Dance With Me
AUTHOR: Lucky.
DISCLAIMER: Except for the creations of the author, all characters, characterizations, situations, and locations described in this unsolicited and not-for-profit work of fiction are the property of ABC Television, Capitol Cities, Inc., Steven Bochco Productions, the many talented people who created the world of NYPD Blue, and the actors who have made that world such a lively place. The author would also like to extend her personal gratitude to Mr. Scott Cohen for his light, his vitality, his inspiration, and for being such a compelling muse. Thank you, sir.
FEEDBACK: To Lucky
The frosted door separating the office from the lobby creaked open and the tiniest psychologist Matthew had ever laid eyes on popped her head around the door at him.
"Matthew Grayling?"
He came up off the far wall, dropping the four month old copy of People onto the table beside him. "Yeah."
"We're ready for you."
He followed the petite woman back behind the door and down a miniature maze of hallways, looking down into the graceful mass of short, blonde curls that lay on the top of her head. Even in heels, Matthew guessed that the young woman was a full five-foot-nothing.
After a short journey, Dr. Karola pushed open the door to her office and stepped aside to let Matthew pass. Posey was already in there, folded up in a leather chair in the far corner. She looked like she'd been crying, like she was still crying. Matthew picked the chair closest to her, reaching out to take her hand. Posey pulled back, curling in on herself.
"Matthew," Dr. Karola said gently, seating herself in her own modest office chair. "Posey has asked that she not be touched."
Matthew registered mild alarm. "Ever?"
Posey ducked her smile behind her hand as the doctor clarified her statement. "No. Just while she says this to you."
"Oh... okay." He set his elbows on his knees and waited.
"Alright," the doctor prompted quietly. "Why don't you go ahead, Posey?"
Posey cleared her throat and sniffled a little, gathering herself together. "Okay, so you read my psych file, right?"
"You know I did."
"Um... there's something that wasn't in there."
The paragraph of text from Posey's file flashed in Matthew's mind for a moment...
"Subject reports having been held at gunpoint by her own partner and threatened with rape. Prior to being violated, subject reports that she was forced to use her sidearm to defend herself, resulting in the death of her partner. Subject expresses remorse and guilt, but admits that she "couldn't see another way out. He'd cut me off from everything and told me flat out he was going to kill me when he was done." Subsequent to the event, the Detroit Police Department, based on subject's testimony before IA, prior complaints filed against her ex-partner for sexual harassment and an uninvestigated arrest warrant issued against him for sexual assault, and subject's own service record, subject was "Decommissioned With Rank" from the Force, offered severance, and allowed a letter of recommendation from her lieutenant. The death of her partner was ruled 'justifiable homicide' and the case against her was closed without prejudice. Subject's claims are consistent in entirety with accounts offered by Detroit Police Department public relations personnel and investigative teams."
"Okay... What didn't you tell them?"
Posey took a hard swallow and whispered, "He did it."
Matthew blinked for a second, then rage hit him like a medicine ball in the stomach. He realized Posey was still talking to him and did his best to hear her over the anger pounding through his head.
"He locked me in that hotel room and he... he did it. And he told me nobody would believe me."
Matthew put a hand up at her. "You have to stop," he said flatly.
Dr. Karola intervened before Posey could respond. "Matthew... why does she have to stop?"
"Because I'm about to put my fist through a wall."
"So you're angry?" the doctor prompted.
Matthew snapped her a fierce look. "You're goddamm right, I'm angry! What did you expect?"
"Why are you angry?"
He dropped his head, scoffing bitterly at the question. "Because I'm on overload right about now. I've woken up every morning for the past three weeks wanting to walk into that Club Med prison they've got that sick fuck Roux squirreled away in while they wait for his extradition to go through and just blow whatever serves for brains right out of his useless skull." He returned his gaze to the doctor. "How dare he? And they're gonna tell me he deserves to live after what he did to her?" he jabbed a thumb in Posey's direction. "How dare he? How dare anyone,?"
"He didn't kill her, Matthew."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't care. Anyone who would hurt someone like Mariposa Jackson deserves death."
Dr. Karola blew back a little at the force of his conviction. "That's a strong sentiment."
"You're damn right," he huffed.
"Why are you so sure?"
He opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, thinking for a moment. Then he turned to Posey.
"Because she's one of us, and we need all of us that we can get."
"Who are 'we'?"
"Good guys."
"Posey! Posey, Posey, Posey, Posey..."
He sounds happy. "What!?" she cut him off with a sharp bark.
From the kitchen, Posey heard the door to her apartment slam shut like he'd kicked it, then heard him drop yet another box of his stuff in the middle of her living room. "I finally got rid of it."
She sighed and dropped the paring knife she held into the sink, then scooped up the handful of little carrot wheels and tossed them into her crock pot with the beef and potatoes. "Got rid of what? The last vestiges of your sanity?"
He sauntered into the kitchen, dropping his windbreaker over the back of his kitchen chair. "No, goofball. Harry Denby's apartment."
"Ah," Posey nodded a little, putting the glass lid on the pot and plugging it in. "So the last vestiges of your insanity, then?"
"You can say that again, sister." He made a show of stalking her into the kitchen and pouncing from behind as she stood over the sink washing her cutlery. "What's in the pot?"
"Stew," she giggled, flicking a few droplets of cold water back over her shoulder.
"Ooh," he teased, "They should give you hazard leave more often. You're quite the little cook, suddenly."
"Speaking of..." she turned in his arms with a hopeful look.
He rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head a little. "Yes, I asked. Six months mandatory. It's law."
She pouted and whined, drumming her fists on his chest. "But I already missed all the good stuff!"
"I've never been to such an entertaining Internal Affairs inquest."
Posey shrieked, clapping her hands over her ears. "Don't tell me! I wanna read it in the papers!"
He slung her around a little, taunting her in a low singsong. "Everybody hates Harry Denby. The PAA in vice was passing around signup sheets for an ass-kicking line..."
She flapped at him again. "I'll kick his ass right now if he doesn't shut up."
"Well, okay... but," he sneaked his way into a kiss. "Kick mine first."
She pushed back at him as he kissed her, making little humming noises.
"What?" he finally demanded, letting her loose.
"How much longer are you gonna be Harry Denby?"
He sighed. "One more week and I'm officially off this one."
"Then what?"
"Well," He released her and folded his arms contemplatively, leaning back on the counter opposite the sink. "There's a rumor going around that Harry Denby will overdose on cocaine, suffer complete cardiac failure, and die two days after his dismissal from the NYPD."
"Sounds poetic," Posey replied, turning back to finish washing her dishes. "Who started that one?"
"Me."
Posey chuckled a little, finishing up and turning off the water. "I'm assuming there'll be a closed casket service for the nearly departed?"
Matthew nodded. "Oh, yeah. The office is going for the whole bit. Wake, funeral, private gravesite service at St. Mark's."
"Just for records purposes."
"Exactly."
"Are you going?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"So when do you think you might be back?"
Posey sighed, twisting the broad, black collar of her plain, black dress. "I'm not too sure right now. It won't... be that easy anymore."
"Yeah, well," Danny shifted uncomfortably in the silence of the funeral parlor. "I can understand that."
"I still have four months to work out on my hazard leave. We'll see how things look then."
"Yeah, okay." Danny laid a clunky hand on her arm, but looked into her eyes with sincere respect. "If you think you might need someone to talk to, you know where you can get me, right?"
She patted his hand a little, smiling as sadly as she could bring herself to. "I understand. Thanks, Danny."
"I just want to do right." He looked almost ready to cry.
"You do, Danny," Posey reassured him. "You do."
"Okay," he dropped his hand from her arm and stuffed it into his pocket. "Are you... okay here?"
She glanced around a little, folding her arms. "Yeah. I think I want to stay here with... him. Just for a little while longer."
"Yeah. Okay then." Danny looked like he wanted to say something more, but he just patted her shoulder a little. "Good night."
"Night, Danny," she said after him, watching him leave. As soon as she heard the outer door swing shut, she dropped her frame into a slouch with a loud sigh.
"Now that your personal brute squad is officially gone..." came a familiar voice from the darkness of a nearby corner.
Posey turned and flashed a smile at the not-so-stranger who picked his way through the chairs to come up beside her. She ran her fingers over his stout, black goatee as she spoke to him, looking at her reflection in his sunglasses. "I am really starting to like this look."
Matthew grinned. "I wouldn't have pegged you for the Boris Badinov type of girl."
Posey reached up and tipped his black fedora down over his eyebrows. "You do not look like Boris Badinov."
"Says you," he snorted playfully, straightening his hat. "Who do you think I look like."
"Arthur Fonzerelli coming off a three-day bender."
"How attractive," he grumbled, sliding his arms around her waist. "That's it. This thing gets washed down the sink tonight."
She laid her arms over his shoulders and smiled up at him. "Tomorrow."
"Or tomorrow," he agreed in a growl, tipping her back with his kiss.
The outside door swung open again. He broke his kiss immediately and started pulling her back into the corner he'd come from.
"I knew she would come," he whispered, sounding almost excited. "Come on. Let her do this the way she wants to."
From the darkness of the corner, Posey watched as a slender, dark haired woman poked her head into the room and looked around, then tiptoed up to the casket. From where she was, pressed up against Matthew, Posey could feel his heart pound into her back.
The woman dropped her purse on the closest chair and knelt slowly before the casket, drawing the sign of the cross over herself before folding her hands.
Matthew took off his sunglasses to see her more clearly, resting his jaw against Posey's head.
The woman in front of Harry Denby's casket began to cry.
Matthew's silent whispers ruffled Posey's hair a little. "No... no. Don't waste it on him anymore."
After several minutes, Diane Russell righted herself, wiping her eyes and patting her cheeks a little. She took a few backwards steps, collecting her purse, then turned and walked straight out.
She didn't look back.
Posey stood silent for a few moments, then turned around.
"Matthew..."
"Yes?" He refused to meet her eyes, even in the hiding dark.
"Let's go home."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"No I won't unless you take your hand off my face."
"Well, then I guess you won't see."
"I smell horse."
"That could have something to do with the horse right here."
"Why is there..?" He dropped his hand from her eyes. "Oh, Matthew..."
Right there, tucked back along a little stretch of pathway through the thicket of trees in the Park, sat a pretty little ebony and red velvet carriage. As she watched, mouth open, the driver nudged the steel dappled horse into a few slow steps, bringing the carriage right up in front of them. She gaped at it for a moment, then turned to Matthew.
"Why..?"
"Shh."
She shook her head a little, breaking into a grin. "When you say lunch in the Park, you mean it, don't you?"
"Posey, get in the carriage," he replied gently, taking her hand and balancing her as she stepped up. He followed her in and as soon as he'd sat down, they began moving.
Slowly.
Posey took little notice of Matthew's expression or actions in her amazement at this gift, and he took the opportunity to slide a small parcel out of his pocket and hold it in his closed fist.
"Posey?"
"Yeah?" She turned to him, bright and sparkling.
He swallowed his next words, knowing they were just coming right back up. Oh, I can't do this... I have to do this... I can't do this..., "Um..."
Her face crumpled a little. "What's wrong?"
She's gonna say no... she's gonna say no, and then I'm gonna look really stupid. I can't do this... I have to do this... "You... you and me... um..."
Her voice changed. "Matthew, what's going on?"
His eyes snapped wide. Oh, god... she thinks I'm breaking up with her... I have to do this... right now., He fidgeted for a second, then leaned over and kissed her fiercely, lifting his closed hand and resting it on her shoulder. After a few seconds, he broke the kiss, staying close, running his knuckles over her cheek.
How can something so easy to do be so difficult to say?
"You're blushing," Posey said softly.
"I know," he mumbled, drawing the little box in his hand into his fingers and stroking the velvet against her skin. She pointed her eyes down for a moment.
"Matthew, you don't..." It sounded like she was going to say he didn't have to give her gifts. He stopped her with a quiet shush.
This isn't a gift. It's a promise.
He felt the box slide out of his grip and closed his eyes, hearing the little snap of the hinge as she opened it. "It's not much," he murmured, dropping his head a little. "... but it's everything I can give you." He raised his eyes quickly to her, realizing his misstep. "I mean..."
"When haven't you?" She stared at the diamond in her hand, speaking in reverence.
"Haven't I what?" he whispered back, just starting to crash. She's not saying yes... she's not saying yes...
Posey turned to him with tears in her smile. "Given me everything."
He gave a hard swallow, utterly racing inside. She's not saying yes... I have to ask her. Just ask her... ask her... Just ask...
"Will you marry me?"
His existence became eternal in that bright moment of panic. If there was a hell, this was it. Then...
"Yes."
The giant coil inside him physically caught and released, dragging him forward with a gasp. He pulled her into his arms and squished her completely. "I love you so much..."
She laughed, winding her arms around his neck and trying to disengage herself enough to keep breathing. "I love you, too. What did you think I was gonna say?"
He pulled back, stroking her face with both hands, beaming like an unexpected rainbow. "I really don't know," he laughed. "But I sure as hell didn't think it was gonna be 'yes'."
She returned his bright smile, then said, "You don't know how much easier you've just made my life."
His brow crossed slightly over his irrepressible grin. "How's that?"
"I wasn't going to say anything yet."
"Say what?"
"Because I wanted to be sure about what I was saying."
"Posey..."
"Which makes it really odd that you picked today to do this."
"Posey..."
"Because as of this morning, I'm sure, but I still wasn't going to say anything yet because I wasn't sure how you, were going to be about it."
He gave a strangled little howl. "Posey! Tell me!"
Watching his eyes carefully, she took one of his hands from her face and placed it on her belly.
He cocked a brow at her in confusion, then he lit up, filled up, blew up all at once as it hit him. She took her hand away from his, but he left his right where it was, staring at it in wonder.
God bless Harry Denby...
"Matthew?"
He lifted his eyes to hers. "Hm?"
She held the little velvet box out to him. "Will you..?"
He slipped the ring onto her finger, lifting her hand to press a kiss into her palm and bathing in the feel of her fingertips on his face.
My wife... Oh, dear god...
Finally, he sat back, curling an arm around her shoulders and cuddling her close, settling into the steady rock of the carriage.
"So," she said, clearing her throat conversationally, smiling at the play of sunlight through her treasure. "Do you have any ideas about what we should name the baby?"
He kicked his feet up, crossing his ankles on the front lip of the carriage, wearing the grin of a man sitting in the middle of everything he ever wanted.
"Just the one."
The End.
