Title: A lonesome dance
Author: Juliana
He hated the annual police dance. He avoided it whenever he could. But this year it was different. He knew this was going to be one of the rare occasions he'd get to see Faith. So he decided to go. He wondered when he walked from his car in the parking lot towards the hotel where the dance took place, when did he become so self-destructive. Usually he tried to avoid situations that would hurt him or cause him discomfort but now he was willingly walking into danger.
He had heard around the house at the 79th that Faith was seeing Miller, her new boss. Allegedly they were pretty happy together and he knew they would both be at the dance because Miller was now a captain and he had to be there. And Faith would be with him. Bosco wondered whether she would even notice him or whether she would want to talk with him if she did. He hadn't seen her since that June day when Lieu handed them out their new assignments. Swersky said they'd see a lot of each other at their new posts but they didn't. Bosco took every call that involved shootings, murders or similar cases because he hoped that he would get to see Faith but he didn't have luck. He had run out of luck years ago.
When he reached the bar he ordered a whisky. For courage, he told himself. He drank it fairly quickly and ordered another one. His back was turned towards the room already full of people. Most of them were already there, he was one of the late ones but Faith and Miller were still absent. At that he felt at the same time relived that maybe he wouldn't have to see them together but also sad that he'd miss another chance to see her after all this time.
While thinking about her blond strands of hair and her hazel eyes he suddenly caught a similar image in the mirror of the bar. He turned apprehensively towards the entrance where she stood with her arm wrapped around Miller's being greeted by one of the brass.
She really was a sight. She was dressed in a dark green silky dress with a low neckline, only two straps holding it on her shoulders. Her hair was tied up, a few strands flowing around her shining face. The dress was hugging her figure in just the right places causing him to want to follow its outline with his fingers, touching her creamy skin where the silk ended.
He caught himself sliding his fingertips over the counter top but the feel of the slick wood was nothing like Faith's soft skin. He could vividly imagine how her skin must've felt, velvety, soft, caressing his fingertips in return … His body reacted to the visions in his mind. He lowered his head over his glass, berating himself for letting his imagination trick him so evilly.
The collar of his white shirt was suffocating and hot. When he raised his head again and followed Faith's image in the mirror he saw she was turning her back towards him. Her naked back. The dress was open almost down to her waist, only four thin straps crisscrossing her back. Her high heels were poking from under the hem of her dress. She was stunning and he couldn't keep his eyes from her even though he knew she dressed-up for Miller and not him. And it hurt him terribly to know that she had never and would never dress that way for him. Ever.
His insides twisted at the familiarity with which she touched the man. He had never seen her so confident even around Fred to whom she had been married for years. And she had very rarely touched him. She had hugged him when he broke down once in her apartment after 9/11 and he had held her hand in the hospital still being able to feel her skin under his touch after all this time.
Suddenly he jerked on his stool realizing she was coming his way. He then saw Swersky had pointed her to him. He cursed the man and thanked him all in one breath.
"Hey, Bosco, I didn't expect you here," she said.
She climbed up onto the stool next to him and he helped her by holding her hand for support.
"Well to be honest, I didn't expect myself to be here either," he admitted. Her closeness caused his voice to become husky.
"You enjoying yourself?" she asked and eyed the glass in front of him.
"Actually I just arrived and I thought I'd need something to give me courage to mingle with these people," he grinned not wanting her to think he drank too much. The last thing he needed was her thinking he was an alcoholic.
"Oh, I see. Have you seen any of the old gang from 55? Except for Swersky obviously, he told me you were here."
Before he answered he let his gaze take her in. From up-close she was divine. Her face was soft and it looked younger than he remembered, her hair had a tinge of gold to it. His gaze wandered down to her cleavage, feeding his eyes on the white mounds of her breasts. He suddenly realized what he was doing and he raised his eyes to hers, seeing that she noticed his staring. He blushed before he looked down at his glass and said, "Yeah, I only had a few words with him but I haven't seen anyone else. You?"
"No, we just came here. I haven't had time to check around yet."
They both remained silent for a while after that. He didn't know what to say to her, she seemed distant somehow. She was polite and nice but not friendly like she used to be. The past year when they hadn't seen each other caused the gap between them to grow. His heart constricted at the thought.
"How have you been this past year, Bosco?" she asked almost in a whisper.
"I'm okay. 79's busy which suits me fine," he shrugged. How could he tell her that he'd been miserable without her, that he watched his scars every day thinking he did it to save her so he wouldn't lose her but he did nevertheless? He couldn't, she wouldn't understand or wouldn't want to understand now that she was with someone else.
"You look tired," she commented, obviously not quite convinced by his reply.
"I had a hard shift last night," he said, lying to her easier than telling the painful truth.
"You would tell me if you needed something? Anything?"
When he felt her hand on his thigh, her thumb caressed him through the fabric just slightly above his knee, his hand trembled and the ice cubes in his whisky clinked. He felt his hardness grow in his pants and he adjusted the jacket so she wouldn't notice his discomfort.
He only nodded before he regained his voice. "Sure," he mumbled with a hoarse voice, both of them knowing that was a lie. "Thanks."
She nodded too with a smile on her lips that seemed somehow detached, not quite reaching her eyes.
"I better go look for John otherwise he'll think I've ran away with someone," she removed her hand from his thigh, causing him to feel cold in its place. He felt a pang at her words even though it was meant as a joke. The atmosphere around them was tense and awkward. It wasn't the way it used to be, they weren't the way they used to be.
When he turned his face sideways again she was already gone. All he could see was the white skin of her naked back retreating into the crowd of the room.
He took off his jacket and slid from his stool, holding his jacket in front of him to hide his embarrassment. When he entered the toilets he leaned on the door and sighed deeply. If only she knew what she was doing to him, he thought. Yeah, right, then she and Miller would have a laugh at his expense.
He touched his hard on willing it to disappear but the images of Faith's bare back, her pretty face and the feel of her fingers on his thigh were not doing him a favor. He knew just waiting for his feelings to go away would not do. He walked labouredly towards a stall, closing the door behind him and smiling bitterly at what he was about to do, at what his life had become in the past year.
He unzipped his pants and reached into his boxers with his hand. He jerked at the touch. He needed her so much. He needed her hand to touch him, to get him off, he needed to feel her lips on his own. More than anything he wanted to kiss her, to show her that she was his life, she was all he had ever had. He knew he would only need one kiss to convince her of that. But she was with someone else. She was caressing another man and showing him with her soft kisses she loved him. A sigh escaped him at the thought.
He must've unknowingly done something really really bad if he deserved to be punished so harshly.
He leaned to the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. He was so hard just from watching her. He would've died from pure bliss if he could touch her, caress her full breasts, taste her, kiss her … God, he loved this woman.
His hand pumped him harder with each stroke, bringing ecstasy to his body and hurt to his soul. He was pathetic jerking himself off at the annual police dance, thinking of the woman he could never have. His life was really crappy if this was the closest he ever came to love.
His cock was aching with the need to relieve itself of its load but knowing it wasn't her hand stroking him postponed his orgasm. He was fighting with his emotions for her and with the disgust he felt for himself. He couldn't help himself but want to feel her wet for him, ready for him to show her what love was really like, to fill her to her last inch, to love her with his hardness till she would recognize his love for what it was when she came screaming his name.
But she wasn't screaming his name, he was moaning hers when he was getting closer. He cupped his balls with his other hand, massaging them and feeling the tension build up in him when he felt warm tears sliding down his cheeks. When his juices spilt over his hands in an almost painful and forced orgasm, sobs and moans blended into a mixture of incoherent voices escaped his mouth. He leaned the back of his head to the cold surface of the door, not even trying to stop the tears. There was no one that could see him, no one that would care.
He fished for a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe his hands and then he zipped up his pants and walked towards the sinks.
When he splashed water on his face he could finally breathe again. He raised his head and looked at his face in the mirror. His face was pale and it looked old. The band-aid on his cheek detached itself from his skin because of the water. He tugged at it angrily and pulled it off. He didn't need it any longer. It didn't matter what his face looked like, it's not like he could charm the woman he wanted. He contorted his face in a wry grin. The last of his hopes died the same way so many others did before, making him feel empty and utterly alone.
He exited the toilets bumping of all people right into Faith. He gasped seeing her.
"Hey, you needed to cool down too?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her with wide eyes.
"They never stop talking, this dance is so boring," she whispered afraid someone could hear her complaining.
"Oh, yeah … yeah, I know what you mean," he put a fake smile on his face with difficulty.
Then she seemed to notice his band-aid wasn't covering his scar any longer. She motioned towards his cheek, obviously unable to say anything.
"I know," was all he managed.
"Your shirt's wet," she pointed to the marks his tears left on the white fabric, probably just to change the awkward topic.
"Oh … I've washed my face, I probably splashed water onto it then."
"It'll dry soon enough," she said with a smile.
He couldn't care less, he didn't intend on staying anyway. Now that he saw how awkward she felt only talking to him he knew there was nothing left for him here and that he had no place in her life. The bond they'd shared before she got shot two years ago was gone forever. She was lost to him and he was lost without her.
"I better …" she motioned towards the women's rooms.
He nodded not really knowing what to say.
She smiled again just before she turned and walked through the white door. When it snapped shut, whispered words rolled over his lips.
"I love you, Faith. Always." He turned and walked down the hallway and out into the devastation that somewhere along the way became his life.