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Volcanic Geranium

by Zelempa

Set a few weeks after 3x04 "Strange Bedfellows." This story was written for the Help Haiti auction of January 2010, for my winner Lucifuge 5. Many thanks to Yolsaffbridge for the idea, and to Yolsaffbridge and Nightshadow T2 for beta.

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Part I

"Detective Kowalski," said the lawyer, reaching out to shake Ray's hand. "I didn't know you were at the 27th these days."

"I help out where I'm needed," said Ray.

"You two are acquainted?" Fraser gave Ray a sidelong look of you-should-have-followed-proper-protocol-and-informed-the-leftenant.

"Yeah, Farelli and me, we got a great relationship. I bring 'em in, he puts 'em back on the street."

"Is there a special reason a Mountie is involved in this?" asked Farelli.

"Yes. Hello. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father--"

"He helps out, too," Ray interrupted.

"Can we get this over with?" said the suspect, a redheaded fifteen-year-old girl with black lipstick.

"You know the drill, Amy," said Farelli. "It's quiet time now."

They settled down in their chairs. On one side of the table, Ray leaned back with arms crossed, and Fraser smiled pleasantly beside him; on the other, Amy Stevens leaned back with arms crossed, and Marco Farelli smiled insincerely beside her.

Fraser was directing most of his pleasantness at the suspect, so Ray felt free to narrow his eyes at the lawyer. Farelli was one of those assholes who only got more dashingly handsome over time. Full head of curly dark hair. Artful stubble speckled with gray. Laugh lines around his eyes. Couldn't juries see he was a big fake?

"Erm," Farelli coughed. "Did you have any questions, Detective?"

"Sure, yeah," said Ray. "How's it going?"

"Ah, Ray," said Fraser.

Ray waved him off. "No complaints? Good health? How's your love life?"

Farelli laughed shortly. "My client's love life? My client is fifteen years old."

"Hey, I've done things," said the girl.

"No, Farelli, your love life," said Ray. "How is it? Good? Great? Kind of awkward?"

Farelli didn't answer, but the faint smile that flashed across his stupid mouth spoke volumes. "I don't think that's relevant, Detective. Do you have any questions for my client?"

Ray shrugged at the kid. "You want to start by telling me why you and your little friends thought it would be a good idea to walk into a crowded department store with an unregistered handgun?"

"Detective Kowalski, the weapon in question does not belong to Amy Stevens, nor did she handle it at any point during the incident. The people you refer to as her friends have no more connection to her than any stranger off the street."

"No, they're my friends," said Amy.

"Quiet, Amy."

"Then why did she run when the cops came?" said Ray. "And why was she found with the, uh, stolen crap on her person?"

"Are you aware of what that stolen merchandise consists of?" said Farelli. He overturned the confiscated purse, sending colorful pink and purple tubes of lipstick and mascara skittering across the table. "Together, gentlemen, this adds to up to about nine dollars worth of goods."

Ray glanced at Fraser, who usually knew everything. He wasn't disappointed. Fraser nodded. "That does appear to be an accurate appraisal, Ray."

"My client was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Running was a natural reaction. She saw the hold-up and she got scared."

"I wasn't scared!"

"Hush, Amy. Had she premeditated her theft, surely you concede she would have taken more valuable items."

"Not necessarily," said Fraser. He picked up one of the mascara bottles and examined it. "I notice these are all Sweet Ilene products."

"Yet more evidence that my client took what she saw in front of her in a moment of panic and ran."

"That's a striking turquoise above your eyes," Fraser complimented Amy, sending her one of his gentle, disarming, I-understand-you smiles. "Twilight Dust, if I'm not mistaken. Also by Sweet Ilene."

Amy shot him a grateful look. "That's right. This is my brand. I wouldn't take anything else, even if I could."

Ray snatched the bottle from Fraser's hand and waved it triumphantly. "Ha!"

Farelli waved his hand, unconvinced. "There's still no evidence that she was with the robbers. At worst, this is a case of petty shoplifting."

"Then what are you doing on it, hotshot?" said Ray, turning the mascara tube over and over across his knuckles in what he hoped was a menacing way. "Burned out already? Or just trying to mess with me personally?"

"I assure you it's not personal, Kowalski," said Farelli with a little laugh. "Miss Stevens' father is an important man. Surely this incident can be dealt with--"

"Tell my father everything," Amy broke in. "Tell him I'm a hardened criminal. Tell him I'm in a lesbian gang. Tell him we've got a big score going down."

Ray rolled his eyes, but Fraser leaned forward. "What do you mean by that, Miss Stevens?"

"She doesn't mean anything."

"We're going to knock over Fort Knox!"

"Amy--" Farelli began, but he was distracted when his cell phone rang on his belt, a jarringly loud buzz.

"Who's that?" Ray demanded as Farelli checked the display.

"Nobody."

"Doesn't anybody care? Doesn't anybody care I'm going to knock over Fort Knox?"

"Nobody?" said Ray. "I think 'nobody' would be interested to hear that that's the way you talk about 'nobody.'"

"A personal call," Farelli clarified impatiently.

"Hey, don't let us stop you. Feel free." Ray got up, sending his chair scooting back loudly. "Come on, Fraser. Let's give the man his privacy."

Fraser joined him on the other side of the one-way glass. "That was a very strange interrogation, even by your standards, Ray."

Ray crossed his arms and nodded through the glass at Farelli, who had come close to the mirror to talk on the phone. "Do you think he's attractive?"

Fraser looked surprised. "Mr. Farelli?"

"Yeah, how would you rate him? On a scale of one to ten?"

"I really haven't given the matter much thought, Ray."

"You think he's better than me?" said Ray. "I mean, if you had to kick one of us out of bed, which one would it be?" He posed next to the glass, flashed a come-hither smile, and winked several times.

"I don't think I'm likely to find myself in that situation," said Fraser diplomatically. "Why do you ask?" He lowered his voice. "Are you feeling--fragile today, Ray?"

"I'm just trying to see why everyone thinks that guy is so great. You know he just undoes what we do. We bring them in, he gets them off."

"Somebody has to defend them, Ray, for our justice system to function."

"Yeah, that's a great theory," said Ray, tossing and catching the mascara tube. "But you know how it really goes down. You can't tell me you don't care if some fast-talking creep comes and sweet-talks the jury into putting a terror to society back on the streets. This guy's not helping the justice system, he's fucking it up."

"He's doing his duty, just as we're doing ours. The system relies on checks and balances. No one individual has the power to undermine it." Fraser's eyes were actually shining by this point. "The cause of justice will out--"

"Fuck the cause of justice," Ray interrupted.

"You don't mean that, Ray."

"You know he's got mob connections."

"Technically, so do I."

"Why are you defending this guy?" said Ray. "You do think he's better-looking."

"Now, I'm going to have to object strongly to that accusation," said Fraser apologetically. "I'm not defending him. I simply don't know anything in particular to his discredit. Do you?"

Ray jabbed the intercom button. Farelli was standing close to the speaker, and he could clearly be heard saying into his phone, "But, yes, Stella, sweetie..."

"Ah," said Fraser. He moved Ray's hand from the button.

"What? He doesn't have attorney-girlfriend privilege," said Ray.

"It's eavesdropping," said Fraser, as if that were reason enough not to do it.

Ray leaned against the glass and stared out mournfully. On the other side, Farelli was hunched over, gently cupping the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand. "Look at him," Ray complained. "He's clearly speaking in dulcet tones. In front of the suspect, even. Just disgusting. I hate that guy."

"In a certain light," said Fraser, in his cautious, I'm-out-of-my-depth voice, "his affection for Ms. Kowalski could be seen to reflect well on him. Couldn't it?"

Ray shook his head. "He works with her ten years, and now he starts coming onto her? When she happens to be specially vulnerable from having just gotten out of a relationship with a creepy conspirator not to mention a brief but potent rekindling of the her and me thing? It was potent, Fraser."

"I believe you."

"I don't buy it. I don't buy what he's selling. He's manipulating her. He wants something from her."

"You mean besides her heart and her hand?"

"Definitely besides that," said Ray darkly. "I bet he's asking her to throw a case for him right now." Before Fraser could stop him again, he slammed down the intercom button.

"...positive you can't reschedule that meeting?" Farelli was wheedling.

Ray gave Fraser a significant look.

"...really looking forward to spending some time with you, baby."

"The call appears to be in the capacity of boyfriend, rather than colleague," Fraser observed.

"...about tomorrow. The Princess Royale. That's right. She leaves harbor at six sharp, so make sure you're on board in time. A romantic harbor cruise wouldn't be any fun without my honey-bunny-boo."

Baby talk was the last straw. Ray burst in the door, slamming the knob hard against the concrete wall. "You, off the fucking phone!"

"You told me to--"

"Shut up, Farelli. And you," he said to Amy, "I want to stick it to this guy as much as you want to stick it to your dad, but you really got to give me something better to work with than the plot of Goldfinger. You think I don't know James Bond?"

"Aw, nuts," said Amy.

*

"A cruise!" Ray threw the phone book on his desk and began flipping violently. "A cruise, Fraser. On a boat. Away from land! He tries anything, she can't run!"

"What exactly do you expect him to try?" Fraser asked, his voice completely calm, as if they were having a normal and totally freak-out-free conversation.

"Anything! Everything! I wouldn't put anything past that creep."

"Ms. Kowalski has more information than we do about his character, and she sees good in him," said Fraser, sitting down in his chair by the desk. "Do you trust her judgement?"

"No, I don't trust her judgment, as a matter of fact! I wouldn't trust her judgment as far as I could throw it." Ray flipped forward, then back again, then back forward, temporarily misremembering the alphabet. "Stella, she'll see anything in anyone. It's a proven fact she has terrible taste in men. She picked Orsini. She picked me."

"I think the latter choice does her credit," said Fraser. "You're a good man, Ray. And that's why you're ultimately going to respect her wishes."

"Am I?" said Ray. "Am I?" He picked up the phone and dialed, consulting the book. "Yes, hello, do you guys have a boat called the Princess Royale?"

"Ray."

"Great. You have any spaces left on tomorrow's, uh, romantic harbor cruise?"

"Ray."

"No, no, just one. What, you don't sell them in ones?"

"Ray."

"I don't know, maybe I'll meet someone on the boat. Maybe I'll get romantic with myself. Just put me down, okay? The name's, uh, Diefenbaker. D, E... Sound it out!"

"Ray!"

"Thanks, bye, what, Fraser? I got tomorrow off, what am I going to do? Worry about her all night?"

"I don't think she wants you to worry about her, Ray."

"I know she doesn't. I can't help it. She's a trouble magnet. Me, I'm a worrier. Worriers worry. It's what we do."

Fraser gave him an it's-your-funeral look and bent over some paperwork. Ray sat down and stared into space. He found the mascara bottle in his pocket and began fidgeting with it again, weaving it over his knuckles.

"Shit," he said finally. "I can't go on that cruise."

"A highly sensible attitude," said Fraser, sounding relieved.

"No, I mean, I have to go, but it can't be me. As in me, myself. Why would I go on a romantic harbor cruise? She'll never believe it's a coincidence. She'll murder me. First she'll tear me up with her bare hands, then she'll stomp on my head, then she'll pull out the big guns and stop speaking to me."

"I thought you and Ms. Kowalski were on friendly terms these days," said Fraser. "We did save her life."

"Um, yeah. Well, we were. I, uh, might have kind of showed up unexpectedly a couple of times after that," said Ray. "I might have kind of overstayed my welcome."

"What do you mean you showed up?" said Fraser. "Did you and she... Not that it's any of my..."

"No, no, nothing like that. Just, you know, little coincidences. She'd be going about her business, whatever, and I'd kind of be there sometimes. You know, she'd be at the courthouse for her work, I'd be there for my work, no big deal. She'd be shopping down at the Price Mart, I'd happen to be picking up a couple things at the same time..."

"There are several grocery stores more convenient to your apartment than her local Price Mart," said Fraser, with a hint of scolding.

"So I switched, okay? Her Price Mart has the freshest eggs."

Fraser cocked his head, actually convinced. "Is that so?"

"No, Fraser, it isn't so! I was just checking up on her."

"Ray..."

"There, there might also have been some disguises."

"Has it occurred to you, Ray," said Fraser after a slight pause, "that you may be in need of a fulfilling hobby? Needlework, for example, is said to encourage patience and artistic development. You might enjoy it."

"Not all the time," said Ray, defensively. "Just, sometimes I knew if she saw me she'd be upset, so I'd have on a hood or a lab coat or a flight suit or something. Nothing fancy."

"Just things you happen to have around the house," suggested Fraser.

"Right! But Stella, she always knows. We've known each other too long. Most people you can fool, you show up somewhere they don't expect you to be, you wear something they don't expect, but she's seen me everywhere wearing anything. She's seen me in regular stuff, jeans or whatever. She's seen me in uniform. She's seen me in a tux. She's definitely seen me naked. What do I have left? Those are all the things a person can wear."

"Perhaps, if the person is a man," said Fraser, ever precise. "Women have more sartorial choices. Clothing-related," he defined before Ray could ask.

"Yeah, I guess. Too bad I'm not a woman."

"Too bad indeed," said Fraser.

It took Ray a moment to realize he'd just been given a hint. He looked down at the mascara in his hand, shifted in his chair, and twisted open the tube, examining the inky brush curiously.

"You don't want that," said Fraser calmly, without even appearing to look. "That'll clump."

*

"So, you dressed up as a woman before, right?" Ray demanded as they climbed into the car. "For that job, the girls' school. One of the weirder cases in your file of weird cases."

"Yes, there were a number of interesting aspects to that case," said Fraser. "The poetic irony of a school for the religious instruction of young girls being built on top of one of the most infamous thieves' dens in history..."

"Uh-huh. Actually, Fraser, I was referring mainly to the part where you dressed up as a woman," said Ray. "That was the part to which the noun 'weird' referred to."

"It's an adjective, and it's not weird, Ray," Fraser preached. "There's nothing shameful about traversing the boundaries between the sexes. It can be a very educational experience. In many cultures..."

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm open-minded," Ray cut in. "You think I didn't wear Stella's panties some days when we were together? Maybe slip on a silk negligee of hers before bed?"

Fraser's eyes kind of drifted off the side. Ray grinned. He had definitely just conjured a vivid, if unwelcome, mental picture.

"Do you still have, uh, supplies?" Ray asked. "Clothes and makeup and stuff I can borrow?"

Fraser hesitated.

"What?" said Ray. "I won't mess anything up. You don't trust me? Or you just want to hog all the pretty things for yourself?"

"Not at all," said Fraser. "It's just, knowing your goal as I do... I don't feel entirely comfortable with the overall purpose of this endeavour."

"The Stella thing? Can't you pretend you don't know about that? I'm just a guy, asking another guy if I can borrow his dress. Yeah?"

Ray glanced at Fraser, but he was staring out the window, his expression unreadable.

"Listen," Ray continued, "if you were in the desert with a guy, and you had water, but you knew he was going to go after his ex later, and you didn't approve, would you just let him dehydrate and die?"

"I've been in that situation. Well, more or less. Instead of a desert it was an arctic tundra, and instead of water it was a sealskin coat, and instead of planning to press unwanted advances on his former spouse, he intended to hunt down and kill one of my colleagues in revenge for incarcerating his current spouse."

"Yeah? Well?" said Ray. "Did you give him the coat?"

"Yes," Fraser admitted, "but I suspect the present situation might be more like the time Bill 'The Widowmaker' Jaffreys asked for my shoelace so he could garrote me. I didn't give him the shoelace, Ray."

"I don't want to kill anyone!" said Ray. "Lighten up, Frase. How do you have a problem with this?" He thought briefly about his plan. "Okay, sure, I understand why a person, a normal person, would have a problem with it, but you're you. You're into protecting the weak, and you said yourself there's nothing to be ashamed of with the dress thing."

"It's not that I object to your methods, Ray, or even your motives, I'm just not sure this is the best use of your considerable..."

"Fine, fine, whatever, I don't care," Ray started speaking over him as soon as it was clear he wasn't getting his way. "It was just an idea. Forget it." He didn't want Fraser's stupid clothes anyway. If Fraser's fashion sense as a woman was anything like his fashion sense as a man, he probably wore all plaid flannel dresses and wolverine-fur boots.

*

Still morning and only halfway through his "Getting Things Done" mix CD, Ray was totally done and ready for the day. He'd shaved. He'd painted on some some red lipstick and blue eyeshadow (stolen from Francesca's purse). He'd put on his discount-store sale rack outfit of a plus-size blouse, long skirt, and some random satin underthings. He'd stuffed his bra with handfuls of Kleenex. Boom, done. What was just so hard about that?

Sure, he looked a little mannish around the eyes, a little trying-too-hard, a little aging-hooker, but so did some real women. Anyway, there was no reason he had to be a pretty young thing. Mainly, he wanted to be someone you wouldn't look at twice. And what better way than to be someone you wouldn't want to look at twice? (He reminded himself, trying not to get too vain about what he looked like in drag. It was actually probably a good sign that he was a dog. Wouldn't it be a kick in the teeth to find out you'd actually look better as the other sex?)

He was just sitting there cleaning his gun in his skirt and makeup (no point in undoing the work, even if it didn't take long) when there was a knock at the door. He weighed his options. Pretend not to be home? Or answer and give the landlady another reason to avoid him in the halls? But the knock didn't stop, and Ray could tell from its persistent even rhythm--like a voice saying "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray"--it had to be Fraser. Just for fun, Ray threw on his Cher wig and adjusted it in the mirror before heading to the door. Even though Fraser knew his plan, Ray imagined him having one of his weird, alien, naive moments, smiling politely and tipping his hat, saying in his pleasant stranger voice, "Oh, hello, miss. Is Detective Vecchio in?"

That didn't happen. Ray opened the door, and Fraser immediately began speaking to him normally, "Ray, I just wanted to," before stopping short, cocking his head, and biting his lip. He looked pained. At his feet, Diefenbaker sank down to the hall floor and covered his head.

"What?" said Ray.

"You look," said Fraser. Diefenbaker groaned from under his paws. Fraser glanced at him with a scolding look. "If you don't have anything nice to say, Diefenbaker, don't say anything at all."

"What'd he say?" said Ray.

"Don't mind him," said Fraser. "Is that, ah, how you're planning to go out?"

"What's wrong with it?" Ray looked down at himself, trying not to feel too insulted. Stupid vanity. "Maybe I'm not going to win any beauty contests, but you do what you can with what you've got to work with. I'm a man. I have a manly look."

"You can do better," said Fraser.

"Who cares? I'm not going for Prom Queen here."

"I care," said Fraser. "And so should you. You don't want to get caught because you didn't take the time to prepare adequately. For want of a nail, Ray, the shoe was lost."

"Yeah, I just couldn't find any girls' shoes big enough for me," said Ray, moving his skirt to cover up his Doc Martens. "Besides, I've seen girls wearing these kind of boots. So I'm kind of a grunge girl. I don't have all day to work on this, you know," he added, quick-changing from defense to excuse. "The boat sails at six. Sharp."

"Plenty of time. Will you allow me to help you?"

"Thought you didn't want to get involved in this endeavor," Ray grinned.

"To allow you to go out like that," said Fraser seriously, "would be the worse evil."

*

Ray changed back into normal guy clothes since their epic quest was going to involve leaving the house. He washed his face, too, but even after scrubbing with soap, his mouth still looked redder than usual, and there was a faint bluish tint around his eyes. He looked he'd been punched not so long ago in the mouth and eyes. Also, the wig had given him hat head. He worked a little quick magic with the wax mousse, even though they probably wouldn't be out long or be seen by that many people. So okay, maybe he sort of understood Fraser's perfectionism.

"What did you look like as a woman, anyway?" Ray asked as they arrived at Fraser's office. Fraser closed the door behind them, making sure it was locked.

"Do you see that photograph on my desk? The one labelled 'Aunt Mary'?"

Ray found it. A pretty young woman with pale, striking eyes and a strong jaw smiled coquettishly at the camera. "That's you?" Ray looked from the photograph to Fraser and back again.

"No, that's my aunt Mary. But I'm told the resemblance is striking."

Ray squinted. He could kind of see it, how it might have worked. Aunt Mary was kind of babe, too. Huh. This might actually turn out okay.

Fraser hauled a blue trunk out of the closet. Diefenbaker immediately crawled under the desk, lying with his back to the trunk.

"Dief finds all this, well, a little embarrassing," said Fraser. "He's a little old-fashioned."

"Sure, yeah," said Ray. "Wolves are known for that."

Fraser unlatched the trunk, but before he lifted the lid, he paused, double-checked the lock on the door, and locked the closet too for good measure. (Who he expected to come in through the closet was anyone's guess.) Satisfied, he threw open the trunk.

Ray expected maybe a dress or two folded in with Fraser's flannels, but instead, the entire three by three by five area was filled, absolutely to the brim, with light, lacy fabrics in fluttery, flowery patterns.

"Holy mother of crap," Ray announced. "Just exactly how long were you undercover?"

"Two days, in a professional capacity, but the majority these garments weren't required for that mission. Most of my crossdressing has been, well, recreational."

"Say again?" said Ray.

"What's your shoe size? About a twelve?" Fraser lifted a ludicrously large pair of black pumps from the trunk.

"Uh, yeah," said Ray, dazed. Why did hanging out with Fraser so often make him feel like he was in the middle of a fever dream?

"Good. You're a spring, aren't you?"

"I... um..." Ray tried to concentrate on the question, but it seemed to have no meaning.

Fraser glanced at him. "Are you all right, Ray? You seem disturbed."

"No, no," said Ray. "I've never been more turbed. Surprised, maybe. I guess I never thought of you that way."

"What way, Ray?" said Fraser, as if he really truly didn't understand.

"In the way of where I never would have pegged you as the guy with the weird sexual fetish."

"It's not a weird sexual fetish," said Fraser, aggrieved. "It's simply an activity I enjoy in my admittedly limited leisure time. Not even an activity, really, so much as a manner of dress and comportment that I prefer to adopt."

"In your leisure time," Ray finished.

"My limited leisure time," Fraser confirmed.

"Hey, whatever," said Ray, raising his hands. "You're a lumberjack and you're okay. I don't judge."

"Good. Try this." Fraser tossed him something green. "I'm particularly fond of that dress. It gives me a pleasingly slender and delicate look, if I do say so myself, and I have more natural disadvantages in that regard than you do."

"Great," said Ray, trying to work out if he'd just been insulted. "Wait, are you saying I'm skinny? Like a weed?"

"No, slender," said Fraser. "Like a swan."

"A swan."

"Yes. Or any long-necked bird."

"Swans can be vicious," said Ray.

"That's very true." Fraser nodded at the dress. "Are you going to..."

"What, you mean right now?"

"That would be ideal," said Fraser. "We don't, as you astutely noted, have all day. We should find out now if any additional shopping will be necessary. I'll give you a moment." He turned around, crossing his hands behind his back.

"That's not--all right, fine," said Ray, undoing his belt. He stepped out of his pants, threw his shirt on the desk, and looked at the dress for a moment. Did you step into these, or put them on like a shirt?

"Ready?"

"Uh, no, Fraser. I'm not ready. I'm not even a little bit ready." He awkwardly shimmied into the dress from below, shirt-style. It seemed to work, except for the bunching.

He glanced at Fraser's back. Fraser back rocking back on his heels. Ray figured he better make conversation to hide how long this was taking. As he hopped backward, trying to see behind himself, he said, "So, you got any other kinks I don't know about?"

"I don't even have the first one," said Fraser.

"It's okay. You can tell me. Me, I got plenty. Me and Stella got up to all kinds of perverted shit."

Fraser made a disapproving little "hm" noise which Ray felt free to ignore under the circumstances. The more he thought about Fraser's crossdressing fetish, the more he approved. From the first moment he met Fraser he felt like he could say anything--nothing could faze him--but there was still kind of a wall up around the topic of sex. Fraser was just so perfect and gentlemanly. Ray should have known it was all an act. For the first time he felt like Fraser was a regular person, down and dirty just like anyone else.

"We'd do anything," Ray continued cheerfully. "Except a guy-guy-girl three-way. That was the line."

"That's understandable, Ray," said Fraser. "Most men are uncomfortable with that level of intimacy with another man."

Was that a veiled hint that he was uncomfortable with this conversation? Ray grinned.

"No, no, it's not that," he said. Time to blow Fraser's mind. "I'm not one of those guys who's afraid of catching the gay or something. I mean, I'm flexible. Stella probably still has that video of me making out with our high school football captain. It wasn't cheating, she directed. No, I just didn't want to share her with another guy."

"I see," said Fraser, like he didn't see. "Are you ready yet?"

"No I am not!" Ray tugged at the dress, trying to get the waistline around the right place. His stupid hairy legs poked up from under the delicate sheer layers of skirt. Silly little bits of fabric flitted in the breeze around his shoulders. He felt as dumb as he had, well, just about ever.

"Just tell me when you're ready."

"I'm not ready," said Ray. "Okay, I'm ready, it's just not pretty."

Fraser turned around and immediately frowned. Great. This dress made the six-foot Mountie with a shoulder span too wide to go through certain doorways look slender and delicate, but Ray still looked like a big dumb guy in a costume. Maybe he was just a lost cause.

"It's not that bad," said Ray weakly.

"It doesn't fit."

"It feels okay."

"It's supposed to cling."

"Cling?" said Ray. "Cling to what, exactly?"

Fraser gestured vaguely. "Your person. Your figure."

"I don't have a figure," Ray pointed out.

"The right outfit will create the illusion."

"You might kind of need something to start with."

"Don't be disheartened, Ray."

"I'm not disheartened," said Ray. "I don't have ego tied up in this. I am not going to think less of myself if I don't make a good woman."

"Nor should you, but there's no reason to jump to that conclusion yet. It's simply the wrong dress for you. Are you wearing women's underwear?"

"Yeah, I had it on from before. Is that bad?"

"No, it's good," said Fraser. "Well planned, Ray. Excellent foresight." He coughed and turned away suddenly to look back in his big box.

"Um," said Ray. He suddenly wondered if he might have given a misleading impression with that high school football captain story.

"This might be a good skirt for you," said Fraser, back to business. "I bought it a size too small before I truly grasped the sizing system of women's apparel. It's rather byzantine. I could never pull it off, but you might have better luck. Pair it with this top. This is a good colour for you."

Fraser draped the things over a chair and then turned around again respectfully. Ray yanked himself out of the horrible green dress with a little too much violence. Luckily Fraser didn't seem to hear (or chose to ignore) the pop of stitches snapping.

The separate skirt and shirt were easier to deal with than the dress. The shirt was a sleeveless turtleneck made of a stretchy material, not too different from a tank top. It was a little baggy around the chest area, but there would be boobs later. The skirt, a gray flowered thing, was actually pretty clever. There was tight elastic at the top to hug the wearer's ass (it even made it look like Ray had an ass, to speak of). The material gradually got looser and flouncier as it went on, making it seem like there might be a kind of hourglass thing going on.

"Okay," said Ray. "Check it out."

He knew this attempt was better, but he wasn't prepared for Fraser's eyes to totally light up, and for a delighted smile to transform his face.

"That's it," Fraser said, nodding with authority.

Somehow Fraser's sureness made Ray less sure. "I don't know," he said, tugging at the skirt.

Diefenbaker peered out from under the desk and gave a questioning whimper.

"See," said Ray. "He agrees with me."

"You're both wrong. May I?" Before Ray knew exactly what Fraser was asking permission for, he'd placed his thumbs under the waistband and shifted the skirt around, moving a different pattern of flowers to the front. "There. Does that resolve your difficulties?"

It did a little, not that Ray would admit it. He stuck a leg out from under the flounce. "It's a little... short."

"It's better that way. You'll want to distract those who suspect you with your smooth, womanly legs."

"I don't have smooth, womanly legs."

"They'll be smooth once you shave them. Your high heels will provide the appropriate shape."

Ray and Dief exchanged skeptical looks.

"It will all come together," Fraser promised. "I do have experience in this area."

"Yeah, well, my arms are still kinda." Ray flexed, showing off his manly muscles. Well, relatively manly. Well, not girly. "And my tattoo, Stella knows it."

A flicker of annoyance passed over Fraser's face. "Wear a sweater," he problem-solved shortly.

Note to self, thought Ray, don't bring up the reason we're doing all of this. Don't bring up Stella.

It made sense--just because Fraser liked doing this dress-up stuff, didn't mean he approved of the cruise plan now any more than he had before--but Ray couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more than that. Fraser said this wasn't a fetish, but he seemed pretty into it. Pretty really into it. They'd been together almost every minute of the last five weeks, and Ray had never seen him this enthusiastic about anything other than The Idea of Justice. Ray was maybe playing with matches here.

"Okay, then," said Ray. "I'll just, uh." He shrugged out of the shirt. "Change back. For the. You know, the road."

"Good." Fraser turned around, lifting his green dress to smooth it lovingly before he folded it back into the trunk.

*

Fraser had Ray detour through his old neighborhood, directing him to stop at a hole-in-the-wall shop, the kind with metal grating crisscrossed over the windows at all hours of the day. A dirty awning simply said "Nina's." Ray didn't know what he expected, but whatever it was, it wasn't a jumbled-up wonderland of thigh-high rhinestone-spackled boots, neon fishnet stockings, and assorted pasties.

"What is this, the hooker superstore?" said Ray.

Oddly Dief seemed at home here. He trotted happily under a rack of white Pleather nurse uniforms.

"I believe it's frequented by a variety of female performers," said Fraser. "Exotic dancers, striptease artists, a small but spirited community of local adult film actresses..."

"Seriously?"

"On the whole, very pleasant and charming ladies. Helpful, too. I've received a lot of good fashion advice here. Of course, I've been able to perform some small services for them, too, every so often."

"Whoa," said Ray. "You know what, Fraser? I have a new respect for you."

"Well, thank you, Ray."

"Hiya, Ben. Hiya, Diefenbaker," said the girl at the back counter. Behind her was a wall of wigs in every color of the rainbow.

"Good afternoon, Nina," said Fraser.

She bent forward on her stool and rubbed Dief affectionately around the ears. "Long time no see! You guys brought a friend, huh?"

"Hey," said Ray gruffly, with a self-conscious little wave.

"Now, I know you liked the brunette look," Fraser said, tapping Ray's arm, and nodding toward the Wall of Wigs, "but I think we should keep you blond, unless you're planning to try to alter the colour of your eyebrows, which, frankly, I don't recommend."

"Point," said Ray.

"I'm seeing you in a short bob," said Nina. "Kind of a windswept, side-parted, razor-cut look, very modern, very Meg Ryan."

"That sounds nice," said Fraser encouragingly.

"Short blond hair?" Ray interpreted. "I've already got short blond hair."

"Well, it suits you," said Fraser.

Ray shook his head. Stella knew his face like the back of her hand. He'd be recognized in a second if he looked just like a slightly more feminine version of his regular old self.

He didn't say that, though. He knew that wasn't the argument most likely to win Fraser over.

Instead he said, "What's the point of doing this if I don't even get to have long, pretty hair?"

Dief looked at Ray as if to say, "Dude."

"I want to be pretty, Fraser," Ray insisted, ignoring the wolf. "Pretty like a girl."

Fraser raised his eyebrows. "Understood," he said, looking like he had a new respect for Ray, now.

Playing with matches? What the hell, Ray had always been kind of a pyro.

Fraser scanned the back wall for a moment and then pointed. "Could we see that one, please, Nina?"

"Good choice," said Nina, climbing up on a ladder. It was a long, honey-colored wig with lighter blond streaks, with shorter bits that pointed in toward the chin and longer wavy strands that spilled down past the shoulders. Nina lifted it off the Styrofoam head, jumped down, and handed it to Ray. Then she and Fraser stared at him, looking all expectant, so he pulled it on.

Immediately he felt like a jerk. Fraser squared his shoulders and began making slight adjustments to the placement of the tendrils. He didn't look especially pleased or displeased, just kind of businesslike and interested. Ray kind of wanted to ask what he really thought but he wasn't sure what would be worse--Fraser really thinking Ray looked as silly as he felt, or Fraser really liking it. Like, really liking it.

"You look great," said Nina.

Fraser nodded seriously. "Very pretty."

"Peachy," Ray mumbled, yanking the wig off his head, and pulling out some crumpled bills to pay.

*

Ray lifted the tweezers to his eyebrows. He put them down again.

"Fraser?" he called out through the bathroom door.

"Yes, Ray?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes, Ray," said Fraser, appearing in the doorway with his large metal toolbox full of makeup. Dief looked up from his place under the coffee table, decided not to get involved, and went back to sleep.

"Shaping the brows will reduce the appearance of the brow ridge, a subtle but noticeable masculine characteristic. It's not really difficult and it does make a big difference." Fraser cleared counter space and set down the toolbox, selecting some of the tiny bottles, rejecting others.

"But I like my eyebrows," said Ray. "They're good eyebrows. They get the job done. Whatever the job is. I don't actually know."

"Well," said Fraser, thinking about it, "they keep falling debris from entering the eyes from above."

"See? Falling debris hardly ever enters my eyes from above," said Ray. "I have A-plus eyebrows."

"They'll grow back."

"Not by tomorrow. You're telling me you want me to interrogate suspects with dainty little girl eyebrows?"

"I think that could be very intimidating, Ray," said Fraser. "The element of surprise."

Ray made a face.

"Then again, that's a compelling counterpoint," said Fraser.

"A compelling counterpoint I could not have made without my eyebrows," said Ray.

"Nobody's asking you to remove them altogether." After a slight pause Fraser added, "You know, Ray, you don't have to do this at all."

"I don't?" said Ray, excited, like he'd got a free pass on homework from the teacher. He dropped the tweezers back into Fraser's enormous make-up toolbox. "Great, because I really think the rest of it, the makeup and everything, should be enough."

"No, I mean, you don't have to do any of this," said Fraser. "If you're going to do this," he held up a tube of lipstick, "you should do this," he held up the tweezers, "but you don't have to do this," the lipstick, "at all."

Ray looked at himself in the mirror. They really were perfectly good eyebrows.

"Do you need a moment to think about it?"

"No," said Ray. "I have to do this. This is the only sure way I can go so she won't find out."

"You don't have to go," said Fraser gently.

"I know, I know. She doesn't want me there. I heard her the first fifteen times. It's not that easy, okay? Knowing she's out there, getting into trouble I don't know about, maybe getting hurt. You don't just forget someone, or stop caring, even if they tell you..." He looked down at the sink, searching for words in there. "I mean, I still... I loved that girl since was twelve years old. When you know someone that long..."

He glanced at Fraser. He was listening with an interested, but not exactly understanding, expression.

"I just, I can't sit back if she's in trouble," said Ray. "You got to understand that. She's doing something stupid, only she doesn't know it's stupid, so I got to look out for her, cause she's not going to look out for herself." He shrugged, picked up the tweezers, and leaned forward into the mirror. "So, um, where do I start?"

"From below," said Fraser. "Always shape from below."

He carefully placed the tweezers and yanked. "Yow! What the fuck? Is that what's supposed to happen?"

"No. You pinched yourself. Here, allow me." Fraser sat Ray down on the closed toilet and knelt in front of him. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? You can't flinch once I start."

"I won't. I'm fine. I'm ready. Ya!" He brought an X of fists up front of his face, diverting Fraser's hand and disarming him.

Fraser looked at him with a level of annoyance usually reserved for Diefenbaker as he recovered the tweezers from the floor. "I haven't touched you, Ray."

"I knew it was coming."

"That was a preemptive flinch."

"It's instinct. I see someone coming at me, I block."

Fraser dusted off the end of the tweezers with a tissue. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"This time, try closing your eyes."

Ray squinched his eyes shut. Oh, this was great. Now he knew it was coming, he just didn't know when.

He felt a firm warm hand on the side of his face, holding him steady, and a cool press of metal above his eye. He braced himself. Then it was over, just a lingering tiny sting to let him know it had happened. It wasn't actually bad, except that it kept coming, again and again and again.

"There's got to be a quicker way to do this," said Ray.

"You wouldn't like it," said Fraser.

Ray thought about hot wax and winced.

"Easy, now," said Fraser's voice, close near his ear. "I think I do understand how you feel, Ray."

"Yeah, well, you've done this before, right?"

"About Ms. Kowalski, I mean."

"Oh. You do?"

"It's not a perfect comparison. I've never been married, of course, nor have I ever stayed in the same place long enough to form such a long-term attachment to anyone. In a way, I envy you that."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," muttered Ray.

"I can see the downside, yes. But you don't have to know someone so long, or so intimately, to feel protective and, well, concerned. For example, I frequently wonder about Ray Vecchio. The former Ray Vecchio."

"Oh," said Ray.

"I don't presume to say that a partnership is equivalent to a marriage, but all the same he is my friend, and I have real reason to believe he is in considerable danger."

Right. All of a sudden "creepy boyfriend" seemed like a stupid and pathetic kind of danger compared to "undercover in the mob." Ray nodded, feeling vaguely ashamed of himself.

"Don't move your head."

"Sorry."

"Quite all right. There were moments, when I first found out about Ray's assignment, that I came very near to strapping on my rucksack and heading out to find him. You'll understand that I had already taken the precaution of setting aside a small supply of items bearing his scent--old socks mostly--in the eventuality that I ever needed to track him."

Ray knew he should probably be surprised by this, but after awhile, you just started to take Fraser in stride. "Why didn't you?" he asked. "Track him?"

"He didn't ask me to," said Fraser simply. "I assume if he ever needs me, he'll find a way to get a message to me. And I still have those socks."

"The difference is," said Ray, "Vecchio's a cop. He can take care of himself. Stella wouldn't know trouble if it bit her. She's stupid like that. She's smart, but she's stupid. She knows stuff like who was the king of England in 1708."

"Queen Anne," said Fraser.

"Right, like that. That's one of the things that made us so great together, you know? She's smart where I'm dumb, and I'm smart where she's dumb. I couldn't help her with her crosswords, but other than that, it really, really worked. It was like that all across the board. She'd be one way and I'd be the opposite, but so that it worked, you know? Like... uh... Well, all of the examples I can think of right now are dirty, but you know what I mean."

"You complemented each other."

"Yeah, I told her she was pretty and all of that, sure, but I mean more like, you know, one of us would want to get tied up and the other would want to do the tying. Or whatever. It varied."

"Ah," said Fraser, sounding uncomfortable, which was just plain hypocritical, considering. Of course, he was still maintaining that his fetish wasn't a fetish. Just a leisure activity. Ray let it slide.

"I don't know how she just throws all that away. Like it never happened. Like anyone else would ever..." Ray sighed, trailing off into silence.

"Ray?" The plucking stopped. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Yeah. I'm fine. Whatever. I bet Farelli can help her with her crosswords. I bet she's thrilled. What's she going to do when she finds his closet of dead wives? It'll be me picking up the pieces."

"Well, that's a valuable function, Ray. Maybe you're meant to be her friend."

"Christ," said Ray. "I can't think of anything more depressing."

Then there was something cold and wet on his face, and hands slathering it around. He swatted wildly, opening his eyes. "What the fuck--?"

"It's just a light moisturizing foundation," said Fraser, sounding disappointed in him. "It won't hurt you."

"I wasn't expecting it!" said Ray. "I don't like when people do unexpected things to my face!"

"Understood. I'll strive to keep you abreast of the proceedings. I'm about to apply blusher." Fraser reached into his toolbox and picked out a round disc of powder and a brush. "Ready?"

"Maybe. I think so."

"I can wait."

"Okay. No. I'm ready."

"You're sure?"

Ray scrunched his eyes shut and balled his fists. "Hit me."

The tickling brush dusted each side of his face. It took about half a second together.

"There," said Fraser soothingly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Ray opened one eye. "Is that it? Are you done?"

"Not nearly," Fraser smiled faintly. "You and I are just beginning our magical journey together. Eye liner is next."

Ray sighed.

Fraser paused, the gray pencil pointing at Ray's eye, which was just unnerving. "Are you sufficiently braced? Do you need a moment of silent reflection?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"The 'don't flinch' rule applies here, too, Ray."

"I'm not flinching. I'm blinking."

"Don't blink."

Ray held his eyes open, trying not to squint as the tip of the pencil tickled his eyelids. He glanced from side to side, not knowing where to look. Fraser was looking directly at him, and it took a moment to realize he wasn't staring into Ray's eyes, just looking at the sides of his eyes. He was an artist looking at his canvas, Ray reminded himself, and not just a weirdo staring at him for no reason.

"Good." Fraser blinked away, replaced the pencil in the box, and picked out a tray of powders in various shades of gray. "Close your eyes," he instructed.

"You're messing with me now."

"No, I'm not. I'm applying eye shadow."

"I don't get to pick the color?"

"Trust me. I have a plan." Ray wondered if Fraser assessed the perfect eye shadow color of everyone he met, or if he was special. "I'm giving you, well, a more or less naturalistic eye pallet."

"But I'll look different, right?"

"Your natural feminine features will be enhanced."

"Why doesn't that sound good?"

"Open. Look up." As he combed Ray's lashes with a mascara brush, Fraser explained, "You see, Ray, every visual design needs a focus. In this regard cosmetology is no different from painting or sculpture. With me, it's all about drawing the attention to the eyes. I'm going in a different direction with you."

"I don't have good eyes?" said Ray, mock insulted. It was really a pretty badly-thought-out move, since he didn't know what he wanted less: Fraser assuring him that he was totally totally pretty, or Fraser confirming that he really wasn't.

"On the contrary, you could go either way." Fraser's voice was matter-of-fact, which was probably the best outcome Ray could have hoped for. "But when Stella looks at you, she looks into your eyes. I thought it would be prudent to place the emphasis elsewhere." Fraser recapped the mascara and stood up.

"Oh," said Ray. So Fraser hadn't lost sight of the point of this exercise--good. "That's smart. So where are you placing the, uh, emphasis?"

"Lips," Fraser answered, not looking up from his box of tricks. "Your mouth is an underappreciated asset."

"Oh. Ah," said Ray. "I. I never knew."

"Don't feel badly, Ray. I do have a certain expertise in these matters."

"Right," Ray murmured. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He had to know. "Um. Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?" Fraser looked up and gave Ray his full attention, which made what he was about to say even more awkward.

"You're," said Ray, looking over Fraser's shoulder at the line of make-up products on the sink behind him, "you're not, like, turned on by any of this, are you?"

"Any of what, Ray?" Fraser asked placidly.

Now Ray looked at him, because he couldn't believe he was playing so dumb. "This, all this," said Ray, gesturing at his chest, even though he was just wearing a normal T-shirt, and then gesturing more appropriately at his partially-made-up face. "This dressing me up stuff."

Fraser frowned. "Why would I be turned on, Ray?"

"I don't know, you tell me! You say it's not a fetish, but you seem pretty fucking into it, and, well, I kind of know what it feels like to be hit on, you know?"

"I'm sorry if I inadvertently gave the impression that you were being hit on, Ray," said Fraser stiffly. "Nothing could be further from my intention."

"Okay," said Ray. He'd started feeling bad in the middle of his own sentence, like he was making something out of nothing, and Fraser's response only made him feel worse. He was already ready to back down.

"In the course of assisting you with your appearance, it's necessary for me to occasionally touch you and look at you."

He was getting snippy now. Ray frowned. "It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal, Ray, if you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable. I'm fine."

"The fact that I know about women's fashions, and that I dress from time to time in women's clothes as a leisure activity, doesn't make me gay, Ray. That's a misconception I don't understand. For your information, most crossdressers are heterosexual."

"Okay, okay, okay okay okay," said Ray, impatient to end this excruciating argument. "I was just checking."

"I can assure you, Ray," said Fraser, "you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

Jeez. He didn't need to get all mean about it. He didn't need to act like Ray was this disgusting leper that nobody could ever be turned on by, ever, and he was crazy deluded to even think for a moment it might be a remote possibility. "Great!" said Ray.

"Good," said Fraser.

"Can we just get on with this?"

"Certainly." Fraser reached out and took Ray's chin firmly in hand. "Open your mouth."

Ray licked his lips involuntarily, then realized he might have already messed things up. "Sorry."

"Don't speak," was all Fraser said.

Ray held absolutely still as Fraser carefully outlined his lips with a red pencil, pressed on the lipstick, and finally glided on a layer of wet shiny goop. He drew back and narrowed his eyes, examining his handiwork with a critical-artist look. He seemed to examine it for a long time. At least he didn't look angry anymore; just fascinated, absorbed in his work.

Ray didn't know how long he should keep on holding still like that, lips parted. The problem with being told not to speak was that you couldn't speak to ask if you could start speaking or not. But Fraser was still staring at his mouth, transfixed, so he didn't move.

Fraser reached out and placed his hand back underneath Ray's chin, gently this time. Slowly his thumb rose from beneath Ray's chin--he could see just see it, looking down--and with a light but deliberate touch, Fraser brushed Ray's upper lip.

"Uneven," he explained curtly, wiping his finger on a tissue. "It's fixed now. Smile."

Ray offered a weak smile.

"With your teeth. I need to check for stray lipstick."

Ray flashed an impatient fake grin.

Fraser smiled back, only his was genuine, which was a welcome change. He stood aside nodded toward the mirror. "Take a look."

Ray stood up, leaned forward, and said: "Whoa."

He recognized his own face--Fraser hadn't worked a magic spell or anything--but he was, well, pretty. Not a supermodel, or anything, but a nice, well-put-together fortyish type woman. The lipstick was the most obvious, just like Fraser had promised--a bright, in-your-face splash of color in a sweet full heart shape. Somehow. He'd never noticed his lips to be especially full or heart-shaped before, but Fraser hadn't colored outside the lines or anything. It was all his own lips.

"Don't touch it. You'll cause a smudge."

Ray dropped his hand and wiped it on his jeans guiltily.

The rest of his face was good, too. His eyes looked bigger and bluer than usual, and gentler, somehow, but it wasn't totally clear why, or what had been done to them. For equally unclear reasons, his face looked more pointed, pixieish, the cheekbones higher, the jawline narrower. All the lines and imperfections and complications had been smoothed out. He still had dimples when he smiled, but even they seemed less pronounced. It made his face less interesting, but more nondescript, which was probably a good thing for this purpose.

But he kept coming back to his mouth. The color was bright, but it didn't look cheap and drag-queeny on him, like the original fire-engine red he'd chosen out of Frannie's bag. It looked classier somehow. More natural.

"What is this? This color?" said Ray, pointing at his mouth.

Fraser checked the tube. "It's called Volcanic Geranium."

Ray had been expecting something like "reddish pink." He said, "What the hell does that mean?"

Fraser raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Lipstick colour names can be rather obscure. I assume it's a metaphor to describe something fragile and lovely but also dangerous and potentially capable of raining hot destruction upon an unsuspecting citizenry. On the other hand, it may refer to the fact that this particular coral shade is common to molten lava and geraniums. Don't lick it."

"It tastes like Jujubes," Ray reported.

"Nevertheless, resist the urge."

Ray turned away from the mirror and then looked back at himself suddenly, trying to see what he would look like to a stranger. He winked over his shoulder at himself, then pouted coyly.

"What time is it?" asked Fraser suddenly.

"Almost five. Why? You got somewhere to be?"

"Well, yes."

Ray didn't know why he was surprised. Why shouldn't Fraser have something to do tonight? It was odd enough he'd had hours and hours to spend on this dumb project. Ray was cutting into his leisure time. His limited leisure time.

"I hope you're not planning to wear that watch tonight. Will you be able to finish up here on your own?"

Ray took off the watch and stuffed it in his pocket. Obviously he was not capable of finishing on his own, since he would not have thought of that, but he said, "Yeah, uh, I think I can handle putting on clothes and shaving. I do it every day. Most days."

"You will have to fasten a brassiere behind your back," Fraser warned as Ray ushered him out into the living room.

"I know how to work a bra," Ray assured him.

Fraser nodded. "Well then," he said. "Good luck."

"Thanks," said Ray. "Hey, Fraser?"

Fraser came to a complete stop just before the door and turned all the way around. "Yes?" he said.

"You, uh," Ray scratched his head and then crossed his arms. "You don't have any of my old socks, do you?"

"No, Ray, I don't."

Surprising and actually kind of disappointing. What if he was ever in trouble?

"That does remind me, though," said Fraser, "you'll see in the duffel that I left you an assortment of nylons. I thought it would be best to provide a multitude of options in the case of scratches or runs. However, I must strongly recommend the thigh-highs. Just trust me."

"You're the expert. Hey," Ray laughed, "was this all an elaborate plot to get my scent on your clothes?"

"If you'll recall, this was your idea," Fraser pointed out, suddenly cold. "And these items will be useless for tracking." He reached up suddenly toward Ray's neck. Ray thought he was going to get hit or grabbed, but at the last moment he noticed the small spray bottle concealed in Fraser's hand. A quick cold spritz hit him on the side of the neck.

"Passionflower," Fraser explained, and escaped.

As soon as Ray closed the door and he found himself standing alone in his apartment with powder-itchy eyes and Jujube lips, extra-large ladies' dainties draped on every surface, and the scent of passionflower hanging in the air, the whole project seemed a lot more insane. It wasn't too late to wash his face, pack away Fraser's crap, head to the gym or out for a drink.

But then he knew if he missed the boat he'd just be nauseous and edgy until he found out Stella was okay. What if his spidey-sense was right, and she was really in trouble? How was he going to explain to Fraser that he'd taken up his entire day playing dress-up just so he could be Stella's secret bodyguard, and she got tossed overboard anyway?

Besides, there were his eyebrows to think about. You don't pluck your eyebrows for no reason. He was committed.

 

 

Part II

Ray stood against the rail on the main deck of the Princess Royale, his honey-colored curls flitting in the breeze. He shifted the strap of his purse, feeling the comforting weight of his gun. It had been touch and go when the crew instituted random bag checks, but they'd let him and his little handbag go, and he'd made it on board without any trouble. Now, he stood apart from the crowd, trying not to be noticed. Luckily, on a romantic cruise, most people were pretty wrapped up in their own dates, and lots of couples were lined up at the rails, looking out at the shimmering moonlit waves. Ray didn't seem to attract much attention as he moved slowly along the perimeter, peering in at the crowd by the bar.

He'd spotted Stella as soon as she came on board, looking golden and radiant in a crowd of gray normals. He still had that special part of his brain which alerted him whenever Stella was in the same room and fed him constant updates on her current location and mood. Right now, she was twenty-five feet away, and she appeared happy. She was sitting next to Farelli at a cafe table in front of the bar, talking to another couple. She held a martini in one hand, and she was wearing her normal work clothes--blouse, business skirt--with a man's jacket because Farelli had given her his when she shivered in the breeze from the lake. Considerate bastard.

The other couple moved on, and Stella turned to Farelli. Ray squinted to see her expression. She looked serious now. Ray carefully picked his way in toward the crowd.

The observation deck had been quiet, but when Ray took the step down into the bar, the air suddenly got thick with music and chatter. A cheesy-looking six-piece band was warming up across a small dance floor, and most of the couples were in heavy mingle mode by the bar. It was impossible to pick out Stella's voice. Ray wove through the crowd toward her table, feeling conspicuous. Partly this was just because he was alone. It weird to actually be the only single in a sea of couples, a non-imagined real-life version of the way he'd secretly felt since the split. Mostly, though, it was because his heels gave him an extra two inches, and he was taller than all of the women and a good proportion of the men. He slouched and slid onto a bar stool.

He waved at the bartender and pointed at a woman holding a strawberry daiquiri. The bartender nodded. This was the one good thing about a noisy room, he didn't have to speak. He still hadn't worked out a fake voice. He'd just realized this when he got to the cruise line office to claim his ticket. He'd managed to squeak out the request for Diefenbaker, one, in a terrible falsetto, but he didn't like the idea of trying to carry on a conversation longer than that.

He was sitting right behind Stella's back, now, but since they weren't facing each other and since it wasn't him she was leaning close and speaking softly to, he still couldn't hear a word she said. Farelli's voice was occasionally audible, but only in keywords.

"...early in the relationship to..."

It's too early in the relationship to what? Get married? Move in together? Hold hands, hopefully?

"...career path..."

Great. Just great. Of course he wanted to talk about career paths. Stella loved to talk about career paths, almost as much as she liked to talk honestly and openly about feelings, and she was never satisfied with Ray's input on either topic. Apparently "Ah" and "Uh-huh" weren't the responses she was hoping for. It wasn't that Ray wasn't interested in career paths and feelings, his own or hers, he just believed they were things you didn't need to talk about. You just let them happen.

"...divisive duality of..."

Ray rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're smart.

"...hostage situation..."

Hey, that could be promising!

"...but let's not talk about work."

Ah.

"...how I feel!"

What the hell!

"Well, hello, there."

Ray jerked his head up. He was being addressed by a fiftyish man, Caucasian, slight build. He barely reached Ray's height, and he was standing.

"I guess I'm not the only one who came to this thing alone," said the man, smiling. "For some reason I thought it would be a singles event, but now I see most people are already paired off. Didn't you think it would be a singles event?"

Ray was capable of fooling strangers, so that was a good sign. He might have let Fraser make him just a little too pretty, though. Maybe he should have just come as Frumpy Cher, like he originally planned. Ray shrugged and tried to turn his attention back to Stella and Farelli.

"You look lovely, if you don't mind my saying so, with the moonlight in your hair. My name is Tom. Tom Hofferman."

Ray took Tom's offered hand, trying to keep his grip light, and his hands hidden beneath his sweater sleeves.

"Mm. What is that intoxicating aroma?"

Ray shrugged again, ditzy blond style.

Tom Hofferman frowned. "Are you all right?"

Ray gave a thumbs-up.

"Is there something wrong with your voice?"

Right. It really wasn't so noisy that Ray could get away with not even attempting to talk. He hunched over his daiquiri, hoping to just seem monumentally rude and uninterested. But, hopefully not in an especially conspicuous way.

"Hey. I said, is there something wrong with your voice?"

"Excuse me," said a pleasant voice. "I don't mean to intrude on your conversation, but I couldn't help but overhear the question."

Ray was so surprised he actually started to say, "F--!", but Fraser caught his eye and shook his head subtly.

Somehow, Fraser was just there, now, standing by Ray's elbow. He'd just appeared. At least he wasn't in full-on Mountie uniform. He was dressed in his nicer civvies, a leather jacket and a button-down shirt in what was for him a surprisingly subdued plaid, and no hat. Still, he was still unmistakably Fraser, with his wide-open innocent Fraser face and perfect upright Fraser posture. Ray glanced nervously from him to Stella and Farelli. Luckily they seemed too involved in their feelings conversation to notice the newcomer at the bar behind them.

Fraser was explaining, "I'm afraid Miss Diefenbaker here lost her tongue in a tragic accident some time ago."

"Really?" said Tom Hofferman.

Fraser nodded. "A cat was involved."

"Oh," said Tom. "Are you, ah, her date?"

"Me?" said Fraser. "Oh, no. No, no. Certainly not."

Ray shrugged emphatically, palms upward, a nonverbal "What the fuck?"

"She seems to think differently," Tom laughed.

"We work together," Fraser explained. "Certain lines shouldn't be crossed."

"Right, yeah," said Tom, nodding enthusiastically. "What kind of work do you both do?"

"Law enforcement," said Fraser, even though at the same time Ray was performing the first mime that had occurred to him, which was skiing. Ray shot Fraser a look. Did he always have to be so scrupulously truthful?

"Ski patrol," Fraser explained.

"Wow," said Tom. "That's amazing. How do you like that?"

"Extraordinarily fulfilling, thank you," said Fraser, as the same time as Ray shrugged and wavered his hand, "so-so."

Tom laughed. "So, tell me," he said to Fraser. "Would your platonic friend like to dine with me tonight? Ah, can she..."

"Oh yes, she dines. She dines like a horse," said Fraser.

Ray shrugged again, pointed at Fraser, made a pow-pow-jazz-hands gesture emanating from his mouth, pointed at himself, and patted his stomach.

"I'm not saying that at all, R--enée," said Fraser, quickly covering up his near-mistake. "I'm simply saying you have a healthy appetite. It's a good quality. It shows an admirable disregard for societal pressure to conform to an unrealistic standard of beauty."

Ray made horns and then made a gesture emanating from his ass.

"Okay!" said Tom. "I know when I'm not wanted. Nice to meet you, Renée. And good luck with... everything."

Ray waited a count of four while Tom walked back to the crowd and then whisper-yelled, "Fraser! What the hell? How did you get here?"

"Same way as you," said Fraser in a totally normal voice. "I bought a ticket. The prices are quite reasonable close to sail time. Shall we take a turn around the observation deck?"

"Let's do," muttered Ray.

Fraser held out his arm, letting Ray step in front of him, and placed a light, guiding hand on Ray's elbow. Ray yanked it away, shot him a look, and stalked out to the rail. As soon as they were away from the crowd he turned around and hissed, "You can't be here! Stella knows you!"

"She knows me in uniform. As you said yourself, it's often difficult for acquaintances to place one another outside of their known dress or context."

"Yeah, and your known context is with me. She finds you, she finds me," said Ray. "You got to get out of here now."

"I suppose I could swim for it." Fraser peered over the rail, judging the distance between the ship and port.

"Oh, yeah, right, because that would be nice and inconspicuous. A Mountie diving into Lake Michigan. Happens all the time on these romantic cruises. Part of the entertainment. Oh, God, you didn't bring the wolf, did you?"

"No. Diefenbaker chose to remain at home and do some serious thinking. What he has to think seriously about, I don't know. I don't ask anymore. It's just as well; as you say, he might have attracted attention. You, however, will attract less attention with a male escort. Don't worry, Ray. From her current vantage point, Ms. Kowalski can only see the back of my head. I don't have a particularly distinctive back of the head."

"It'll be pretty distinctive when it's black and blue," said Ray. "After I dribble it like a basketball down the dance floor and then throw it in the lake."

"Ah," said Fraser. "Now that would attract attention."

Ray peered over Fraser's shoulder in at the bar area to confirm Stella's eyeline. She could easily see them from where she was sitting, but they were far enough away now that it was unlikely she'd get a positive identification. Also, she wasn't looking.

"Shall we stroll?" said Fraser, offering his arm.

Ray took it, feeling awkward. He'd never gotten the full effect of Fraser's politeness before, and it was a little weird. Was this just for show, to complete the disguise, or was Fraser actually thinking of him as a woman now? He had to know Ray was still Ray and still capable of walking unescorted. Then again, women were also capable of walking unescorted, so really, the point of the whole politeness thing was lost on him.

"I don't mean to criticize," said Fraser quietly, his voice close to Ray's ear, "but your disguise would be more effective if you were to stand up straight."

"Are you sure?" said Ray. "I don't want to be too tall."

"It's relatively difficult to judge height from a distance, but body language is a dead giveaway. Some women are tall, but very few women walk like Ray Kowalski."

Ray didn't know he had any special walk, but he uncrossed his arms and straightened his shoulders.

"And walk from the hips," said Fraser. "Like this." He demonstrated.

"Okay, okay," said Ray, doing it, just to get him to stop. "Is that all you're doing here? Just came to watch me make an ass of myself?"

"On the contrary, Ray, I hope to help you avoid that fate. As you know, I meant to wash my hands of this particular escapade. But after I left you, I thought about what you said, and I decided you were correct."

"About what?"

"That it's incumbent upon one to offer more support and protection, not less, when a cherished companion insists on doing something recklessly stupid."

"Wonderful," said Ray. "I've been Rayed."

He looked in on Stella again, but she was gone. Her table was completely abandoned. Ray's heart seized up, but before he could truly freak out, his internal Stella-ometer calibrated and he found her pulling Farelli out onto the dance floor.

Farelli had obviously never danced before, at least not ballroom dancing, and probably not any other kind either. He had two or three left feet and the sense of rhythm of a mentally challenged baby gorilla. Stella arranged his hands in the right positions, but she couldn't get his legs to go where they were supposed to, even though it was clear she was trying to explain it. Watching Farelli try to dance was actually painful. Seriously, there was an associated physical pain. It was located right under Ray's right floating ribs, like someone was jabbing him with every step Farelli took.

It was all he could do not to walk over there and cut in. Show him how it was done. He couldn't really, he knew it was out of the question. Even if his disguise was so perfect his ex-wife and love-of-life didn't see through it, she'd know him. Certain things you don't forget--the way someone moves, the feel of their body against yours. He might as well cut in on them while they were fucking. Even in total darkness, Stella would know Ray.

Farelli wavered on his feet, holding his arms out like he needed them for balance, just standing there. It had to be an act. Nobody was that useless. What possible advantage he expected to gain by pretending to be a spaz, Ray didn't know, but he had to have some evil plan up his sleeve. Ray narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Farelli suddenly stopped, wiped his brow, and shrugged, probably saying something like, "I'm hopeless!" Yeah, y'are, thought Ray. Stella just threw her arms around him and pressed him close, swaying him in kind of a middle-school slow-dance. They kissed, long and slow.

So, maybe that was the plan.

"Renée. Renée. Renée. Renée."

Ray jerked his head to Fraser, realizing after the fifth or eighth "Renée" that it was him being spoken to. "You know you don't have to call me that when it's just us," he said, annoyed. "I'm still me, I'm the same person."

"The walls may have ears."

"If the walls have ears, they'll know I'm a guy as soon as I open my mouth," said Ray. "What did your voice sound like? Your girl voice?"

Fraser thought about it. "I suppose I just spoke a little more lightly and gently, like this."

"That's it?" said Ray. "That sounds like your regular voice, just a little more Muppety."

Fraser looked put out. "It's difficult to summon outside of the proper costume. I need to be in character."

"You have a character?"

"Well, not in my leisure time, but during my undercover operation, certainly. If I expected anyone to believe in her, I had to believe in her myself. I had to understand her background and motivations, her likes and dislikes, her history and experiences, the inner workings of her mind..."

"Uh-huh. And what was your character's name?"

"Well, Fraser."

"Ha!" said Ray. "You're just as bad at this as I am."

"Fraser is a perfectly good surname for a person of any gender. My own mother was a Fraser."

"Sure. And Stella's a Kowalski. But mostly she's a Stella."

Ray looked back at the dance floor. He could actually read Stella's lips, saying, "One-two-three, one-two-three." Shameful.

"Renée?" Fraser extended his hand. "Will you do me the honour of joining me in this dance?"

"You know how to dance?"

"Do you know how to follow?"

"Hey," said Ray, with a grin, "don't you worry about me."

The band was striking up another waltz when they got out to the floor. Once they'd reached a safe distance from Stella and Farelli, Fraser stopped, turned to Ray, bowed crisply, placed one hand on Ray's waist and extended the other. Ray took it, and put his arm up on Fraser's shoulder. He'd followed before--he and Stella used to trade off sometimes in practice--but it still felt surreal to take this position with Fraser. Both of them towered over the other dancers, and between Ray wearing heels and Fraser not wearing a hat, Ray was the taller of the two. It had to be painfully clear to all that they were both just some guys. But nobody seemed to give them a second look.

Fraser stepped them back confidently. Ray was immediately impressed. Fraser's style was neat and simple, but he had obviously been taught more than just the basic steps, and he took the opportunity to show off a little, whisking and turning with well-timed precision.

"Hey, you're not bad," said Ray. "Where'd you learn?"

"Well, you know, my grandparents were librarians."

"You can't learn to dance out of a book."

"Perhaps not. I didn't attempt it. I was called upon to attend numerous Friends of the Library benefit events. Librarians love to dance."

Ray began to relax and let himself move, confident that Fraser knew what he was doing. It wasn't like with Stella, or any really good dancer--where you can both just let go and let the music flow through you, let yourselves flow into each other--but Fraser was easy and predictable and didn't have any bad habits to compensate for. There were flashes, too, every once in awhile, that Fraser seemed to be feeling it, reacting to the music, rather than anticipating it.

At the very least, Fraser was comfortable enough to carry on a conversation while he danced. "There are also a number of native ceremonial dances at which I'm told--not to toot my own horn--I'm rather natural."

"What, you mean like snow dances?"

"You don't have to dance for snow in the Yukon. No, I became quite proficient at the Tlingit Apology Dance."

"Yeah?" said Ray. "Quick quiz. Total, how many ways do you know how to say 'Terribly sorry to have troubled you'? Verbal and non-verbal."

"I haven't done a formal count, Renée. Somewhere in the high double digits, I suppose. It's one of the key phrases I try to learn in as many languages as possible."

"That and, 'Thank you kindly'?"

"Certainly, and 'the rule of law,' 'you are under arrest,' 'careful, there's a bear behind you,' 'careful, there's a man with a gun behind you...'"

"There's a bear with a gun behind you?" Ray suggested.

"That could certainly be deduced, yes," said Fraser, returning Ray's grin. His face became serious suddenly and he said, "Careful. You look exactly like Ray when you smile."

"What a coincidence. We're kind of related, you know."

"Just something to keep in mind. You'd better not smile at Ms. Kowalski."

"That hasn't really been a problem for me lately," said Ray, turning to watch Farelli step on Stella's feet. Stella just laughed. When did she start laughing so goddamn much?

The waltz ended and the bassist started tapping out a Latin beat.

"Okay, Astaire," said Ray, putting his arm around Fraser's shoulders, and moving Fraser's hand to his own back. "You game to try the samba?"

"I'm afraid I don't know this one."

"It's easy. Start basic, just like before. Yeah, you got the rhythm already. You just have to get the attitude. Loosen up. You want to be light on your feet, loose in the hips. Like you were telling me before. There you go! Piece of cake, right?" Fraser seemed to take to being loose as easily as he took to being stiff. Ray wondered which was really his natural state--if he was so good at adapting to his environment that he could instantly take on any form of movement, or if underneath all the training and formality there was this soulful, musical spirit yearning to break free and dance, dance, dance. He said, "You should keep practicing this stuff."

Fraser smiled. "Am I that bad?"

"No, no, you're good. You've got rhythm and you've got body sense--you know what you're doing with yourself. You'd be surprised how many people suck at that. The rest is just technique. You stick with this, you could be amazing in no time."

Ray wasn't sure if Fraser was really listening--he seemed to be paying attention to his feet--but after a step or two he said, "Of course, if a case ever requires expert ballroom dancing, you already have it covered. As long as we're partners, it might be more efficient for me to concentrate on other skills."

"You think I just learned to dance on the off chance it would be good for my police work? Sometimes people, American people, just do things cause they want to. Cause it's fun."

"I have limited leisure time."

"Yeah, yeah. You don't know what you're missing," said Ray. "Once you're with this long enough, it becomes a part of you. You don't have to think anymore. It's not work. Everything else is work. It's just magic."

Fraser glanced at him, smiling. Not a smile of wonder, like Ray had kind of been expecting to inspire, but a smile of fond amusement, like Ray was entertaining him with his random dance-related rapture. Okay, so he was maybe getting carried away.

"Now, Farelli," said Ray, nodding over Fraser's shoulder. "There's a guy I could never teach. Look at him lurching around like Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein's monster," Fraser corrected absently, glancing back. Stella was still trying to teach him to box-step in waltz time, ignoring the current music. He stepped right, Stella stepped left, and they both stepped back, falling into each other's arms.

"He's trying," said Fraser charitably.

"She's wasted on him," said Ray.

Then, for absolutely no reason Ray could see, Farelli stumbled over his own two feet and fell on his knees. Ray couldn't help it. He barked out a short, loud laugh. Stella looked.

At first she just shot out a standard dirty look, like, who's that stranger making fun of my guy, but as soon as she'd finishing lobbing the stinkeye in Ray's general direction, she paused, frowned, and began to turn back for a second look.

"Dip me," said Ray urgently.

"What?"

"Dip me, jerk!" Ray arched his back, and Fraser, getting it, bent over him, so Stella could only see Fraser ass and various legs.

Of course they couldn't stay dipped for long. When they came back up, Stella was still watching, waiting, so Ray improvised. He threw his arms tight around Fraser's back and rested his head against his shoulder. Stella could now only see the back of Fraser's head and the top of Ray's wig.

By now Ray had finally managed to throw Fraser off his dance. He stood stiffly, arms at his sides, like he'd been freeze-tagged.

"Put your arms around me," Ray muttered. "Let's sell this thing."

Fraser robotically placed his hands on Ray's back. His grip was loose and unconvincing, but it didn't matter. Ray's hands were the ones they could see, anyway.

"Think of England," Ray advised, trying not to be too insulted by Fraser's obvious discomfort. He stroked his hands up and down Fraser's back and nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, possibly ruining his makeup. And Fraser's shirt.

Fraser took a breath like he was about to say something, but then he didn't.

"Can you tell if they're still looking?" Ray murmured into his collar. "No, don't look back. I don't want to risk her seeing your face. Here, I'll give them a reason to look away. You ready?"

"Am I ready for what?" said Fraser.

Ray dropped his hand and cupped a firm handful of taut Mountie ass. Fraser hiccuped delicately.

That was probably enough, Ray figured. He stepped back into dance position and risked a glance back at the other couple. All he saw was Farelli, alone, making his way back to the dining area.

"Where's Stella?" he wondered aloud.

Fraser turned around, letting Ray's hands fall from his shoulders. It didn't matter anymore, really, since they'd come to a complete stop. They both looked around the room. No Stella.

"What'd he do to her?" Ray demanded.

"It's only been a moment since we saw her," Fraser pointed out reasonably. "Perhaps she went to the ladies' washroom."

"Yeah. Maybe. I guess I can't... Hey!" Ray grinned. "I'm a lady!" He patted Fraser's shoulder, "Thanks for the dance, buddy," and walked purposefully off the dance floor.

Handy placards pointed the way to the restrooms, which were down a small flight of stairs. Ray paused outside the door. Ladies' room: the final frontier. This would be his most dangerous mission yet. He tugged his turtleneck up over his Adam's apple, pulled his sweater sleeves down over his hands, and pushed open the door.

Immediately the cool barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. Not at all the kind of danger he'd been expecting.

*

"Give me your valuables and you won't be hurt," said a voice, gritty and tight but undeniably female. There were two of them, both dressed in back, with guns in their hands and ski masks covering their faces. They were women. Their clothes were bulky, like maybe they had Kevlar vests on under their black coats, but they were both on the short side, and there was just something kind of indefinably womanly about them. Lady robbers in the ladies' room, how oddly appropriate.

Robber 1 was covering the door--that was the one with her gun pointed at Ray--and Robber 2 was covering Stella. Ray's throat tightened, looking at her, standing there with her back against the tampon dispenser, the robber's gun pointed at her perfect neck. He didn't even feel any pleasure at being right.

She wasn't looking at him. She was staring at her captor with hatred as she unlatched her silver bracelet and handed it over. Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes, but overall, she looked more angry than afraid. She was being cooperative, but she still had spirit. Both good.

"Hands up," Robber 1 told Ray. He put up his hands, and she looked him up and down thoughtfully. Keeping the gun pointed at his jaw, she shifted the sleeves of his sweater down, one at a time, past his wrists. She turned his hands over, inspecting them carefully. She frowned. Then she lifted her gaze to his neck. Ray felt the cold metal of the gun shift aside his collar. The robber squinted, disbelieving.

He was made. He was so made.

Even while he was worrying about his own blown cover, he knew there was something to figure out about the robber. There was something queer about her. Something familiar. Her mouth. Even under the mask, her lips were jet black.

"She's not wearing any jewelry," she whined.

Amy. Amy Stevens.

She'd heard Farelli making the date on the phone. She must have got the idea to stow away on the cruise then. Trying to show him she was a real criminal after all, or maybe just trying to get back at him for treating her like a kid. Christ. Why did Stella always have to get involved with guys who people wanted revenge on? Amy wasn't very smart, and Ray didn't think she was capable of pulling the trigger on purpose, but she was unpredictable, and he didn't exactly trust her to exhibit proper gun safety protocol.

"Check her purse," the second robber instructed.

Ray let Amy take the bag, ignoring the mental alarm bells of someone else handling my gun!, biding his time for the best moment to make a move.

Amy opened the purse, gasped, and screeched hoarsely, "She's got a g--"

Best moment, huh, that was quick. Before Amy knew what was happening, Ray had his arm around her neck, her own gun pointed at her head.

"You didn't think I was going to let you get to the end of that sentence, did you?" Ray smirked, even though his prisoner couldn't see his face from her headlock.

Reactions to this varied.

Amy gibbered and gasped.

Robber 2 whipped around and pointed her gun at Ray.

Stella said, "Ray?!"

"Drop your weapon," said Ray.

"You drop yours!" said Robber 2.

"What the hell are you doing here, Ray?" demanded Stella. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

"It's not weird," said Ray. "In many cultures..."

Amy shifted her head as much as she could, looking up curiously.

"What?" Stella asked.

"I don't know. That's all I got."

"Let go of my partner or I'll blow your brains out," said Robber 2, staying on-message.

"Let go of my wife or I'll blow your partner's brains out!" said Ray.

"I'm not your wife!" said Stella.

"You'd call us partners?" said Amy, sounding touched.

A polite knock at the door. "Excuse me, ladies. The last thing I would wish is to intrude on your private space, but I was passing by to check on, well, a friend, and I overheard a certain level of commotion. Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes! Go away!" called Robber 2.

"No, hey, the more the merrier!" said Ray. "Come on in and join us, Frase!"

"Ah... I'd like to, Renée, but this is the ladies' room, and I'm not a lady."

Armed robbers in a public bathroom, and this was the point of etiquette Fraser was sticking on? "Neither am I!" Ray bellowed.

"You think?" said Stella.

"Looks like your boyfriend doesn't want to come and help you," said Robber 2. "It's two on two, and this one," she jerked her head at Stella, "won't be much trouble."

"You'd be surprised," said Ray. "And you need to redo your math. I've still got Amy here covered."

"Amy? Who's Amy?" said Amy.

"Yeah, I don't think you're going to shoot her," said Robber 2. "I think you're a cop. And I think the last thing a cop wants to do is shoot the unarmed teenage daughter of a city councilman. Run, Amy!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Ray grabbed hold of Amy as she struggled. She tried to bite his arm and spat out a mouthful of sweater hair. He took the opportunity to tighten his grip around her neck, holding her fast. Quickly running out of patience, he sized up the distance between himself and Robber 2, changed gun hands, scootched his skirt up, and high-kicked. The gun flew out of Robber 2's hand and skittered across the tile floor. Ray caught it under his heel. Robber 2 took all this in and made a quick decision, probably her best under the circumstances. She broke for the door.

"Incoming!" Ray yelled.

Fraser was ready and caught Robber 2 as she barreled threw the door. Within seconds he had her on the ground. He'd pulled cable ties out from somewhere. "Technically, Renée," he said, "that was outgoing." Fraser helped Robber 2 to her feet. Glancing into the ladies' room, he immediately covered his eyes.

"Renée?" said Stella, eyebrow raised.

"Uh, yeah. Forget that. That's over now, okay, Fraser?"

"Understood," said Fraser.

Ray glanced at him. "And get your hand off your face, okay? You look like a jerk." He snagged a tie from the bunch still sticking out of Fraser's jacket pocket and bound Amy's hands, reciting, "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you, also, there's something else."

"Attorney," Stella and Fraser prompted.

"Right, right, right. You get one of those, too."

"I already have one," said Amy, sounding pleased, "but I don't think he'll want to represent me after this. Will he, Joan?"

"I hate you, kid," said Robber 2, a.k.a. Joan, with feeling. "I hate you good."

Ray stuck the gun in the back of his skirt. It was a more snug fit than he was used to--the shaft of the gun didn't usually go right in his ass crack--but he did his best not to react, in the interest of professionalism. He patted Joan's pockets, coming up with the silver bracelet. He held it out to Stella.

She crossed her arms, refusing to accept it. "I don't want anything from you."

"I'm not giving you a present, numbskull, it's yours," said Ray. "Take it."

"No!" said Stella. "I'm not supposed to have it! I was supposed to get it stolen tonight. You weren't supposed to be here!"

"We could just hold onto it," Joan offered.

"It's really not a problem for us," said Amy.

"Wise guys," said Ray. He latched the bracelet onto his own wrist for safekeeping. "All right, move it on out, people."

Fraser held the door open courteously.

"What... what in the Sam Hill is going on here?" came an unfamiliar voice from out in the hall.

"Ah!" said Fraser. "Captain, just the woman we wanted to see. I wonder if you might have something in the way of a brig on this vessel."

*

The steward danced nervously from foot to foot as Fraser and Ray tied the robbers to a support pole in the middle of his tiny office. There was no official brig on the Princess Royale, which came as a surprise only to Fraser, but the captain had volunteered this office for the purpose (her own was "too messy"). She herself had gone off to announce the change of plans to the guests. The Princess Royale would be returning to port a little sooner than expected, joining the police at the docks. Ray tried not to think about that particular meeting right now. Vecchio, what were you doing with your gun off duty? And, say, Vecchio, why are you wearing falsies?

"Are you sure they can't, um, escape?" said the steward.

"We know what we're doing," said Ray. The steward didn't look convinced. It was possible the outfit had something to do with it.

"Would you mind escorting Ms. Kowalski back upstairs?" Fraser asked the steward, giving him something to do.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," said Stella. "I have a bone to pick with that one."

"Dirty," said Amy.

"Uh, a thank you would be nice," said Ray.

"For what?" cried Stella.

"I don't know, how about for saving your skin for the eighteen million and first time?"

"How about you apologize for stalking me for the eighteen million and first time?" Stella shot back.

"I just, I have everything just-so in here, just the way I like it," said the steward. "They won't, I mean, they can't mess anything up, can they?"

Both robbers bared their teeth and hissed. Ray had removed their ski masks, and they both looked like what Fraser would call "unsavory characters." Amy Stevens may have been a fifteen-year-old girl, but her black lips and pale green eyes made her look like something from the Black Lagoon. Joan was older, past twenty, with heavy (unplucked) dark brows and a short, choppy haircut that looked like she'd done it herself with a machete.

The steward jumped back, looked from the girls to Stella (angry) to Ray (angry and weird-looking), went pale, turned, and bolted.

"What's the matter? You've never seen a lesbian gang before?" Amy called after him. She shot Ray a triumphant look.

"Technically, a gang must consist of at least three individuals," said Fraser.

"Well, then, whatever you call two lesbian criminals."

"A couple?" Ray suggested.

"Oh, we're not together," said Joan immediately.

"News flash, Ray, neither are we," said Stella, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "You want to explain yourself? What is just so fascinating about me that you need to follow me wherever I go? I go to the grocery store, you're there. I go to my gynecologist, you're there."

"Just in the waiting room," Ray explained, off Fraser's disapproving look.

"I get on a boat, sail a mile away from land, go to the women's room, and you're there! You're there in drag! Christ, Ray! It would be funny if it weren't so fucked up!"

"Just to clarify, is your primary objection his presence on the cruise, or his manner of dress?" said Fraser. "Because there's actually nothing shameful or immoral about crossdressing."

"Right, it's a leisure activity," said Ray. "Anyway, I'm not even the crossdresser. He is."

"How does that work?" said Joan.

Amy giggled. "Hey! I just figured out who you are!"

"Listen, Ray, I don't care what you do in your leisure time, I really don't. It's none of my business anymore. Dress however you want, sleep with whomever you want."

"Common misconception. Most crossdressers are--"

"But you can't stalk me! That you can't do! I do not consent!"

"I'm just trying to help you, genius!" Ray snapped.

"I don't need your help!"

"Yes, you do! This just proves you do!" Ray gestured wildly at the robbers. "How many stick-ups do you need to be in before you accept it?"

"Life's dangerous, I get it! And guess what? I'm still here!" Stella pointed to herself, proving it. "If you hadn't been here, I would be fine! They wouldn't have killed me. They wouldn't even have hurt me. Would you have?"

"Probably not," said Joan.

"Not unless you got uppity," said Amy.

"See?" said Stella. "I would have lost my bracelet, that's all."

"Well, you didn't even lose that, so here," said Ray, struggling with the latch.

"I told you I don't want it. Leave it. Leave it!" Stella commanded, so imposing that Ray dropped his hands. "It looks better on you anyway!"

"He's a spring," Fraser explained.

"You suffocate me, Ray. You suffocate me, and you may not remember this about our relationship, but I suffocate you, too. I make you crazy! You were crazy when we were together!"

"And look, now he's cured," said Amy.

"I'm at the end of my rope here," said Stella. "I've tried being patient. I've tried being mean. I've tried ignoring you. I've tried engaging. Nothing seems to register! What is it you want to say to me, Ray? What business do you think is unfinished between us? Just tell me. Just tell me, so we can both move on."

"I still love you, is that what you want me to say?" Ray burst out.

"Ooooooh," said the robbers.

"I should--matters--attend to," said Fraser, making good his escape.

Ray and Stella glared at each other. If there was going to be a fly-into-each-other's-arms moment, the time should be now, but it didn't seem to be on the table. Stella didn't look moved by Ray's Big Announcement. She still just looked pissed off. Ray began to get pissed that she was pissed. What right did she have to blow him off? You don't just roll your eyes and sigh when someone says something like that.

"You know I don't want to hear that, Ray," she said finally. "I don't want to hear it, and I don't want it to be true."

"Well," said Ray, sulkily, "it doesn't matter what you want."

"No. That's never mattered to you, has it?"

It was an unfair accusation, and it was doubly unfair that she was so calm while he was going out of his mind.

He whirled around and kicked the desk chair hard, but it was bolted to the floor so all he did was slightly bruise his foot through the thin pumps. So he snatched up a paperweight shaped like a sextant or an astrolabe or something and hurled it at the wall. It kra-thwacked and left a dent until the porthole, falling to the ground in two pieces.

Both robbers flinched. Stella didn't.

She just said, "You can't kick the shit out of this problem, Ray."

The boat lurched, and Ray watched a formerly neat stack of papers flutter off the desk like snowflakes, landing in a chaotic jumble at their feet.

"It's over," Stella added, gently.

"I wish we had popcorn," Amy whispered to Joan.

"I can't..." Ray shook his head. "You're a part of me. You don't just change who you are."

Stella sat down on the desk wearily. She looked up at Ray with a kind look, finally moved, but not in the right way. She was pitying. She held out her arm, offering her shoulder to cry on. Ray considered refusing but instead just curled up beside her and laid his head down.

"We've both changed," said Stella gently.

Ray shook his head into her shoulder. She was still warm and still smelled like Stella, the familiar perfume. Date night perfume.

"Some more than others," Joan quipped.

He felt Stella nod above him, holding up a tendril of honey-colored hair between her fingers.

"Not really." Ray sat up and yanked the pins out from under the wig. "This is just, this is stupid." He tossed the wig on the floor and ruffled up his real hair.

"Fine. It doesn't matter," said Stella. "Listen to me, Ray. We could both stay the same for ever, and it wouldn't help. It never worked between us. It was never easy."

"It was always easy," Ray shot back.

"Dancing was easy," Stella conceded. "Fucking was easy. But that was all we had going for us!"

"Those are the important things!"

"No, they're not," Stella laughed. "What about common interests? Common goals? The ability to talk to and listen to each other for ten consecutive minutes without resorting to screaming and smashing plates?"

"Sounds like a typical Friday night at my house," said Amy.

"We're talking now," Ray said softly.

"Yeah, I know," said Stella, rubbing his arm. "I don't know why I'm being so nice to you right now."

"It's the sweater," said Amy.

"Yeah. Is that angora?" said Joan. "I'd be petting him, too."

"You don't know what..." Ray blinked at the dent below the porthole. "See, I don't think... Nobody else will ever..."

Stella gave his arm a hard squeeze, which only made Ray's heart twinge, because he knew it wasn't a sign of hope. The opposite, really. "Someday you'll find somebody who's better for you than I ever was, and it's going to just work, and I want that for you. I want you to be happy. You just have be open for it. You can't be hung up on me."

"It's called loyalty."

"We have a history, and I don't regret it, but it doesn't mean we have a future. You only think it was this great epic thing because you don't have anything else to compare it to. I felt the same way until, well..."

It took a moment for Ray to realize what direction this was going in and when he did he jumped up to his feet, the better to recoil in disgust. "Oh, Jesus Christ, no."

"Ray..."

"Now? This guy? Farelli? Farelli, you think is the guy for you? This guy?"

"I don't know!" said Stella. "I can't know. I know I can't know. We've only been going out officially a few weeks, but... it feels right. He's the guy who's always there for me. I just didn't see it because I was so broken up over you and then Frank and, well, everything. Marco and I just went out one night, just like we had a million times, but... nicer. He was sweet to me, he made me laugh. I didn't even realize it had been a date until..."

"Until what?" Ray challenged. "Until you fucked him?"

"That's none of your business," said Stella.

"She totally fucked him," said Joan.

"You don't have to be ashamed," said Ray. "I mean, just because he had the misfortune to be born with the face of a frog, it doesn't mean he doesn't deserve love like the rest of us."

That got a genuine laugh from Amy, which instantly made Ray feel ashamed.

"I'm not ashamed, I'm establishing boundaries," said Stella. "The point is, even though I wasn't looking for it and even though I didn't have to work for it--or maybe because of those things--it turned out to be the best first date I ever had."

Ray hunched and pouted. "Better than ours?"

"Ray, ours was a bank hold-up. Almost anything would be better than ours."

"Even a boat hold-up," said Amy.

"This isn't a date!" said Joan.

"Good. Great. I'm real happy for you, Stella," said Ray. "Over the fucking moon. Now, if you're done bragging about your fabulous new relationship, I have some prisoners to guard."

"I'm not trying to brag. I'm setting an example."

"Just get out of here. Go, go be with the guy you love." Ray shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. The room was silent except for the sound of Amy and Joan tittering quietly in the corner, but Ray could sense that Stella was still standing there, looking at him pityingly. He snapped, "Why don't you--"

But when he turned his head back, she was already gone.

"Wow," said Joan. "You really thought she was going to stay, didn't you?"

"Well, naturally, he thought he was the one she loved," said Amy. "But he was wrong."

"Dead wrong," Joan agreed.

Ray rubbed his eye, and his knuckle came away covered in gray and black.

"Are you gonna cry?" said Amy. "Are you gonna cry, Ray?"

"I think Ray's gonna cry," said Joan.

"Awww, poor baby."

"Baby's gonna cry."

"Shut up, the both of you, before I give you something to cry about," said Ray listlessly.

"Can I just ask you one question first?" said Joan. "Can you explain to me how dressing yourself up as a woman gets you back your ex? I mean, seriously. Your plan was about as well-thought-out as Amy's robbery."

"Hey!" said Amy.

"I mean, your wife is into dudes, right?" Joan persisted, not letting it go.

"You would think, kind of by definition," said Amy.

Ray didn't dignify them with an answer, mostly because they had a point.

"Add to which, you're about the ugliest woman I've ever seen," said Joan.

"Totally," said Amy. "And I'm usually into manly girls. Granted, he wasn't so hot as a man, either."

Ray sighed up at the ceiling. He knew he shouldn't let the opinions of his angry ex and two jackasses he'd arrested get to him, but then, it wasn't just the ex and the jackasses. It was him, himself. He knew he looked like a fool. He was acting like a fool, too. There was just a shit-ton of evidence in the "fool" column.

He should have seen right away that this plan was idiotic and doomed, but Fraser had gotten so enthusiastic, and the thing got all this momentum, and now here he was, with egg and also lipstick on his face, getting mocked and laughed at by the two people on the boat who should have been most afraid of him.

"I mean, I can see why the wife picked Farelli. Even though he is kind of a dick."

"This guy's kind of a dick, too, though."

"Do you guys want to get hit?" Ray demanded. "Do you have some deep-seated unspoken desire to be slammed from here to next Tuesday?" He shrugged off his puffy sweater. "You want to dance, ladies?"

"Ray," said a disapproving voice from the doorway. "Disguising yourself as a woman still doesn't make it acceptable to hit them."

"Great, now you've got the Mountie on my case," said Ray. "Gather round, it's Everybody Shit On Ray Day. What do you want, Fraser?"

Fraser held out a giant bright-orange life preserver. "We make landfall in approximately five minutes. If you don't wish to be seen by your fellow officers, I recommend making judicious use of the getaway boat."

"Oh," said Ray, guilty now for snapping. "Thanks."

"Stealing our boat!" said Amy. "That's wrong! That's sinking to our level!"

"We can only hope," said Joan.

"If you leave the vessel in berth six, Councilman Stevens will likely never know it was missing."

"Aw, nuts!" said Amy.

"Aren't you coming with?" said Ray as Fraser knelt by the porthole, picking up the two halves of the broken astrolabe.

"It would be imprudent of us to leave prisoners unguarded." Fraser snapped the two pieces back together and set the paperweight back on the desk.

Ray finished strapping on the life preserver and gave a weak smile. "I guess this orange kind of ruins the ensemble, huh?"

"It hardly matters now, Ray."

"Yeah, I guess." It was a reasonable point, but Ray was annoyed. How was it Fraser didn't even seem interested in his own fetish anymore? Was Ray that off-putting? He made one last stupid, desperate attempt to fish for a compliment. "My makeup still okay?"

Fraser picked up the sweater and the wig from the floor and handed them to Ray. "You should hurry."

So, no, then.

*

"There was no need to wait for me. I could have easily walked from the pier."

"Well, now you don't have to," said Ray, closing his apartment door behind Fraser. The drive from the waterfront had only taken a few minutes but he felt like he'd been having this argument for the last nine days. Why Fraser was making this so weird, he didn't know. "Just come in and chill for a minute, okay?"

"I could start walking to the consulate right now," Fraser offered, not moving from his place by the door. "It's really not far. You don't have to take the car out again."

"It's not a problem."

"Nor is walking a problem for me. I enjoy the exercise."

"I'll give you a ride, okay? Freak of nature," said Ray, throwing his purse on the counter. Yes, he was aware that he was calling the kettle black. "Just let me change real quick, and then you can take your stuff back with you."

"There's no rush," said Fraser. "You could wrap them in brown paper and leave them on my desk. Or yours, for that matter."

"Or I could just hand them to you now," said Ray slowly. "It'll take me five minutes. You can't chill out for five fucking minutes?"

"I can chill out for an indefinite amount of time, Ray," said Fraser, and he took his guard duty position in the middle of the living room, stiff and unblinking, like he was trying to withstand some horrible torture.

"Great," said Ray. "You do that."

He stepped out of the high heels he'd come to hate and loathe. Why was everyone so dead set on getting as far away from him as possible? He padded into the bathroom, stripping off the turtleneck as he went. Was he that unlikeable? Just nobody had told him before? He unhooked the padded bra, threw it on the floor on top of the shirt, and sniffed his underarms. Did he smell or something?

He examined himself in the mirror. His makeup didn't really look that bad, that is, not that much worse than before. The smudged eye makeup made him look a little goth, a little Amy Stevens, but the lipstick had worn surprisingly well. On the other hand, his five o'clock shadow was coming in, and it didn't really go with the rest of the look.

Big picture, he looked like an idiot. He leaned his head against the mirror.

He straightened up, threw open the door, crossed to the kitchenette, and chased vodka with Smarties.

"This was all your idea," he told Fraser accusingly.

Fraser dropped his guard act enough to glance at Ray and say, "Actually, I think you'll find it was yours."

"Close enough. You did the work. You made me like this. So how you get off acting like I'm the slug in your cereal, I don't get. I get enough of that from Stella, I don't need it from you. I know I'm the only person in the world who thinks I'm attractive, interesting, or even a little bit likable, but you could at least pretend. You're supposed to be my friend."

Fraser cocked his head, brows knit. "Well, I... I didn't know you felt that way, Ray."

"Yeah, well, I'm more perceptive than most people give me credit for."

"You're not. Well, you are, but in this instance, you've come to an incorrect conclusion. I assure you, there are people other than yourself who consider you attractive, interesting, and likable."

"Yeah? Name one."

Fraser had to think about it a minute, and that was a bad sign, right there. "It's telling, isn't it, that Ms. Kowalski stayed with you for--"

"Stella? Stella is the example you come up with?" said Ray. "It's worse than I thought. Listen, Stella might be attracted to me still, I wouldn't be surprised. She might even find me interesting, in a 'what the fuck is he doing now' kind of way. But she does not like me. I killed that a long time ago."

"Surely your mother or father--"

"Ha! Don't make me laugh."

"Mrs. Holloway!" said Fraser triumphantly.

"Who?" said Ray. "What, you mean that lady who works at the pizza place?"

"You should see the way her eyes light up when you walk in the door."

"Yeah, cause I'm bad at math and I overtip! See, this just proves my point. You can't come up with anyone without scraping the bottom of the barrel and getting into people I have only spoken six words to ever and who, also, I have paid off!"

Fraser inhaled slowly. "Please don't put me in this position, Ray."

"What, having to come up with someone who can actually stand the sight of me? I can see it's a real struggle."

"The position," said Fraser, speaking mostly to his boots, "of causing you justified discomfort by informing you that, from the moment I met you, I liked you more deeply and more instantly than I have liked any other person, well, to my recollection."

"Oh!" said Ray. Count on Fraser to surprise him. Not that Ray hadn't expected (hoped, maybe) that Fraser would offer himself as an example--he'd kind of set him up for that--but he definitely hadn't expected it would be so emphatic. He'd expected a qualified, wishy-washy "Well, of course I like you, Ray, although blah blah blah not qualified to judge guys' looks, blah blah interested in a number of topics, blah blah long story about some dude in the Yukon who has nothing to do with anything, blah blah until you forget what you were talking about." Not this. Was this really true, Fraser liked him more than anyone? Fraser didn't lie, though, right?

Fraser spoke again, filling the silence. "It's certainly possible that in my infancy or childhood I liked someone more; a family member, playmate, perhaps a cherished dog; but even Diefenbaker and I took time to grow acclimated to one another. Whereas you... Even on your first day..."

"Got it," said Ray. "Thanks. For, uh, telling me about that. That was... I mean, I kinda liked you too."

Fraser nodded. "I think you know that I find you interesting. You're a very interesting person, Ray. Entertaining, distracting, unpredictable, and, well, in short, quite absorbing. Concerning your, ah, personal attractions..."

Here it came, the one Fraser was going to bail on.

"Tonight, on the dance floor," Fraser told the lamp, "when you pressed your head to my shoulder and your hand upon my..."

"Underappreciated assets?" Ray suggested innocently.

"As you say. Allow me to say only that it was fortunate that you stepped away when you did."

Ray took a moment to work this out and then laughed a little. "Wait, really? I gave you a... Are you sure?"

"Yes, Ray," said Fraser, the tiniest edge of irony in his voice. "I haven't the slightest doubt."

A little thrill zapped down Ray's spine. A deeply disturbed and wrong kind of thrill, sure. But then, deep wrongitude was, in his experience, part of the thrill of any thrill.

Fraser swallowed and placed his hands behind his back. "I tell you this only because you're, well, a little down, and it seemed that I could assuage your fears. I only hope that I've helped more than I've hurt."

Ray poured some vodka into a convenient teacup because Fraser seemed to need it.

"I fully admit that my current thoughts about you are inappropriate in intensity and, well, content. If you had asked me about this tomorrow, I would have had time to snuff out my... feelings. Thank you kindly." Fraser threw back the vodka and then placed his empty teacup neatly on a pile of old newspapers. "I'm really very good at that, Ray, at snuffing out any and all untoward and unrequited feelings. I've done it before. You don't have to worry that I will ever be tempted to act upon what will be, by tomorrow, a completely conquered passion."

Ray tried, and mostly failed, to stop grinning. Yeah, okay, this was weird, but talk about an ego boost. "You have a passion?" he said, still finding it hard to believe. "For me?"

"I fully intend to conquer it," Fraser promised again.

Fraser wanted him. Fraser, fresh-faced, clean-cut, all-Canadian-boy, the guy who made every woman swoon, and every man... well, most men just kind of went, "Huh." But, still. Here was a guy who knew everything, and could do anything, and him, Ray, him, Fraser wanted. Him! Fucked-up fuck-up Ray Kowalski! Fraser, who could have anyone, if he wanted, only he didn't, because he wasn't like that... Fraser wanted him.

"But you, you haven't conquered it yet," said Ray.

"No, I'm afraid not."

It would be wrong, of course, completely sick and wrong, to try and take advantage of this new information. Even if he could. Ray frequently found it hard to resist doing things just because he could, but this was one of those times when he knew he really should. Fucking your partner was every kind of bad idea. Fraser was obviously torn up that sexy-Ray thoughts had even crossed his mind. (Who wouldn't be?) And Ray himself wasn't thinking straight. He was just high on being liked. It wasn't like he really felt the same way.

"So as of right now," Ray clarified, "right at this moment, you, uh..."

Not that Fraser wasn't interesting, attractive, and likable himself. He was the weirdest, prettiest, and all-around nicest guy in history. There was no competition on any of those fronts, really. The weird and the nice were old news; the pretty was becoming more obvious by the second.

Ray hadn't really thought of Fraser as a sex object before, maybe because Fraser seemed to exist in a whole other world where there was no such thing as sex objects or maybe sex in general, but after today, after all the fetish stuff, and after this--after finding out he had a fetish for Ray--well, it suddenly seemed a whole lot easier to think of him that way. He made that goofy uniform look good. He had that deep commanding voice that made something as simple as going for pizza sound all official and meaningful, a voice which was especially electrifying when he was saying he liked you "more deeply and more instantly" than anyone else in the world. He always smelled like pine trees, somehow. And, yeah, eyes like a wide endless prairie sky and all that.

But of course Ray didn't feel the same way he did, so it would be wrong to take another step into his space, breathing in his warm breath, and to say, deep and low, "You have a passion."

Fraser shifted his gaze downward, but as Ray leaned in closer, he inhaled, deeply, involuntarily, drinking in a scent which was by now more sweat than perfume. "Very much so, yes," he whispered.

Ray kissed him.

It was just going to be a quick thing, a hard shove against the door, just so there would be something more than words in his memory to prove this had really happened, but Fraser's lips parted instantly, wet and yielding, and it would have taken a bigger man than Ray to resist sliding in his tongue. Fraser's mouth was cool and tasted like vodka, and even though that was logical, considering, it was still unexpected, all wrong for Fraser. Ray stroked his tongue over Fraser's teeth, briefly bit his upper lip, then let go and stepped back, grinning.

Fraser's body language told a different story from his mouth. He stood completely stiff even when Ray stepped away, one hand flat against the door, the other clinging to the knob. It was kind of pathetic. He wasn't going to get anywhere without undoing the deadbolt.

Ray's heart sank. Sexy-wrong was rapidly turning into just wrong-wrong.

"You can't go yet," he said, lightly, trying to make a joke. "I still have your skirt."

"Keep it," said Fraser.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He'd done wrong. Again. Made a fool of himself. Again. Violated Fraser, which was kind of a new one.

Except that it wasn't, because stomping over the line, hounding someone until he scared them off, turning someone who used to really like him into someone who couldn't stand him--that was Ray's M.O.

Fraser peeled himself off the door and took a hesitant step, keeping his wide deer-in-headlights eyes understandably trained on Ray. Ray stood still and put up his hands, showing he was unarmed and had nothing up his sleeve. Probably unnecessary since he was shirtless, but it was a gesture.

Fraser took another step and placed a hand on Ray's elbow. Ray looked down at it, not sure what was happening right now. Was Fraser going to pull out his cable ties and subdue him so he couldn't try anything else? That would be--oh, ah, they were kissing again. Fraser took the lead this time, gently pressing Ray's mouth open while Ray didn't help at all because he was too busy blinking, disoriented. Fraser's hand drifted from Ray's elbow and Ray felt it land on his ass, lightly stroking the curve of the clinging skirt.

Keep the skirt. Keep the skirt on.

Ray swayed, lightheaded, that old fever-dream feeling. Fraser tightened his grip on Ray's back and ass, supporting him, pulling him close to his own hard, warm body. Ray's mouth curved upward, smiling even while he kissed.

It was clicking now, not just Fraser, but the whole day, the whole plan. He'd kept going along with the makeover, even as it got crazy complicated, and even though the robbers were right, it really made no sense as a plan to win Stella. But it hadn't really been about him and Stella. It was about him and Fraser. Fraser telling him what to do, him doing it, just because he knew Fraser would like it. Sure, he had his fake reasons for going along with everything, but mostly, he now saw, he just wanted to please Fraser. See that spark in his eye. Turn him on. And Ray knew all along he was turning him on, and he'd done it on purpose. The plan wasn't supposed to win Stella. It was supposed to win Fraser.

It didn't seem so dumb in that light, did it? Not with Fraser's hand plunging into his hair, Fraser's wet lips closing over his earlobe.

Ray didn't make good decisions generally but every once in awhile he discovered he'd been doing something right for awhile without realizing it. It was that way when he went into the lemonade selling business with Stella, even though he hated lemonade and people. It was that way when he trained, Batman-style, to get revenge on Stella's bank robber, and ended up passing the entrance exam to police academy. And it was that way now, because even though he hadn't planned it, he and Fraser were standing in the middle of his apartment, kissing, and what's more, they were about a foot and half closer to the bedroom than they'd started.

Now that he saw where things were headed he got impatient. He grabbed Fraser by the arm and pulled him into the room, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Ray," Fraser breathed, urgently, in a gap between kisses.

"Fraser," said Ray, feeling a little weird to be still using his last name, but it would have been weirder to switch now. And call him what, "Benton"? Fraser wasn't "Benton." He was Fraser.

"Ray... mm... I don't want to seem unappreciative, or ungrateful..."

"Then don't."

"But are you sure it's quite prudent to... hah... that is to say... should we..."

"Yeah, yeah, fraternization, protocols," said Ray, leaning back, but not letting go of Fraser's face. "Obviously we shouldn't. It's a terrible idea. Let's just do it anyway, okay?"

"I'm not sure I follow your reasoning, Ray," said Fraser, his speech only slightly constricted by Ray's hands on his cheeks.

"Maybe you're an expert at quashing unrequited lust, or whatever, but that's not what this is. You know I want you, I know you want me, so it's not unrequited, right? Neither of us is going be able to focus on anything until somebody gets somebody off, and hopefully vice versa, so the best thing we can do is just get it done as soon as possible."

Fraser raised his eyebrows and looked to the side, thoughtful. "That sounds reasonable."

"It does?" said Ray, dropping his hands, surprised. "You sure that's not just, uh, sex logic?"

"Perhaps," said Fraser, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "To be quite honest, Ray, I'm not sure I..."

"Yeah, I don't care either," said Ray. He hiked up his skirt, and knelt on the bed, straddling Fraser's lap. He shoved aside Fraser's collar and pressed his mouth down hard on his neck. Fraser lifted his head, extending his neck, and groaned softly in the back of his throat. His hands massaged Ray's bare back as Ray set to work unbuttoning his shirt.

"What is this, thermals?" said Ray. "Are you cold?"

"At the present moment? Not remotely," said Fraser. "But you have to admit the evening has taken an unexpected turn. I dressed for the lake. It can get chilly on the water."

"Chilly, didn't you grow up on a glacier? How do you think I felt? I'm wearing pantyhose."

"I'm well aware," murmured Fraser, placing his hands on Ray's legs, stroking his calves through the thin nylon. Not a fetish, ha!

Fraser believed in taking his time. His long, slow caresses moved gradually, incrementally up Ray's legs. Ray did not believe in taking his time. While Fraser gently stroked his legs, Ray was busy yanking Fraser's thermal shirt off, throwing it on the floor, running his hands over Fraser's chest and arms. His skin was smooth and soft, but his muscles were hard, perfectly defined. Here was definitely a guy with both training and moisturizing regimens.

By this time Fraser's fingertips were only just slipping underneath the hem of his skirt. He ignored or didn't get Ray's hints that he should lie down, such as shoving, which was going to make getting his pants off difficult. Ray considered asking for a little help, here, but Fraser seemed so intent on his smooth, shapely, womanly legs that Ray thought maybe hearing his dumb manly voice would pull him out of the scene, or whatever was going on in Fraser's head right now. So he just undid Fraser's belt and tugged on his waistband until he got the hint and pulled himself up for a moment, letting Ray shove the pants and underwear down over the hard curve of his ass, and freeing his erect cock. Ray leaned back to get a better look. While he was distracted, Fraser darted a hand unexpectedly up under the skirt.

"Heaaaaah," said Ray, as fingertips lightly traced down the length of his satin-lined erection.

Fraser moved his hands back into plain view and looked at Ray with an innocent expression. "Is something wrong, Ray?"

"No, I'm good," said Ray. "Let me just get comfortable here."

He scooted forward and shifted from side to side on Fraser's lap. Fraser's breath caught in his throat as Ray rocked over the shaft of his cock until it lined up neatly against the curve of his ass. He swiveled his hips in time with the music in his head, some smooth acoustic jazz. The slippery material let him slide back and forth easy over Fraser's cock. He only meant to give Fraser a little thrill, not a complete lap dance, but it felt unexpectedly good for him, the rhythmic tightening of the panties against his cock and balls, the glide of the satin-wrapped shaft as it brushed his asshole. He looked down, but all of the lap-to-lap contact was neatly hidden from view by the skirt. The only thing worth looking at were Fraser's hands, gripping him across the top bands of his thigh-highs.

Ray let more of his weight press down into Fraser's lap and rocked faster. The jazz was gone--now it was all Ramones. Fraser's head rolled back, his eyes fluttering shut. Ray's wider, jerking arcs shoved his own cock up against Fraser's hard lower abs. The satin fabric was heating up from friction, extra slippery from the wet of sweat and precome. Ray panted. He might actually come from this.

Fraser let go of Ray's thighs suddenly and wrapped his arms tight around Ray, embracing him, pulling him close, pressing his face into Ray's neck. Ray felt a puff of warm air beneath his collarbone as Fraser's mouth opened wordlessly. A moment later a hot wet burst billowed out to the inner waistband of the skirt.

"Sorry," Fraser murmured.

"Don't be." Ray stroked his damp hair. "It's your skirt."

He could feel the curve of Fraser's cheeks as he smiled into Ray's chest.

Fraser seemed content to just sit there hugging him for awhile, but the position was starting to feel awkward so Ray gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and stood up. Without his support Fraser still managed to sit upright, which was more than Ray would have bothered to do post-orgasm. He watched as Ray carefully unpeeled the panties from around his still-hard cock and dropped them on the floor with the rest of the laundry. His expression was serious and intent as he stared at Ray's junk, and Ray didn't know how to interpret it.

"Kind of ruins the illusion, huh?" he guessed.

"What illusion?" said Fraser, blinking up at his face.

"That I'm a lady."

Fraser smiled, confused. "Ray, I was never under that illusion."

He took Ray's hips in his hands and pulled him down onto the bed. They were horizontal now, Fraser on top, wrapping Ray close in hot, sticky arms, sloppily kissing his stubbled cheek. Ray laughed. Fraser kissed the corner of his jaw, the point of his collarbone, his nipple. He kept moving down, planting a kiss on his stomach, his hip, his inner thigh. Then gentle fingertips were stroking the base of his cock, and warm wetness tickled the tip. Ray propped himself up on his elbows, desperate to watch Fraser's determined, always-gets-his-man face as he applied himself to the task of pleasuring him. But his expression, when Ray looked, was fond, friendly. He was smiling faintly. His careful hands held Ray steady, and his thin, red lips kissed and then surrounded the head of his cock. Ray closed his eyes, let his head fall back. He was already so close that the gentlest touch of Fraser's soft mouth sent hard edges of pleasure through his body. "I'm gonna," he warned, scrabbling at Fraser's hair. But there was no change, no cold air, just another firm stroke of warm tongue.

Fraser edged back up to the pillows and as soon as he was close Ray pulled him in and kissed him urgently. His mouth tasted salty and lip-gloss sweet.

*

Ray didn't mean to fall asleep, but when he opened his eyes again it was near dawn, gray light filtering in through the curtains. He'd curled up in a pile of blankets in his sleep, or maybe Fraser had tucked him in. Fraser lay next to him in his usual Spartan camp-out style, body rigid, arms crossed. He was still completely naked, no attempt to hide his cock, like there was nothing to be ashamed of. Only the unnatural Volcanic Geranium pink streaked at his mouth and neck hinted at anything untoward.

Fraser's eyes opened suddenly.

Ray started. "Hey," he said. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I wasn't. I've trained myself to awaken whenever I'm being intently watched."

Ray wasn't sure that was possible but he didn't think it was the time or place to press the issue. "Neat," he said.

Fraser studied his face. In the semi-darkness Ray couldn't read his expression. After a moment Fraser reached up, placing a light hand on Ray's cheek, and brushed his bottom lip with his thumb. "You shouldn't sleep in makeup."

"I'm a real mess, huh?"

"You're beautiful."

Ray couldn't help smiling. It sounded so true, in that matter-of-fact and resonant voice.

Then he laughed and shook his head. "You're a real con job, you know that?" he said. "You're as bad as me."

A line appeared suddenly between Fraser's eyes. "I haven't said anything untrue to you, Ray."

"Yeah? How about 'most cross-dressers are straight?'"

"Most of them are!"

"'It's not a sexual fetish'?"

"Not exclusively," said Fraser weakly.

"'You have nothing to worry about?'"

"You had nothing to worry about," Fraser confirmed, more sure of this one. "I wouldn't have crossed the line, Ray, I would not have approached it, had you not apparently wholeheartedly reciprocated my..."

"Lust?"

"Affections. I meant it when I said I could snuff out my feelings."

Ray frowned.

Fraser looked from Ray to the ceiling and coughed delicately into his fist.

"It's still possible, Ray. If you regret..."

"No," said Ray quickly. "Don't snuff anything." He turned and rested his forehead against Fraser's bare shoulder. "Okay? You won't?"

"I won't," Fraser agreed. He slid his arm underneath Ray's neck, pulling him close.

"Good," said Ray. "I'm not like you. I start something, I have a real hard time getting over it."

"Understood," said Fraser.

 

The End