DISCLAIMER:  You know the drill...
Apologies for the title...I can't stand the Backstreet Boys, but hey!
The title was perfect!	:)

And you thought I could only write Meg/Ben stuff!  :)

The Meaning of Being Lonely

(c) 2000 by M. Megan O'Neil (Lisa)

	She danced in his arms, her arm wrapped around his neck, her hips
softly
undulating as she swayed.  He held her as they spun around, her body
as soft and wispy as the silk sheath she wore.	She smelled like daisies,
clean and fresh.  He dipped her, grinning as she tilted her head back
and laughed.
	She let him lead her.  It was a wonderful feeling, giving up
control,
letting herself be free.  God, it was wonderful!  He twirled her around
and around, his hand never leaving hers.  She was sure they looked like
something out of a Fred Astaire movie. The thought made her laugh.  He
winked, saying she should laugh more often.  She spun back into his arms,
thanking him for the compliment.
	The radio's music changed.  A slow song was playing.  The song
flowed
through her veins like fire.  She pressed closer, looking for the warmth
she never seemed to find.  She settled for resting her head on his
shoulder.
A tear fell.
	He felt her head on his shoulder and hugged her tighter, feeling
her
curves mold to his body.  Somewhere in the room, Phil Collins was singing.
What was the name of that song? Oh yeah.  "Against All Odds."
	The love ballad wrapped him up like a warm blanket.  He felt her
head
on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his waist.	He rested his
head on hers.  A tear fell from his eye, melting into her hair.
	The music faded and the DJ's annoying voice blared out ads.  They
kept
swaying. She lifted her head.  He kissed first.
	She pulled away, wiping red lipstick off his mouth with her thumb.

He looked down shyly, reaching to brush the tears from her cheeks.  
	"Guess misery loves company, huh?"
	"Yep."
	"Didn't mean to make ya feel sorry for me."
	Laughing softly, she broke away, picking up her purse.	"I don't. 
Feel
sorry for you I mean.  Nobody should be alone on their anniversary. 
If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him.  'Night Ray.  And happy
anniversary."
	He listened as the click of her heels died.  She had come sniffing
out
Fraser, thinking he might be here, only to find Ray dancing with a
make-believe
partner to Styx's "Babe."  Somehow, Ray wasn't sure exactly, he had ended
up telling her about his first anniversary, when he and Stella had danced
and danced and danced until the sun came up. He didn't know what he had
expected.  Probably that she would laugh or leave.  That was how she
was.  She didn't; Meg Thatcher just smiled, held out her arms, and said,
'Well, we're both alone on anniversaries.  Will I do?'
	Why the hell he had taken her up one her offer, Kowalski would
never
know, but suddenly, he was in her arms and he was dancing; and for a
second in time, he was holding Stella and it was their first anniversary.
He would never figure out what Thatcher was thinking.  Ray figured it
had something to do with Fraser.  Her eyes told what her face hid.	He
looked out his window.	She was leaning against her Lexus, smoking a
cigarette. Kowalski grinned.  He never would have pegged Thatcher for
a nicotine junkie.  The moonlight bounced off her bright tears.  Ray
Kowalski smiled.  Maybe he'd be a little nicer to her the next time he
saw her.  
	"Thanks Thatcher."
	
					***

	Meg threw her cigarette down and brushed back her tears.  She
looked
up to see the light in Ray Kowalski's apartment.  She would never have
thought of Kowalski as the dancing type.  He had spun her around his
apartment and for one moment, she was in Fraser's arms again.  She smiled.
Maybe she'd be a bit nicer the next time she saw him.  "Thanks Kowalski."
	A train's whistle blew in the distance.  Another tear fell. 
"Happy
Annivesary, Fraser."
	The train's whistle grew faint in the distance.

OK...so I lied! :)