The Winter Quintet
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
Diane pushed the outer door open and stepped out into the bright snowscape of almost blizzard.
Damn. When they said go home an hour ago, they weren't kidding.
The street in front of the house was nearly dead, except for the occasional shuffle of a parka with legs waddling past. After the big blizzard a few years ago, people tended to take the graces of winter a little more seriously in New York.
Diane blew out a vaporcloud of sigh and headed carefully down the steps, preparing herself for the ten minutes she was going to be standing outside cleaning her car off. As she hit the sidewalk and started moving, something a few yards ahead caught her eye.
Under the layer of snow, she could just barely see the bottom of a black, 1999 Nissan Ultima. It must have been an off-model because the driver's side door of this particular Ultima had a very strange feature indeed.
It had Harry Denby, arms folded and leaning on the roof, resting his head quietly on his trenchcoat sleeves and watching the snow come down sideways.
She felt the exact same pinch of conscience she'd felt every time she'd looked at his face after Jill had come back to explain what he'd done for her family� for her sons. Diane had spent so long doubting every word that man had said, and now she couldn't help but feel that she had no right to even try to apologize for it. Even as the cock herself had crowed thrice, she'd denied him.
He was a saint.
She should have known, too. When everything was over, he'd stopped talking almost altogether, and certainly altogether to her. A terrified young man had reached out for her because he believed she could help, and she was just too wrapped up in her own garbage to see it.
He'd trusted her and she'd stepped on him for it. She wondered again exactly which one of them had begged that slap in the bar more. To be sure, he'd needed it, but she knew exactly who'd deserved it.
Diane shook herself a little, realizing that she'd come to a stop and was staring at him. Looking carefully again, she saw that nothing had changed.
Except that he had closed his eyes.
Keep walking.
Go to him! Apologize for what you did! He's not good enough for it? He's not human? It's you! You don't deserve the comfort of his grace, you bitch!
She could already predict the night, alone and crying, just like so many others since she'd learned the truth.
He is the truth, and you know it.
When she finally did work up enough courage to speak, it was a breathy warble. "H-harry?"
"Locked in the car."
"What?"
She realized what he meant a fraction before he said it. "My keys." He opened his eyes again and looked at nothing, letting his sightline drift down in cycles as he followed the paths of individual snowflakes. He looked like a little boy left all alone at recess, just leaning on a piece of playground equipment and waiting for something else to happen.
He sighed a little and closed his eyes again. "Good night, Detective Russell."
She took a slow step past him, and the sound of her boot scrunching through the snow was like a klaxon.
� like you shouldn't be walking away from him.
Then another step, and another.
Don't walk away from him, Diane!
She turned around and waited for a moment, then saw the large puff of white vapor come from the other side of his head as he sighed again. His shiny, dark hair was starting to run sideways as the pretty white snowflakes landed, lingered, and then melted into water and nothing in his warmth.
Diane cleared her throat a little. "You're gonna get sick if you stand out here like this forever."
He lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms, looking across the street. "I should think someone would come along and try to feed me before the actual transpiration of forever."
"So you're just gonna stand out here until tomorrow."
"No." His eyes focused specifically as he said the word and Diane turned to see what he was looking at.
Mac's.
You have a duty, here. Try not to screw it up this time.
"Do you think that's a good idea, Denby?"
"No. But I think it's warmer in there than it is out here." He laid his head back down, facing away from her, and the unspoken next thought was clear enough.
Why do you care?
I care because I forgot to care about it before. I care because it matters to me when I screw someone over. I care because I have to. I care because�
She went to him, picking her way through the little pile of brown street slush at the curb, placing herself directly in front of his face.
He closed his eyes.
She slid her hand out of its brown, calfskin driving glove and reached out, gently brushing the little pile of melting snow from his hair and away from his ear.
And felt him cringe.
"Oh, Jesus," she whispered, studying the lines of his face. "Am I really such a horrible person?"
His eyes came open with a start and he stared directly into hers. From so close, she could see the bolts of blue and gold over a velvet emerald backfield and immediately knew she would never be able to look at them enough. The snow white light of afternoon filtered through them as if they were lit from within and made her wonder fleetingly if she could ever live long enough to miss this beauty.
It made her wonder how she'd missed it before.
She had to look down, look away, before she could speak to him again.
"Harry� I'm so sorry. I'm just� I'm sorry." She heard his arms come down from the roof of his car a second before she felt the space behind her eyes flash. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, finding her voice muffled against the cold of his trenchcoat.
"Don't� don't do that. I'm really no good with crying women." But by now she was already sobbing. He rocked her gently in his arms but kept talking. "Crying women doesn't work for me. You know I can't do anything about it. Us assholes are like that."
She slapped roughly at his lapel, almost shrieking at him. "Shut up, Harry! God, just shut the hell up!" She rolled her forehead against him, shaking her head and choking out through her tears, "Does it make you that happy to know that I feel like shit now?"
"No."
She froze for a second, still crying, then lifted her head to look into his eyes again, looking for the double cross.
It was just Harry.
His arm came from around her and he stroked a few damp curls away from her face as he continued speaking. "I just don't want to obligate you."
Oh, my god. He's still protecting me.
Harry continued. "As long as you hate me, you owe me nothing. Everyone's life stays much simpler if I'm not involved."
"What are you protecting me from?" she asked carefully, blinking back what was left of her tears. He dropped his head back, pulling his arms from around her and letting out a hard sigh. She wrapped her hands around the lapels of his coat and shook him, drumming her fists on his chest. "What are you protecting me from, Harry?" she demanded this time.
His eyes came down on hers again, wide and angry. "Me. Me, okay?"
He tried to turn away again, but she held him, jerking his coat again. "Why?"
He made a set of exasperated little noises, then brought his hands to his head, making motions as if something were running around inside it. "I don't� there are things�" He gave up and came forward at her, gripping her shoulders with both hands. "There are things I want to say and things I want to think and nobody, least of all me, understands them. I don't want you to be another one of them, okay? I just want you," he released her with a little push and held his hands open in front of her, looking at her as if she were a priceless piece of artwork, "� to stay you."
She released his coat, her gaze coming wide as she realized everything all at once. "It was never about the job, was it?" she whispered. He tossed himself up against his car, rolling his eyes and turning his face to the sky. "No� no, Harry." She came back up against him, curling her arms in and pressing into his chest. "It was never about the job, or the drinking, or the drugs, or Don, was it?" He looked across the street and she pushed her arms convulsively against him, threatening his balance. "Harry! Listen to me!"
He faced her again, looking right through her eyes and into her soul.
Waiting.
In a slow, low quaver, she asked her question. "What was all this for, Harry?"
He put the tip of his finger into her coat, touching the spot just below the hollow of her throat. "You."
"Me?"
Harry nodded, still blazing into her eyes. "I didn't come to the squad, or a detective, or Jill's partner. I came to you."
She stood in silence for a moment, feeling him vibrate out through her body from the point where he touched her, then, "Why did you stop?"
"Because every time I tried to talk to you, I kept getting Detective Russell. I don't want her, and I don't need her. Just you."
Diane gaped, taken completely aback. "Oh�"
Harry nodded, sliding his fingertip up to touch her throat as he spoke. "And everything I did to get that tough little girl cop out of the way so I could talk to you just made her mad."
Diane watched his eyes for a second, then took his hand from her throat, lifting it to press his palm against her cheek.
"Talk to me, Harry. Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
Diane rolled her eyes and surprised herself with her own laughter. "Everything!"
She watched little sparkles come up in his eyes as the corner of his mouth lifted into a lazy half-smile. "Well, I don't know, Diane. Got a minute?"
From inside her, her own smile felt like dawn breaking. "I have a lifetime."
His eyes ran over her face for a moment, then his hand against her cheek flowed down her body and around her fingers. "Come on."
As he started walking, she followed, pulling him up to a quick stop as she remembered something. "What about your keys?"
He pulled her around by the hand until she was flush against his body and smiled down into her eyes.
"What keys?"
She giggled a little and fluttered her eyes for a second.
Oh, Christ� he's flirting with me. I'm flirting with him!
"Um� Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you still handing out kisses?"
He blinked a few times, cocking his head a little. "Do you still remember the rules?"
"I do," she whispered, coming up on her toes and letting her eyes fall closed. "It means I go first, right?"
The warmth of his voice touched her mouth with his kiss.
"Always."
Continued in Part 2.
