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
"Partner me up with a rat. I should have known."
Posey stared at him for a moment, her mouth making soundless forms, then she popped the mini tape out of her recorder and offered it to him. He glared at it.
"Oh my god. You actually think I'm dirty, don't you?"
"Just take the damn tape and drive me home."
"Why? What do you think is on that tape? You think I want it because they're all right about me?"
"It really doesn't matter to me what you do with it. Keep it, throw it out the window, whatever. I just want to go home."
"Boy, I hope you and that razorbeast lieutenant had a nice little chuckle over this."
"Fine," Posey dropped the tape on the floor of the Buick. "I'll walk. See you tomorrow." As she slid back across the street and reached for the doorhandle, Harry grabbed both of her arms and dragged her back into his chest as she scrambled to get away.
"Oh, no, no, no, no... How long are you gonna make me badger you, hm? When are you gonna tell me what everybody's really been saying about me to you?"
"Harry, when are you gonna figure out that I don't care!" Posey ripped herself out of his grasp and turned to face him, pumping her fist into his chest to punctuate her words. "I don't care what happened, I don't care what anyone thinks happened, and I most of all don't care what you think everyone thinks happened, okay? I only care about you!" She panted for a few seconds, looking into his eyes, willing herself not to break down. Finally, she was able to manage a weak whisper. "And you won't even begin to trust me with that."
Harry's eyes slammed shut for a moment as he took a few purposeful breaths. Then, "Who put you up to this?"
"Lieutenant Perry ordered me to keep an eye on you."
"Why?"
"She wants to confirm rumors about you..."
He shook his head hard, opening his eyes into hers again. "No. I mean why did you accept the order?"
"Because if I didn't, she would have found someone who would have."
Harry shook his head again. "That's not the answer I'm looking for. Why did you take the assignment?"
Posey gathered a breath. "Because I knew I was the only one who would tell the truth."
Harry cast his eyes down for a moment, giving a bitter little chuckle. "The truth." He looked up at her again. "It's very hard to tell the truth... when you don't know the truth."
Her face shattered. "No... oh no, Harry. No..." She continued to deny him, pounding the heels of her hands against his chest, forcing him to quiet her with a crushing embrace.
"Shh!" he hissed, squeezing her frame. "Stop this... honey, calm down."
She managed to lift her head out of his chest. "No! Why... how could you do this to me?"
He met her accusation with the only punishment he had available, planting a firm bite along her jaw. She shrieked and pushed at him, continuing unabated.
"You knew, dammit! You knew right from the start that I didn't want do deal with any more dirty cops and you still kept on me. What the hell is wrong with you?"
He delivered a nasty nip to her ear and growled at her. "If you don't stop right now, I swear I'll draw blood with the next one." She quieted then, hearing the note of 'try me' in his voice. He slung her back across the seat with a grunt. "Good. Now put your goddamn seatbelt on and be quiet until we get to your apartment." He pulled the car back out into the street and pointed it home, still talking in the low rumble of a seismic pre-shock. "I will come upstairs with you and we're going to straighten the whole mess out... just the two of us."
"Harry..."
"Shut up!" he spat. "Your agreement in the matter is neither requested nor required."
"I beg your par..."
"I am just talking to myself here, aren't I? Did you lose fifteen I.Q. points after you put on the hooker outfit, Posey?"
Posey took a quick inventory and decided it was better, for the moment, not to argue with him. If it came down to it, she was armed and he was not. If it came down to it...
I was trying to do you a favor, asshole.
He slung her door open and pulled her roughly to her feet. Glancing behind her to the floor of the Buick, he offered a harsh command.
"Pick it up."
"Harry, I..."
"Pick up the tape."
Posey bent and picked up the little tape, putting it into her pocket with the recorder and trying again. "Harry, I know..."
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No, you don't. You don't even want to know how pissed I am at you right now." He slung her around by the arm and shoved her in the general direction of her front steps, slamming the car door. "Move."
As she turned away, she slipped her hand inside her jacket and gripped her gun. Just as she'd gotten a good hold, Harry's arm came through the loop of her elbow, at once pinning her arm against his and rendering her sidearm useless.
"Telegraph your punches to someone who doesn't have six years of street training." He plucked the weapon from her hand and shoved her forward again. "Keep moving." As she walked into her building, she could hear the sound of her clip being unlocked and dumped onto the pavement. Despite her fear, she let out a breath of relief.
He chuckled sourly and dropped the now harmless gun into his jacket pocket. "Yeah, I didn't feel like being shot tonight either."
She keyed herself into her building and started up the three flights of stairs to her floor, trying to move fast enough to keep Harry from having a clear view up her skirt. When she did manage a glance back, he was glaring sullenly at the backs of her knees, for the moment uninterested in anything higher up her body in the slightest.
Finally, she keyed her way into the apartment and let him in, flicking on the light. The cactus was still there, its blooms just starting to lose their peak, but she had moved it out of the middle of the greatroom and closer to the window, putting her little formica and glass coffee table back where it belonged.
Posey cleared her throat a little as Harry shrugged off his leather jacket. "Do you want something to drink? Coffee, tea..."
"Alcohol. I'm not interesting in splitting hairs, as long as it contains alcohol."
Something John had told her buzzed in the back of her mind. "Are you sure?"
Harry huffed at her, dropping himself into her leather chair. "A drink without the holier-than-thou, know-it-all, bullshit attitude, please."
"Fine." She turned her back on him and headed stiffly into the kitchen, kicking her shoes off and into the floorboard along the counter with a pair of satisfying thuds. "I take scotch and soda. Live with it."
"Perfect," she heard him mutter.
Posey took a slug directly from her bottle of scotch before she even began to fix the drinks, mixing them both to be topheavy. She left hers on the kitchen counter and walked out with his, plopping it down on the coffee table with a thud. Then she stalked silently back through the kitchen and into her bedroom to put on something that wouldn't make her feel out of control in her own home. She yanked off the skirt and jacket, leaving on the white tee, and pulling on a pair of baggy, flannel pajama bottoms, tossing her blue fleece robe over the whole mess and calling it good. Again, she came through the kitchen, picking up her drink along the way, and out into the greatroom, flopping down in the couch across from him and tucking her feet beneath her.
"So."
"So."
"You've got a good hand for a girl," Harry commented, lifting his glass to her a little. "I'm impressed."
"I bought my degree with tips from the nightclub bar I worked in Ann Arbor."
"Mm," he murmured into his drink as he took a sip. "The horrors of the non-scholarship student."
"Are you gonna talk or not, Denby? I've got a lot of shit to do tomorrow and if you don't have anything important to say..."
"Why don't we start with you?" he asked in a light, electric voice, settling himself back against the cushion and tossing one leg up over the other. "Why don't you tell me what you know and I'll tell you what you don't."
Posey eyed him. "What exactly are you fishing for, here?"
He sighed, canting his brows at her and bringing himself forward again, settling his elbows on his knees. "Are we in business or not?" Posey watched him, riveted on the glass he held between his knees. He'd fanned his hand out, turning the glass in slow circles, moving one careful finger at a time. His movements were subtle, but clearly meant to be seen. It occurred to her to time her breathing for some reason, and she suddenly realized what he was doing.
"Put the glass down and we'll talk."
Harry laughed aloud and set the glass on the table in front of him. "If you think that'll help, dear heart."
She closed her eyes and forced a few breaths, pushing herself out of his rhythm. From the other side of the room, his soft voice came again. "It must be a terrible pity to you... living with such a thing."
She didn't open her eyes. "With what?"
"Easily manipulated. Although I must admit I've found it quite common among women. They want to believe what they want to believe, and regardless of what's true, once you've discovered what they want to believe, it's exceedingly easy to make them believe it."
"Prick," she muttered, opening her eyes to blaze into his.
He smiled gently, nodding carefully. "I'm sure that in most cases the label applies."
"How do you live with what you see in the mirror everyday?"
His eyes glittered dangerously. "However, a prick is someone who thinks he can read minds. There is, in fact, a fundamental difference between that and what I can do... and you know it."
"I've already told you what I think. What's to read?"
"Reading your mind and making you think what I want you to think are two entirely different things, sweetheart."
Her mouth hung open. He can't really do that... can he?
Harry continued quietly. "You may think whatever you wish about me, but I know you're afraid it's not true. And by now you're so invested that to find your fears with grounds... It's not my desire to devastate you." He flashed his even, white teeth in a liar's grin. "Trust me."
Posey fell in, fixed on him, her body swirling with the steady flow of his breath, her mind screaming at her to snap out of it. This is stupid! Why are you letting him do this? She shook herself, digging her nails into her arm and letting the pain drag her consciousness out of his.
"This is the most impressive sideshow I've ever seen, Detective, but as long as you're too scared of me to go even up, our business is finished... in it's entirety. Get out."
Harry's throat made a sickly sounding click and his face froze. She'd finally shaken him enough to make him let her go and she looked away, breathing in a near pant for no reason that she could see. Across the room, she could hear his voice come from behind his hand.
"I could rip you apart. I know I could. I could tap you and you'd have no choice but to believe anything I tell you, do anything I tell you..."
"Are you sure?" Posey spared a glance in his direction as she spoke and he caught her eyes, holding them with his gaze.
"I'm not sure I want to."
She eyed him a little. "I don't trust you."
He let out a long sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. "You shouldn't."
"Why?"
He ripped his hand back through his hair and glared at her. "Because I'm lying. I've been lying to you since I met you. All the stuff that John told you about me? Everything you think you know and everything I'm sure Lieutenant Perry told you... it's all a lie. I know it."
"How?"
"Because I started it." He let her stare at him in shock for a moment, then continued. "People believe what I want them to. I learned the fine art of manipulation from the Archdiocese of New York itself. The greatest bullshit story ever told. The only way to stay sane was to be better at it than them."
"Do you even know the truth anymore?"
Harry looked at her, blinking, feeling the Diane synapse buzz. Why does everyone keep asking me that? "There's nothing wrong with my memory."
"Then why don't you tell me what you remember instead of what you want me to believe."
Harry sat in silence, hearing the racket of battle, the massive, drowning bellow of war in his head. This could end everything. He knew she understood the concept of 'lie', but he also knew she couldn't possibly expect the magnitude of this one. His insides cringed as he pictured her reaction. She would kill him with her bare hands. She would scream and throw things and her heart would never beat in truth again. She loved him... she thought she loved him. He gathered his breath and decided it was time to end it. Everything. His career, his love, his life... Enough had finally become too much.
"I remember being Matthew Grayling."
Continued in Part 4.
