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
"Well if it's not wrong, why are you wearing gloves?"
"Shh. You're supposed to be listening for people."
"I can't hear over the blood in my ears."
"Shut up and come on." Matthew clicked the basement file room door open, pocketing the key Carelynn had loaned him and grabbing Posey's elbow.
She let him drag her into the dark room, but made him work for it. "We are so dead meat if we get caught."
"I'll tell them it was my idea and you had nothing to do with it. Now get in here." He clicked on his flashlight and scanned the room with the bright little circle.
"Again, flashlight does not equal doing something legal."
He turned the light and flashed her purposely in the eyes. "Stop fussing over technicalities. You wanna lose your job because some piranha with a possible mental disorder and an overdeveloped sense of competition can't keep her hands out of my dossier?"
"I don't think that's the point." Posey grabbed at the flashlight, pointing it away from her face and blinking rapidly as everything went black on her. Before she could adjust, he was dragging her forward again. She stumbled a little, groping for the waistband of his slacks for balance as she walked, still talking. "Whether I lose my job because of her or because I was caught going through the psych files with Harry Denby, it's not going to make much difference."
He heaved a gravelly sigh. "You're not doing anything with Harry Denby."
"And, what, three people in the department know that? Two of whom won't ever admit to it?"
He turned sharply enough to make her bump into him. "What are you implying?"
"What?"
His eyes were almost glowing in the eerie dim. "I'm pretty clear on my orders, and I know I can trust Carelynn." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he tightened his grip on her arm. "Don't tell me I fell for the oldest clich� in deep cover, Mata Hari."
"If it meant keeping you alive, yes."
He jerked her roughly and she turned away from him, afraid he might actually hit her. His hiss came close and burning in her ear. "Listen very carefully, because the fact that you would even consider doubling me out means you are sorely unclear on concept. At no point in time will giving out that information ever get me anything but killed." She could hear the hard set of his jaw and the clench of his teeth as he continued. "If you ever so much as whisper my name to anyone else, I swear I'll spend my entire afterlife making sure you wake up screaming every morning. I will haunt you and you will never sleep again. Do you understand me?"
She stood, paralyzed, everything about her squeezed shut, waiting.
He shook her again, more gently this time. "Answer me, Mariposa. If you don't get this, you might as well take your gun and blow my brains out right here and now, because I'm already dead."
Her eyes finally readjusted to the dim light bouncing from its circle on the floor enough for her to see his face. Somewhat to her surprise, she wasn't looking into anger.
She was looking into fear.
Carefully, she disengaged her arm from his grip and stepped back, having to put a hand into his chest to keep him from invading her space again. "I'm done operating in the dark, Matthew."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me why you're here. Why does Harry Denby exist?"
He lowered his brow at her. "Because he was ordered to."
Posey shook her head, taking another step back, extending her arm to hold him off. "That's not good enough anymore. Tell me... or you lose your puppy."
He tried a little smile. "I never thought about you like..."
"Don't jump track on me, Matthew!" she started to raise her voice, bringing a soft hiss from him. She ripped her free hand back through her hair and started again in a whisper. "You say you can get us both killed..."
"I believe I said I was going to do everything in my power not to, Posey."
She waved her hand in his face and went on. "... Either you tell me what I've gotten myself into with you or this is over."
He arched a brow at her. "Yes, I've heard this before."
"What?"
"'What are you doing, Denby?' I didn't like the question then, and I don't like it now."
Posey lifted her hand open, but he wound his fingers around her wrist before she could even wind back. She jerked at his grip, but he held her fast. After a little struggle, she gave up, letting her arm fall limp. "Why won't you tell me?" she whimpered. "What are you afraid of?"
"I can't tell you. Believe me, I dream of being able to tell someone about this. But if I do that right now, the last six years of my life are worthless. Without purpose. For nothing. And I'm so close. I know you don't see that, but I do. It's almost over and I'll spend the rest of my life telling you, but right now, I just can't. Try to understand." He pulled her hand forward, laying it over his heart as he continued. "And I'm not afraid of anything. It's what I'm afraid for that bothers me."
She let his heartbeat soak through her fingers for a moment, listening to him breathe and watching his eyes. Finally, she patted her hand on his chest a little and rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Okay, this isn't the place for this. Let's just do what we came here to do and get the hell out of here." He flashed a grin and started to turn away, but she gathered his shirt in her hand, pulling him to a quick halt. "But when all this is over, you owe me."
He leaned forward and pressed a silent kiss to her cheek. "The very moment," he whispered. "And I know I do."
I'm a moron, Posey thought to herself, letting Matthew pull her forward in the dark again. I'm a total moron for doing this. I shouldn't be involved... he knows I shouldn't be involved... why am I still following him around?
From ahead, she heard him whisper. "Here we go." He pulled her around his body and presented her to a three column file cabinet covered in dust and rust and spiderwebs standing stolidly in the shadow of eighty years worth of NYPD procedure bulletins shelved in a tower before it. Posey twisted up to look at the paper-dripping steel hulk behind her.
"That's gonna come down on our heads."
"It's been standing since 1926, love. I can't imagine it would choose right now to let time win." Matthew set the flashlight on top of the file cabinet in front of him and pulled at the rusty drawers. "Besides, how would anyone know how to bust a speakeasy if we didn't have that standing landfill of useless trivia stuffed into the precinct basement?" He tugged at the drawer with a little grunt, forcing it to give way with a metallic shriek. "Hm..." he brushed a little bit of mess from his hands. "No wonder they never bothered locking it."
Posey came up around the open drawer and watched him flip through the files. They were alphabetized, some of the names handwritten, some of them manually typed, some bearing computer printed labels. Matthew's fingers stopped their run over a familiar name near the beginning of the alphabet with a little harrumph. He pulled out the file and picked up the flashlight.
"Got a lighter?" He flipped open Harry Denby's psych file and started reading with a bitter little smile.
Posey came back around him and stood on her toes, trying to read the papers from over his shoulder. "What's it say? Are you crazy yet?"
He pulled the file away from where she could see it with a teasing little snort. "This is private stuff, here, Detective." He read for a moment, then started talking to the words on the page. "Oh, am I?"
"Are you what?"
He twisted over his shoulder. "I have a Multiple Personality Disorder with Possible Schizoid Delusions." He grinned brightly, batting his eyes.
"So?" Posey deadpanned.
He shook his head at her and turned back to read more. "The analyst suggests tying me to a chair and squirting lithium down my throat with a turkey baster."
"As opposed to cyanide?"
He turned again to glare playfully at her. "Creepy."
Posey planted her hands on her hips. "This isn't what we came for."
Matthew sighed and flipped the folder shut, slapping it down on top of the file cabinet. "No, but it's certainly coming with us." He returned to the files, flipping through the rest of the drawer. "This one ends with 'g'."
"Then open the bottom one next."
Matthew shut the top drawer and turned to Posey. "Why?"
"Because that's where the 'p's are gonna be." And don't ever ask again... please.
He watched her for a second, then waved a finger at her. "That's as it may be. I don't do halfway. Sorry." He pulled the middle drawer open. Posey fidgeted while he flipped through the middle of the alphabet. 'H'... 'I'... 'J'.... She closed her eyes, hearing him come to a stop. Everything was silent for several seconds, then he cleared his throat quietly.
"Tell me and I won't."
Posey took a few steps back, instinctively retreating into the dark until she was just a little voice around him. "You might as well." She could see him clearly as he searched into the darkness, slowly pulling the folder called 'Jackson, Mariposa (Posey)'. He looked at the blank cover, fresh and yellow, just taken up residence a few short months ago.
"Are you sure?"
"I can't stop you."
She watched him carefully as he pointed the light down at the folder and flipped it open. His face went from worried to angry to shock. He flipped the light up just long enough to find out where to look for her, then gave her back the cover of dark.
"This is why you left Detroit, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want it to be a part of my life anymore."
"I would never... never do this to you. Not as your partner and not as your friend. Never."
"I know." Posey's voice broke into a whisper and she took a few more steps back into the dark. He flashed the light in her direction again.
"I may be a lot of things, but I would never force you into doing that... Any of it."
"Harry..." She stopped herself, just beginning to cry.
"Matthew," he corrected in a dark little voice, taking the first step towards her. "Talk to me." Her psych file dropped to the floor as he took another step.
"Oh, my god... I... I don't even want to think about it anymore." Posey began taking rapid steps back, but not fast enough.
He clicked off the light as he caught her in his arms, setting it aside and pulling her into his embrace. "You wouldn't have let me open that folder if you didn't want me to know. You knew what I'd find."
No! No... we're not doing this right now. I'm not doing this right now. She locked up, shaking silently and waiting for the wave to crash through her memory, praying that she could hold off the undertow for at least a few hours.
Matthew slowly realized that he was holding a little statue and blew out a soft sigh, releasing her. "Fine. I guess we both have explanations to make, then."
"Fine." Her voice was so much flatter than she'd hoped it would be and he cupped her chin in his hand, tipping her face up. There was no way he could have seen her in the utter dark of the file room, but she felt his worried eyes scan her face anyway. "Matthew, let's just do this, okay? I really want to get out of here now."
"Okay," he whispered, his hand still on her face, groping for the flashlight with the other.
She didn't miss that he turned away before clicking the light on again.
Following him back to the psych cabinet, her eyes fell on her file on the ground before she could remember that she didn't need to see in black and white all the things she already knew. Two words jumped out at her before she could snap her head up.
... violated...
... homicide...
Without another word, Matthew grunted the bottom file drawer open and flipped through until he came to the file marked 'Perry, Sherill (Serena)'. He looked at the label with a raised brow.
"She changed her name."
Posey leaned over his shoulder to look. "That's odd. She only changed her first name."
Matthew shook his head a little. "Serena Perry... This is it. But why would she tell the psych board? Serena Perry is..."
The glare of fluorescent lights flickered and began to hum with a tinkle and crack, making the room painfully bright all at once. Matthew straightened up quickly enough to knock Posey back into the file cabinet, looping an arm back to keep her behind him as he faced down the sudden newcomer.
"Serena Perry is someone you might have wanted to consider a little more... carefully." Sherill cocked her head around the sightline of the Glock with a sick little smirk. "... Quinlan."
Matthew sized her up for a second, taking in her stance and the weapon, then turned his head a little to address Posey, not taking his eyes of the former head of Information Technology at Roux Industries.
"This is why I'm here."
Continued in Part 9.
