fraser retreated to the
opposite side of the set of cabinets. 

	They worked in silence until Fraser ventured, "I'm sorry about
your dress." 

	"Yeah well, Ray can be a real pig sometimes." Frannie slammed one
drawer shut and opened another one. "Can you believe it? Ma already said
he has to give me the money today, but he's gonna wait until after five
o'clock so I won't be able to get my dress out of lay-a-way in time for
the dance." 

	"That's...unfortunate," said Fraser. 

	"You can say that again," Francesca agreed, running her fingers
through her hair. "It's too bad, too, cause that dress fits just right,
with the fringe and the little off-center slit." She smoothed her hands
over her curvaceous figure. "It has a lot of oomph! Ya know?" 

	Fraser had paused in his filing and stood wide-eyed, fingers in
the drawer.  

	Suddenly Francesca's eyes strayed to his, and she quickly
retreated behind her file cabinet, one hand picking at the file tabs, the
other fussing with her hair. 

	A few moments later, she murmured without looking up. "Hey, Frase.
I don't suppose you could loan me the money--I mean American money." 

	Fraser gulped. "Ahh, Francesca,...I, uh, I don't think..." 

	Her eyes flared suddenly. "Never mind. Don't say it. Ray wouldn't
like it." 

	"I'm sorry, Francesca," said Fraser looking at his boots. 

	She sighed. "It's not like I have a date anyway." 

	Fraser raised his head. With a deep breath, and the air of a man
going into battle, he stepped around the file cabinet and into Francesca's
space. Her eyes widened with surprise and she stepped back. 

	Fraser opened his mouth. "Francesca,..." came out as hardly more
than a whisper. He coughed and tried again. "Francesca, perhaps..." 

	"Hey! Anybody seen the Chihuly file?" 

	Fraser whirled on the spot. "Ah, Detective Huey. I believe I just
filed that particular folder," he said, moving to retrieve it from the
drawer.  

	"Thanks, man." 

	"Not a-tall," he said, smiling politely. But by the time Huey was
gone, so was Francesca. 

	Fraser released his breath, closed his eyes, and came near to
slumping. He jumped when his father spoke from behind him.  

	"She gave you the slip, eh Son?" 

	"Dad, could you please go away and leave me alone. I have a lot of
filing to do," he said, picking up another folder from the stack. 

	"But you've got to get moving. If your prey has gone to ground,
son, you'll have to track her by scent. Get going while the trail's still
fresh." 

	"Do you ever listen to yourself? I have no intention of..." he
paused to glance outside the door for anyone who might be listening.
"...of tracking Francesca like a wounded mountain lion. So you can go back
to the hereafter, and..." Fraser stopped mid-sentence and glanced into the
bullpen again, where he had caught sight of Francesca sitting on Ray's
desk, swinging her shapely legs and waving her hands in Ray's face. 

	"Well, that was too easy, really," Fraser senior said. "Why, in my
day..." 

	But Benton was already hurrying across the room. 

	Ray was saying, "Uh, Frannie, how about you find me another ribbon
for my typewriter. This one's shredded." 

	"Perhaps if you didn't hit the keys so hard, Ray," Fraser
commented, walking up. "If you'd like," he said, moving to look over Ray's
shoulder, "I could help. This ribbon looks serviceable for..." 

	"Did I ask for advice? Or help?" Ray demanded, crossing his arms
over the typewriter. "No! What I want is for Frannie to go to the supply
closet and get me a typewriter ribbon." 

	Francesca growled. "Fine! But we're gonna have a talk when I get
back, big brother," she warned as she stalked away. 

	Fraser shifted his weight uneasily. "Uh, Ray, if I'm of no use
here, perhaps I should leave you to..." 

	Ray waved him away without looking up. "Yeah, yeah. Get outta my
hair," he said, as he resumed typing with two fingers.	

	Fraser paused outside the open closet door. He straightened his
tie, and smoothed the back of his hair before walking inside and closing
the door behind him. 

	"What the...? Oh! Fraser." said Francesca, yanking the chain on
the dim overhead bulb. She stroked her hair behind her ear with shaky
fingers and turned quickly back to combing the shelves. "I can't find any
typewriter ribbons..." 

	"They're not stored here," said Fraser quietly, taking a step
closer. 

	Francesca didn't look at him. "They're not? But this is the supply
closet." She bit her lower lip. "I mean, what do they keep in here but
supplies?" she asked, fiddling with her earring. "And what are typewriter
ribbons? They're supplies!" she insisted, flinging her hand out and
banging it on the shelf in front of her. Ow!" She turned and took a step
back tripping on the mop bucket and causing a broomstick to fall forward. 

	Fraser stepped forward and neatly caught it.  

	"What are you doing in here, Benton?" she asked, glaring at him as
she shoved the aching hand into her mouth. 

	Fraser watched her suck the fingers and swallowed several times
before meeting her eyes. "I came to tell you...about the ribbons," he
finished lamely. 

	Her breath came out in a sigh. 

	Fraser quickly recanted. "Well, that's not quite true. Actually, I
wanted to continue our earlier discussion--in a place with more privacy." 

	Francesca's brow knitted for a moment. Then she seemed to
understand. "There's nothing more to say, Fraser. I mean, you're either
going to do it or you're not." 

	"Well, I-I..." he stammered, taking a step back. 

	"I just think it's not fair that Ray has control over both our
lives like that. I mean, who does he think he is? If we both want
something, what right does he have to say anything about it?" 

	"Well, he is your brother..." 

	"Yeah, and he thinks I'm just his little sister--like when we were
kids. But I'm a grown woman now, with plans and...and needs." 

	Fraser ran a finger under his collar as she advanced.
"Francesca..." 

	"Forget about Ray," she said vehemently. "Who needs him? For once
I'm gonna get my own way." 

	There was a sudden rush of fresh air and light as the closet door
was yanked open. "All right. I've heard enough! What's going on in here?"
demanded the tall figure who was silhouetted in the doorway. 

	"Ray!" Fraser squeaked. He cleared his throat to try again, but
Ray was already dragging Francesca out of the closet. 

	"Frannie, so help me, if you..." 

	Francesca jerked away from him, rolling her eyes. "What is wrong
with you? We were just talking about Fraser loaning me the money for my
dress." She sighed. "What'd ya think?" 

	Ray narrowed his eyes at Fraser, who had closed his mouth and was
watching the proceedings intently.  

	But Francesca continued. "Only I just decided I don't need his
money--or yours either, big brother. I'm gonna borrow the money from Ma.
You can pay her back,...only I wouldn't wait too long if I were you." 

	Both men watched as she sauntered down the hall. But at the
corner, she turned back with a hand on one hip. 

	"Oh, and Ray? Get your mind out of the gutter!"  

	When she was gone, Ray faced Fraser. "You were talking about
loaning her money?" he asked.  

	"Apparently," Fraser answered, with a wide-eyed look.	

	They returned to the bullpen, where Lieutenant Welsh was waiting
at Ray's desk. 

	"Detective Vecchio, I'm waiting for the Schwarz report." 

	"I'm on it, sir," said Ray, sliding into his chair and typing
furiously. "Just putting the finishing touches on it now." 

	"I want that report on my desk in half an hour," Welsh warned.
Then he nodded his head at the mountie. "So try not to get distracted." 

	Ray looked from Welsh to Fraser and back again. "That's no
problem, sir. Constable Fraser was just leaving anyway. Right, Benny?" he
asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

	Meanwhile, Fraser had noticed Francesca's red satin purse, which
she'd left on the corner of Ray's desk. Now he discreetly picked it up as
he nodded to Ray and said, "Good day, Leftenant," to Welsh before exiting
the bullpen. 

	He hurried down the hallway in the direction Francesca had gone,
unaware that she had reversed direction until he rounded a corner and
collided with her. 

	"Ah, Francesca," he said, holding the purse between them. "It
seems you forgot this, and I was just coming to..." He trailed off as
tears sprang to Francesca's eyes and her face crumpled. 

	"Francesca?" he asked gently, raising a hand toward her face. "I
didn't realize the force of our impact. Are you injured?" 

	"Ooooh!" 

	Fraser would have leaped away at Francesca's sudden growl if she
hadn't grabbed his raised hand and dragged him into the nearest empty
interview room. 

	Slamming the door behind them, she whirled to face Fraser with the
rage of a tigress. "What do you want, Fraser?" 

	Fraser took a step back. His mouth opened, but no words came out,
which was just as well, because Francesca hadn't paused in her tirade. 

	"How long did you think we could go on like this? Huh?" 

	"I..." 

	"I've tried, I really have," she said, gritting her teeth. "But
you're always there, every time I turn around, with your eyes and your
politeness and your 'Good morning, Francesca'! How much of that do you
think I can take?"  

	"Francesca, I..." 

	"Don't you 'Francesca' me unless you're ready to stop beating the
butcher." 

	Fraser frowned. "I think you mean..." 

	"Don't tell me what I mean. It's not like I don't know what's
really going on here." 

	Fraser's eyebrows jumped. "You don't? I mean, you do?" 

	Francesca put her hands on her hips. "I thought I'd be happier as
long as I didn't hear it from the horse's lips. But I'm just waiting for
you to drop your other boot on me, so you might as well get it over with."


	She turned her back to him, but, with watery eyes, she met his
gaze in the two-way mirror. "Go ahead, Benton," she whispered mournfully.
"I can take it. Tell me what you want." 

	Fraser took a step nearer and put a hand on her shoulder. Turning
her to face him, he whispered, "At the moment, all I want to do is kiss
you." 

	Her lips parted in surprise. 

	Her head tilted back as he took her in his arms, and... 

	The door burst open. "There you are...Frannie! Are you at it
again?" Ray demanded as the two jumped apart. "Can't you leave the guy
alone for..." 

	"Ray, I believe you are laboring under a misapprehension," said
Fraser, stepping forward. "Actually, it was..." 

	"Benny, can I see you a minute?" said Ray grabbing Fraser's arm
and yanking him out into the hall. "Now's your chance, buddy," he said,
nodding toward his sister. "Remember, be polite but definite." 

	"But, Ray,..." 

	"No buts! It's firm and definite if you ever want things to
change. Got it?" 

	"Yes, Ray." 

	"Good. Now get in there. I'll be lending moral support--from out
here," he said, shoving Fraser back into the room. 

	As soon as the door was closed, Ray headed for the room next door
where he could get a good view of the fireworks through the two-way
mirror. However, he was stopped by the booming voice of Lieutenant Welsh. 


	"Vecchio! Is there some reason that report is not on my desk yet?"


	Ray came to attention and said, "Yes, sir. Actually I had a little
trouble with my typewriter ribbon, and..." 

	"I don't want excuses, detective." 

	"No, sir." 

	"Just get it done." 

	"Yes, sir," said Ray without moving. 

	"Now!" 

	"Yes, sir," Ray sighed, glancing back once more at the
interrogation room before following the lieutenant to the bull pen.  

	Meanwhile, inside the room, Fraser watched as Francesca's look of
surprise slowly changed. Her soft lips curved slightly, and her brown eyes
burned from beneath half-lowered lashes.  

	"Benton," she purred. "Do you want to take me to the New Year's
Ball?" 

	Fraser stood mesmerized. "Definitely," he murmured.  

	She stepped nearer, and he closed his eyes. He could feel the heat
of her body, her mouth so close he could feel her breath on his lips
before it slid up his cheek and she whispered in his ear. 

	"Pick me up at eight. And wear your dress uniform." 

	Fraser opened his eyes to find himself alone in the room and
staring at his own reflection.	

	Back in the bullpen, Ray cringed when he saw Francesca approaching
his desk. He raised both hands and said solemnly, "Before you say
anything, sis, I just want you to know that I've decided to pay you that
money I owe you. I know it doesn't make up for,...well, you know," he
said, nodding in the general direction of the interview rooms. "But maybe
you'll feel better if you go out and buy yourself something pretty." 

	"Thanks, bro," said Francesca cheerfully. Then her eyes widened.
"Oh my gosh!" she said, snatching the money from her brother's hands.
"I've got to go find a new dress for the ball." 

	"Wait a minute. You don't have a date," Ray insisted. 

	"Yes I do," said Frannie, slinging her purse over her shoulder and
heading for the door.  

	Ray called after her. "What? Who? And what about the dress on
lay-a-way?" But she was already gone.  

	"I hope you don't mind stopping by home before I drop you off at
your apartment, Benny," said Ray an hour later as they climbed the stairs
to his bedroom. "But my tuxedo is merino wool, and Del Floria's never does
as good a job pressing the pleats as Ma." 

	"It's quite all right, Ray. Actually there's something I've been
meaning to discuss with you," said Fraser. "Perhaps I should have brought
it up sooner,...well, actually, I did attempt to bring it up sooner, but,
as it turned out, that particular moment was not as appropriate as I would
have liked." He stared at the floral pattern of the rug as he paced
between the window and the bureau. "At any rate, it appears that the time
has come--or rather the time has been forced upon me by circumstances..." 

	"Uh, Benny, you want to get to the point? I'm having trouble
concentrating here, thinking about my sister going out with one of those
creeps from the station. Ma, did Frannie say anything to you about her
date?" he asked as Mrs. Vecchio entered, carrying his tuxedo. 

	"No, Caro. I have not seen her," she said on her way out. 

	Ray shrugged the shirt on and buttoned it, but he fumbled with the
studs, finally swearing as he dropped one and it bounced under the bed.
"Damn!" He dropped to his hands and knees. "I swear, Benny, when I find
out who this guy is..." 

	Fraser crouched on the other side of the bed and retrieved the
stud. Then he faced his partner across the dusty under-bed space and
gulped. "Well, Ray..." But he was interrupted. 

	"I know, I know," said Ray, striding across the room in shirt and
boxer shorts. "But she's my sister, and I know what those guys are like. I
mean, why do you think he asked her out tonight of all nights?" 

	Fraser raised his eyebrows. "The New Year's Ball is a perfectly
respectable event, Ray. You yourself are going to be there." 

	"Exactly!" shouted Ray, slapping his hands together angrily. "And
you know what happens at the stroke of midnight, don't you. Everyone's
getting their New Year's smooches, and I have to watch this guy taking a
head start on a little goodnight tonsil hockey, if you know what I
mean--in front of everybody!"  

	Ray didn't see Fraser's face go pale as he shoved his leg into the
tuxedo pants and squealed. "Ow! Ma, the pleats are still hot," he shouted
out the door. 

	"Is this any way to thank your mother?" called Mrs. Vecchio from
downstairs. 

	"Yeah! Yeah, sorry Ma. Sorry to you too, Benny, for rambling on
this way. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" 

	But Fraser's face was wooden as his hand slowly rose to adjust his
collar. 

	"Benny, you o.k.?" Vecchio asked. 

	"What? Oh, uh, I have to uh..." stuttered the mountie before he
wheeled and ran out the door.  

	Later that evening, the ballroom of the Hotel California sparkled
with champagne flutes and tinkled with the laughter of richly dressed
couples. The band had begun to play at the far end of the hall, but Ray
hovered near the door. 

	"Don't you want to be here with me, Ray?" asked Louise St.
Laurent, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. 

	"Of course I do. Sure," said Ray, his eyes never leaving the
entrance. He brought the glass to his lips then lowered it and scowled as
another unknown couple entered. "Where are they?" 

	Now it was Louise's turn to scowl. "Why don't you forget about
your sister tonight, Ray. She's a big girl. She can handle one date." 

	"Right," said Ray with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's
the guy I should be worried about." 

	"Why don't you drink your champagne, and then we'll dance." 

	Ray had started to turn to her when he caught movement out of the
corner of his eye. His sister was entering the room, and he couldn't have
missed her if he'd tried. She was wearing an elegant, full-length,
champagne gold dress with a swath of sheer fabric at the midriff. As she
turned to survey the crowd, Ray's eyes widened. The dress was backless
down to... 

	"Francesca!" Ray hissed. Then he downed his champagne in one gulp,
handed the glass to Louise, and strode across the room. 

	"Ray!" his sister greeted him. "What a lovely evening, don't you
think?" 

	"Don't give me that. Where is he? Tell me you didn't come stag." 

	"Don't be ridiculous. Ma would never let me do that. My date is
checking our coats. Do you like my dress?" 

	For the first time, Ray noticed how bright her eyes were, and how
her cheeks were flushed. She seemed to glow. He grabbed her by the elbows.
"Frannie, have you been drinking?" 

	"Of course, not! Let go of me." 

	"You shouldn't have come." 

	"Well, I'm here now, and I'm going to have fun. We're going to
have fun, right Benton?" 

	Ray turned to find Fraser standing beside her in full dress red,
tugging on a pair of white gloves. Hair slicked, brass buttons polished,
he looked perfect in every way, except perhaps for a slight stiffness to
his features as he turned to greet his uncharacteristically speechless
partner. 

	"Good evening, Ray. I trust you are enjoying the gala." 

	"I-I-I...You? You're her date?!" Ray managed to sputter. 

	"Yes, Ray." 

	"Why...how...why?" 

	Fraser pursed his lips. "Because Francesca was good enough to ask
me, and I accepted her invitation." 

	"Yeah, but...hold on a minute here!" 

	Francesca interrupted, "No, you hold on, Ray. Is there some reason
you don't want Fraser to date me. Have you got something against him?" 

	Fraser looked at Ray, his eyebrows raised. 

	"Aw! Don't give me that big-eyed mountie look. You know why..." 

	"I'm afraid I don't, Ray. You have never specifically forbidden me
to see Francesca on a social basis. In fact you once said..." 

	"All right! Never mind what I said." Ray rolled his head and
shrugged. "Go ahead. Have your dance," he said. "Just remember, I'm here
the whole time. And Benny," he added, snagging the constable's arm and
looking him in the eye. "She's my sister." 

	Fraser brushed a thumb over his brow. "Understood," he replied,
then smiled politely as Louise joined them. "Good evening Ms. St.
Laurent." 

	She greeted the newcomers briskly before dragging Ray off. "Come
on, Ray. Are we going to dance or what?" 

	Finally alone, relatively speaking, Fraser turned to find
Francesca's deep brown eyes shining up at him. Licking his lower lip, he
offered her his arm and asked, "Would you care to dance?" 

	Francesca snaked her smooth brown arm through his and, tossing her
head, said, "Boy, would I! Just lead the way." 

	Which Fraser proceeded to do. Red and gold swirled together
through the dappled lighting of the dance floor, one song after another.
When they rested, Francesca sipped champagne and chattered gaily, basking
in the jealous gazes of the other women. Fraser held her hand and smiled
and avoided Ray's penetrating stares, as the clock ticked closer to
midnight. 

	Waiters passed out silly hats and noisemakers.	

	"It's almost time!" said Francesca, putting a glittery top hat on
Fraser's head. 

	"Is this necessary?" he asked, halfway between straightening it
and pulling it off completely. 

	She giggled. "Of course, Benton. It's our first date. Everything's
got to be perfect." 

	Fraser gave a quick nod and led her toward the dance floor where
they could see the TV monitors showing the lighted ball on time-delay from
New York. The Times Square crowds were already shouting, and the couples
in the ballroom joined the countdown. 

	TEN...NINE...EIGHT... 

	Fraser shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Does it seem
warm in here to you?" he asked, tugging at his collar. 

	Francesca stood on tiptoes and leaned closer to hear him. "Huh?
It's probably just the crowd." 

	SEVEN...SIX...FIVE... 

	Fraser scanned the room nervously, a blush slowly creeping from
collar to hairline. 

	FOUR...THREE...TWO... 

	He flinched as he met Ray's gaze across the room. Their eyes
locked for an endless millisecond. Then one corner of Ray's mouth tugged
upward in a reluctant grin.  

	ONE! 

	The room erupted in cheers and the toots of noisemakers. Confetti
rained down on them, sparkling in the light of the dance-globe. The band
came to life and the room swelled with music as balloons drifted softly
over the kissing couples. 

	Fraser sought Francesca's eyes.  

	"What's wrong?" she asked, peering up at him. 

	He glanced Ray's way once more and answered, "Nothing. I just
wanted it to be perfect." 

	Then he put his arms around her. Tilting his head, he leaned down
to gently kiss her--taste her lips, smell her hair, and feel her heart
beat against his chest.  

	But suddenly it was her hands on his chest, pushing him away.  

	Fraser backed off, confused. "Francesca?" 

	He was astonished to watch her luminous brown eyes turn liquid and
over-flow. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and fled the room. 

	Fraser's hands dropped to his sides, his eyes empty as he stood
alone in the middle of the dance floor. But not for long, because Ray was
pushing his way through the crowd. 

	"Oh man, I knew this wasn't gonna work," Ray exploded, his hands
waving in all directions as he paced around Fraser. "But I thought you
could get through one date without hurting my sister. What happened?"  

	The mountie only blinked and shook his head. 

	Seeing Fraser's stricken expression, Ray sighed. "Aw jeez, Benny.
Go after her."	

	But Fraser didn't move except to lower his head. 

	A few nearby couples had stopped partying to gawk, and Ray chased
them away. "All right! Move along. Nothing to see here," he said, widening
the space around his friend. "Who are you, lady, the National Enquirer?" 

	Meanwhile, Fraser's father had appeared beside him, wearing his
own dress uniform. He took in the festive atmosphere of the room with a
vague smile before getting down to business. 

	"Son," he began gently, "if you don't mind a little advice from
your old man,..." 

	"Do I have a choice?" Benton muttered irritably. 

	"Now I've told you before that I don't know much about women,"
Fraser Sr. went on. "And I can't claim to understand it, but, in my
experience, a woman seldom runs off crying because she wants to be left
alone." 

	Fraser's head came up, and he looked toward the door through which
Francesca had passed. 

	"Of course, there was that time with your mother," the ghost
continued. "But that wasn't entirely my fault either. It's very difficult
to Lindy without music, you know." He paused and looked around. "Benton?"
But Fraser had already left the dance floor. The ghost shrugged. "Well,
'nuf said."  

	As he exited the ballroom, Fraser could hear Francesca's
boo-hooing coming from the ladies lounge at the end of the hall. Taking a
deep breath, he knocked on the door and called out, "Francesca? Are you in
there?" 

	"No!" she sobbed. 

	Fraser paused. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question: Will you
come out?" 

	When her only answer was increased wailing, Fraser pleaded,
"Francesca, I would very much like to know what I did wrong so as not to
repeat my mistake...should I ever have the opportunity...to make such a
mistake again." Fraser shook his head and was turning to walk away when he
heard the door open behind him. 

	"It's not you. It's me," said Francesca, and he turned to find her
red-nosed and bleary-eyed, holding a paper hand-towel to her tear-stained
face. Immediately, he handed her his pristine handkerchief and cringed
when she looked at it and started off on a fresh round of sobbing. 

	"I'm sorry," he whispered, hanging his head. "I thought it was all
going so well." 

	"It was," said Francesca between hiccups. "It would have been
perfect, if it wasn't all a lie!" 

	Fraser's head came up fast. "I don't understand," he said,
eyebrows drawn together. 

	The weepy woman shook her head. "Oh, Benton. I'm not who you think
I am." 

	Fraser's eyes widened as she continued. 

	"I know I was avoiding you, but that was only because I thought
you were going to...to end our relationship." 

	"Our...?" 

	"But you kept following me. And then, in the interview room,
you...well, you wanted me." 

	She paused to blow her nose and Fraser frowned as he said,
"Then...that's not what you want?" 

	She waved the handkerchief in his face angrily. "Of course it's
what I want, you moron. Jeez, don't you ever get it? I'm not what you
want! You want the girl who's shy and quiet and plays hard-to-get," she
insisted, backing him up to the wall. "You want the girl in this demure
dress--not the one I was going to buy!" 

	Fraser raised his eyebrows but said nothing as she continued her
tirade. 

	"Well, I can't be that girl, Benton," she said, flashing fire from
her eyes. "I can't pretend to be something I'm not. I can't hide my
feelings. I'm the kind of woman who knows what she wants and goes after
it. And, if you don't like that about me, Benton Fraser, then you can
just...you can..." Suddenly her eyes welled up again, and she beat her
fists half-heartedly against his chest. 

	"Francesca, you're wrong," said Fraser, capturing her hands. "You
are exactly the person I want. I envy your fiery nature, your
unpredictability, your unrestrained passion. They are what make you so
fascinating, so difficult to resist." 

	"Really?" Francesca said, raising her head to search the clear
blue eyes. 

	"Mm-hm," he murmured, releasing her hands in order to encircle her
with his arms. "In fact, if it hadn't been for Ray's disapproval..." he
began, his eyes flickering between her sweet lips and those luminous eyes,
which drifted closed as they approached a kiss. 

	"Aw jeez!" whined the voice from the doorway. 

	"Ray," Fraser sighed as he dropped his arms and turned slowly to
greet his partner. 

	"Hey Benny. Frannie? You o.k.?" 

	"Yeah, Ray. I'm fine." 

	The detective's serious face was transformed by a flashy smile.
"That's funny, 'cause you look like the Bride of Frankenstein." 

	His sister gasped and put her hands to her face. "Oh-my-gosh! I'll
be right back. Don't look at me, Benton!" 

	The smile gone, Ray sidled over to his unofficial partner. "While
she's doing a new plaster-job on that face, why don't you tell me what all
this is about." 

	"It was simply a misunderstanding, Ray," said Fraser, looking at
the hand Ray had placed around his shoulders. "I believe the matter has
been resolved to the satisfaction of all concerned." 

	Ray chuckled. "Huh. You're a real romantic guy, aren't you,
Benny?" 

	Pink rose in Fraser's cheeks. "Well, Ray, I..." 

	"I'm back!" said Francesca cheerfully as she clasped Fraser's
hand. 

	"And looking quite lovely, Francesca," said Fraser smoothly. 

	"Why, thank you, Benton." 

	"Yeah, yeah," Ray sneered. "You guys want a ride home?" 

	"Thank you for the offer, but that will not be necessary, Ray. I
have managed to borrow the consular car for the evening." 

	"Besides, the party's not over yet," Francesca chipped in. "I want
a few more of those heavenly dances." 

	"Well, then I guess I'll see you home later, Sis," said Ray,
walking back down the hall. 

	"Good night, Bro." "Good night, Ray." Said Francesca and Fraser,
without moving. 

	"Good night." At the door, Ray turned suddenly. "By the way," he
said, "when you do get home, I'll be waiting up with all the lights on." 

	Fraser swallowed before answering. "That's very...comforting,
Ray." THE END