Title: Avant-Garde
Author: Sarken (sarken@gmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The crew at Warner Bros. and NBC owns the characters. I'm just taking them out for a little spin.
Author's Note: For anyone who may have forgotten, Claire Henley is from the fourth season episode "Castles of Sand."
Anymore I tend to forget she's not a major character, let alone that she was only in one episode. I realize that this is a bad thing, but I can't bring myself to care.
Thanks: Amber for the beta and the rest of my friends for putting up with me. At last, it's over!
No little throwaway like that will ever, ever express my gratitude to every single one of the Bosco/Faith readers who listened to me moan and groan about this for a year or better. A novel wouldn't do it, either, and it would just increase the moaning, so those two sentences had to suffice.
---
The beginning was the most rewritten part of this story. It originally started when Claire arrived at Faith's, but I have this thing about fics that start with people knocking on the door, and how obviously it's a version the whole "a stranger comes to town" theme. There has to be a better way than starting there, right? And I think I found it. I'm very satisfied with this whole opening section, and I ought to be--I spent about a year on this part alone, trying to figure out where and how it should start.
For twelve hours, it rained in drizzles and downpours. Steam rose from the cooling blacktop and blood washed away from the sidewalks, into the sewer, but no amount of water could wash it from Faith's memory.
"You okay over there?" The car splashed through a rain-filled pothole and Bosco caught Faith's eye in the rearview mirror.
Rearview mirrors and I are good friends. Generally, there's not a lot to do with two characters in a car, and I like to use cars when I need to trap two characters together, which is often. As a result, they spend a lot of time looking at each other in the mirrors, partly because I like the idea of it being indirect and partly because I have nothing better to say.
She saw red blotches when she rubbed her eyes. "I will be."
Possibly my favorite description ever, those red blotches.
He made a right at the light, and Faith's apartment came into view. "Yeah? 'Cause I can--"
"Bos," she said, her fingers already wrapped around the door handle, "it was a tough case, a long day, and a lot of blood, all right? Don't worry about it."
The cool thing about Bosco's car is that it's a classic, so the handle is probably exposed metal and digging into her hand. It was that way in our '72 Silverado.
He didn't believe her, but he stopped the car and watched her get out. "See you tomorrow," he said, not at all surprised when she didn't answer. Head down, she walked slowly toward the building. She didn't turn around when Bosco pulled away.
The stairwell was hot and humid despite its darkness, and Faith felt exhausted by the time she unlocked her door. After being tightly sealed for half the day, the apartment was no cooler than the stairs.
Why the stairs? People below the fourth floor get their asses kicked if they take an elevator, if I have anything to say about it. People on four and five get funny looks. It's Manhattan social code for those under the age of ninety.
Faith dropped her blazer onto the floor as she walked toward the air conditioner that rested in the window. Only the lowest setting worked on the old machine, and it gurgled and moaned before spitting out a stream of air. Faith's eyes closed as the cool air hit her skin, but it wasn't enough. She pulled her camisole over her head and tossed it over her shoulder, toward the couch. Yawning, she listened to the metallic plink of raindrops hitting the air conditioner. Their rhythm was soon interrupted by a knock on the door.
Swear to God, our air conditioner beeps. No one else believed me, though, so this one just gurgles and moans. This entire paragraph was really just because, if this were an episode, I would kill to see topless!Faith. And, in the next paragraph, Faith nekkid under her blazer. Hooot. And you thought me writing Faith!slash was shallow enough...
Bosco, she thought, putting on her blazer before answering the door. His concern would have been touching if it weren't annoying and selfish. He had spent the day looking for excitement and found none, so he would inevitably have to invent it before he could go to bed. Maurice Boscorelli, M.D., was here to diagnose Faith with some life-threatening illness so he could occupy himself with worrying for the next sixteen hours. That was Bosco, the occasional vicarious hypochondriac. Bullets couldn't touch him, but Faith was going to die because she had gotten sick at a crime scene.
I went back and forth on this one. It was originally "He was invincible, but I'm gonna die because I puked at a crime scene." I liked the coarseness of that, of "puked," but I couldn't justify the leap from third person to inside-her-head, even though I think I might do that once later.
A joke about playing doctor died on Faith's lips when she opened the door.
M*A*S*H shout out.
Claire, holding a duffle bag in hand, smiled. "Faith Yokas," she said, alluding to her greeting from two years ago.
"It's, uh, it's Mitchell now. Again." Seeing Claire's disappointment at making the same mistake twice, Faith shrugged. "A lot can happen in two years. Stone turning to sand, for one thing. Erosion happens a lot faster than they say."
This was a hold-over from the original draft, where Claire gets the name wrong again. I was tickled when the original wasn't contradicted by canon and I could actually keep that part. Canon and I had a love-hate relationship when it came to writing this story.
Claire's smile returned, but now it was sad. "But sand doesn't turn to stone. I hoped that it would, but it turned out I just built my castle a little further from the water's edge this time."
"What happened?" Faith let herself fall against the doorframe. The edge dug into her shoulder painfully, but she did not move. Exhaustion and curiosity overshadowed the pain. "Did you go back to Audrey?"
"Her name wasn't Audrey," Claire snapped. She had spent two years trying to tell herself that same thing. "It was Amy. This time, it was Amy."
I see Claire with Amy Gardner from The West Wing. I don't know why. I'm not saying that Amy would be abusive, but this character is very much like her -- looks like her, sounds like her -- so you can assume Claire's Amy would be played by Mary Louise Parker.
Faith waved a hand at Claire's wrists. "Looks like Audrey."
Frowning, Claire looked at her wrists. In the darkness, she couldn't see the bruises even as the weight of her duffle bag weight reminded her of their existence. "How--"
"I'm a cop, Claire. It's my job to notice these things." She pushed herself away from the wall. "Now tell me what happened."
Claire shrugged. "I think you know already. Amy and Audrey. They start the same and end the same."
And it wasn't even intentional, but it led me to a line I like.
"So you need somewhere to stay." There was, perhaps, the slightest hint of annoyance in Faith's tone. Claire didn't give straight answers. She had always been fond of metaphors and allusions to her past; she could only talk about her life in abstracts. To her, the past didn't matter. For Faith, it felt like all there was.
I like that Claire talks in metaphors, and that Faith gets dragged into the game. Claire definitely has an elevating effect on Faith. I think she's why Faith took that semester of philosophy and knows the word "existential."
Dripping strands of hair hung over Claire's face, not quite concealing the darkness beneath her eyes. Whether the purplish coloring was the result of sleep deprivation or a clenched fist, Faith couldn't tell, but at that moment, the answer didn't matter so much as the question. That combined with the look in Claire's eyes convinced Faith, and she sighed softly before stepping aside. "Fine. You can stay here."
I never did find wording for this paragraph that made me really happy with it.
Claire stepped past Faith and into the apartment, taking in the shadows and silhouettes before her: a coffee table, a worn out chair, a hastily discarded article of clothing by the couch. It felt like someone's hotel room rather than someone's home. A false compliment on her tongue, Claire turned to Faith and found her leaning against the door, hands clasped loosely in front of her.
Did you see that? The thing with the shadows? That was me pretending to get into the mind of an artist. Notice that I only did that once, having caught on that it was a bad idea. I'm just glad Claire wasn't a musician, since I'm worse with music than art.
"So," Faith said, twisting her hands together. She meant for the word to trail off, but it ended abruptly and echoed in the emptiness of the apartment.
Claire dropped her duffle bag onto the floor and took a step toward Faith. "I missed you so much," she said, reaching out and brushing her fingers across Faith's lips. The past two years had been as long as the first fifteen.
Faith's eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise, but when she reached up, it was to join her hand with Claire's. She pressed their clasped hands against her cheek. "God," she said with a half laugh, not sure what they were doing.
I swear I stole this image from something I saw on television, but I don't know what. That whole thing there, it was so clear in my head I can't imagine that it wasn't already there.
Claire wove their fingers together and leaned in, softly kissing Faith. She barely pulled away before whispering, "Everything happens for a reason."
Faith remembered standing in a studio, taking off her clothes as Claire watched. She remembered stretching across a bed and Claire arranging the sheets around her; she remembered shifting so slightly to feel the accidental touches of Claire's hand. She remembered the moment Claire realized it was intentional, and she remembered never returning, afraid of what it could mean.
I don't think that's their history, but for this, I needed a history where Faith ran away, so I invented this one.
"I don't care if this has a reason."
Oh, but she does. She doesn't want there to be a reason--or maybe she didn't care as the words left her mouth, but as soon as the sex was over, she was inwardly terrified.
---
Faith dressed in front of the mirror, watching Claire's reflection rather than her own. Smiling, Faith watched as Claire stretched her arms above her head and curled her fingertips around the edge of the headboard. With every movement, the sheet slid further down Claire's body.
Too much watching, but you'll notice she's doing it indirectly, with the help of the mirror. I told you I liked that.
"I never knew beat cops had to get dressed up for work," Claire said, watching as Faith buttoned her slacks and ran her hands along her sides.
Here comes the obligatory semi-explanation of the timeline this is set in. As I said, canon and I didn't really get along when it came to writing this. I don't consider it an AU, although perhaps I should.
"I'm a homicide detective now." Faith reached for her brush, reluctantly shifting her focus to her own reflection as she pulled the brush through her hair. "No more unflattering uniforms."
That's me saying hi to "Collateral Damage," another good "history" episode. The fourth season was a good year for Faith backstory.
"You looked good in the uniform."
Faith laughed and walked over to the bed, the hairbrush still in her hand. She crawled onto the mattress and straddled Claire, kneeling over Claire's legs. "Never lie to a cop," she warned, teasingly wagging the brush's handle at Claire.
Claire looked up at Faith, her eyes dancing. Gone were the dark circles from the previous night. Beneath the sheets, Claire bent her knee, pressing her leg between Faith's thighs. "Are you going to arrest me, Detective?" she asked, increasing the pressure. "Or just smack me around a bit with your nightstick?"
Eyes closed as she enjoyed Claire's touch, Faith absently corrected her. "Detectives don't carry nightsticks."
"Then you won't need this," Claire said, snatching the brush from Faith's hand and tossing it onto the floor. It slid across the hardwood and stopped near the vanity, but neither woman noticed.
The above four paragraphs are the biggest mistake I made in this, but I worked too hard from the third paragraph to leave it out. I still can't decide if I'd change it if I could. Maybe not. I kind of like that Faith isn't treating Claire like she's breakable and that Claire's life doesn't revolve around the fact that she's been abused. I should have expressed that in the story rather than the commentary is all.
Clutching the hem of Faith's shirt, Claire pulled it up and over Faith's head. She dropped the shirt over the side of bed and reached for the waistband of Faith's pants.
I wonder why Faith is so comfortable with Claire even though the previous night was the first time they'd had sex. It seemed natural to me, like maybe being with a woman wasn't something unthinkably foreign for Faith. I never thought to make her shy, and I think it would feel wrong. Even though we never really got to see it, I think Faith is a very sexual woman. That is, she likes sex. A lot. And she admits it, which I think does show up in canon somewhat. You just have to look for it. Ass waffles, anyone?
The pants were halfway off Faith's hips when she heard it, a sound that could be nothing other than Bosco pounding his fist against her apartment door. "Shit," Faith groaned, her lips against Claire's neck.
It was hard, choosing between "shit" and "fuck." Despite how often I use it in real life, when I write, I like to save "fuck" for when it will make the most impact. This wasn't it.
"Ignore it." Claire rested her hands at Faith's waist, but they fell back to her sides as Faith climbed off the bed. Frustrated, Claire clenched her hands around fistfuls of the sheet as she watched Faith button her pants. "C'mon, Faith."
As much as Faith likes sex? Claire likes it more. If they were in a long-term relationship, I think there would be lots and lots of sex. Not because I want them to have it because, hi, hot, but because that's the way they are. It would probably be vanilla sex, but not always in the bedroom. And they'd talk during it, and the words would be playful and loving, not dirty but not sappy, either.
"I'm coming," Faith hollered, ignoring Claire's plea and quickly looking around for her shirt. Not seeing it, Faith swore under her breath and flung open the closet, grabbing the first shirt within reach. She slid her arms into the blouse's long sleeves as she walked barefoot down the hall.
Holding the shirt closed with one hand, Faith opened the door. "You're early," she said, hoping Bosco didn't pick up on her annoyance or her heavy breathing.
Not happy with that last sentence/dialogue tag. I worked and reworked it, but it never came out well. Maybe I should have stopped after the dialogue.
"I thought you might wanna grab some coffee before shift," he responded with a shrug. For a cop, observation had never been one of Bosco's strong points.
"Bosco couldn't find his ass with both hands and a map," says Sully. I get a lot of mileage out of that when I write. I like it when my characters have no idea what's going on.
Faith sighed. The coffee she could go for, but not the conversation that would accompany it as surely as creamers and sugar packets. "Yeah, okay," she said reluctantly, closing her eyes and bringing her hand to her forehead. She felt a headache building and hoped she had a bottle of ibuprofen in her desk. "You're buying, right?"
You have no idea how long it took me to come up with "ibuprofen." I can't even remember if it's right. I kept looking at websites for OTC painkillers to see what each was used for. I admit that I don't pay attention to what I'm taking for what pain. I just swallow it and pray it works. Never does, even when I'm sure it's the right stuff.
His silence alarmed her, and her eyelids flew open. "Bos?"
Bosco's sights were fixed on something over her shoulder, and with a sinking feeling in her gut, Faith knew. She knew he was staring into the bedroom through the door she hadn't shut; she knew he was trying to tell himself that the clothes on the floor and the naked woman in the bed couldn't possibly mean what he thought.
I always knew this is how he would find out, but what he would see was a toss up--for a while, he was going to see them having sex, but I couldn't do that point of view shift without making it awkward. Again, this is my love of all things canon. The person who put two doors on the Yokas bedroom was a genius. (It makes me think of The West Wing, how so many offices had multiple doors because someone said they wanted it to be interesting with people coming and going so often.) I wonder if they did it for a reason.
"Bos, I--"
"Don't," he interrupted, his gaze snapping back to Faith. The look didn't burn into her; Bosco's looks had never done that. It applied a vise-like pressure, cranking up her headache and making her wonder just how many pills she could swallow before Jelly gave her a Discovery Channel lecture on the damage she was doing to her body. "Don't even bother lying to me. I'll be in the car. Come out whenever the hell you're ready."
That paragraph just flowed from me, once I got through the first sentence. I enjoy writing about Jelly, even though I could never write for him. Also, the double meaning of the last sentence makes me happy, even if it was only evident to me.
---
And here we're back in a car, creating a major problem for me. It was the only way to get them to have this discussion, though: trap them together immediately after the discovery. I think the radio deal is somewhat forced, but I couldn't make this all dialogue, so I added a more physical battle.
Faith didn't notice the traffic light changing to red until she felt the brakes push her back into the seat. She looked up, quickly turning her head toward the window when her eyes met Bosco's in the mirror.
I told you, I'm obsessed with that shit.
The instant of eye contact was enough to get Bosco started. "Don't you think you're taking this too far?"
"What, the silence? You're the one who didn't want to hear what I had to say."
"Not that. This whole divorce thing." He turned on the radio and the volume of the hard rock station only served to enforce the idea that Bosco had no intention of listening. He wanted to be the one talking, listing his own opinions and ignoring hers. "I'm just saying, not all men are Fred."
She leaned across the seat and turned the radio off; the pounding of the bass was only adding to her headache. "You think I slept with Claire because my ex-husband's an asshole? That's great, Bosco." At this rate, there wouldn't be enough Motrin in all of Manhattan.
Is Motrin ibuprofen? That's what I forget even though I looked it up. Can you take Motrin for a headache? I don't remember now. I used it here, so I guess you can. I stole the alliteration from The West Wing, when Toby talks about Will's writing. "Guardians of gridlock? By the time I was done, I needed an avalanche of Advil," or something. Other than the Motrin thing, though, I love the dialogue there.
"Hey, I was listening to that," he said, turning the radio back on. He didn't stop to listen to the music or Faith's protests before continuing with, "So, you mean it's not Fred and you're really a lesbian? You were just hiding so deep in the closet that you were married for, what, fifteen years?"
"I'm not a lesbian." Faith didn't raise her voice over the music. If Bosco wanted to hear what she had to say, which Faith doubted, he could turn the volume down.
You have no idea how much I wish I knew what song was on the radio. Something like Billy Idol, probably, but not actually Billy Idol. Something rock and masculine and classic, with clear lyrics.
"You're screwing a chick, Faith! You're sure as hell not straight." Either her response had been predictable, or Bosco's hearing was better than Faith thought. The latter was unlikely given the earsplitting volume at which he listened to music. "Are you bi?"
"No." She let her head fall back against the headrest and shut her eyes. "No, Bosco, I'm not bi."
The light turned green and he stepped on the accelerator. "You know, you coulda just told me you were a lesbian."
Faith pressed her hand to her forehead and turned her head toward Bosco, not opening her eyes. "Yeah, because you're taking it so well."
I think this whole thing was actually kind of fun right until the next line. It could have been teasing, but it wasn't. It was a fight. I can't decide how it would fit in with their canon fights. Not well, if not for the next part, I think.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't lied to me about it--"
"All right," she interrupted, sitting up and opening her eyes. She shut the radio off. "Okay, you're gonna listen to me now, Bosco: I'm not gay. It was only Claire, and it was only last night. It was almost once before that, but I chickened out. I ran away. This time it could be Claire who runs away. I could get home tonight and she could be gone for another two years or another fifteen. It isn't a lifestyle and it's sure as hell not an identity. Not for me. It's just Claire, and it's complicated."
"Whatever." He hit the turn signal an instant before making a tight turn, and the taxi behind them honked.
I went through about six kinds of vehicles that could have been behind them. I am anal about the dumbest details. For instance, the sort-of alliteration just then bugs the hell out of me. Tight. Turn. Taxi.
"Where the hell are we going?" Faith demanded, looking over her shoulder at the street they should have been on, the street that would intersect with Arthur Boulevard after three more blocks. All she wanted was to be at work with her quiet office and her drugs. That was all.
"To get your coffee." He double parked next to a Toyota and slammed the door when he got out. Halfway between the car and the doughnut shop, he turned around and gestured for Faith to roll down the window. "Want a doughnut? Chocolate glazed?" The words came out quickly, like he might change his mind any second.
My Faith, as we've established elsewhere, doesn't eat doughnuts. I think Bosco was trying to piss her off a bit here.
"How about a bagel?" she called back, resting her arm on the door and smiling. "And only if you're buying."
"I'm pissed at you, you know. I don't care if you starve."
Faith shook her head in amusement and waved him off. She stared at him through the shop window, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood in line. When he stepped up to the counter, he glanced back at Faith. She offered him a tight but genuine smile and watched him reach into his back pocket for his wallet.
Seeing the coffee cups stacked one atop the other and the white paper bag clutched tightly in his hand, Faith leaned across the seat and swung open the driver's door. He slid into the car, passing Faith the bag and a coffee as he did so. "There's cream cheese in there, too," he told her, nodding at the bag. "Best bagels in Manhattan, or so the guy at the counter told me. For what I paid, it better be."
Maybe this was resolved too easy, or maybe it wasn't as big an issue as it seemed like it was going to be. I find it hard to believe Bosco would forgive so easily, but I think that she didn't exactly lie to him made a lot of difference. All in all, I'm on the fence about this end to the fight.
---
The elevator's heavy doors clunked open and Faith stepped out into the hallway. She didn't make a habit of taking the elevator to her third floor apartment; in fact, she hated that people could be so lazy and selfish when there were ten floors above them. Tonight, though, she was in a hurry. She would go back to using the stairs tomorrow. She walked quickly down the corridor, her key held at the ready in between her thumb and index finger.
Me, rant? Nah. And she was in a hurry 'cause she wanted to do the gay sex with her woman! Or just because she was happy to come home to an apartment that wasn't empty. Yeah, no. It's about the sex.
Opening the door revealed the same silent, dark heat that had welcomed her home each night since the end of May. "See?" Faith said to the empty room, slamming the door behind her. She tossed her keys onto the hall table. "Just like every other night." She walked down the hall, hoping Claire had changed the sheets before continuing their tradition of vanishing acts. The last thing Faith wanted was to collapse onto her bed and be greeted with the smells of sex and perfume. She just wanted to sleep until she could wake up and throw herself into her work, ignoring everything from the past twenty-four hours.
She walked into the bedroom and saw Claire sleeping in the middle of the bed. With something between a sigh and a growl, Faith took several steps across the wooden floor, purposefully letting her heeled boots bang loudly against the panels. Fred had been fond of telling her how her clomping woke him up every night.
This would be a holler to the episode with Charlie, the guy Faith took to the prom. I like the idea of Fred hating that she clomps...so much that it's another detail I overuse.
Claire rolled over and opened her eyes. She brushed her curly hair out of her eyes as she sat up.
"I woke you up." Faith chose a statement of fact rather than a phony apology or the words she wanted to say. (Good, you deserve it. You couldn't have turned a light on, written a note, stayed awake? It would have killed you?)
That's the POV switch I made despite not doing it the first time. Parentheses make these things okay? We'll pretend they do.
"How was work?" Claire moved to one side of the bed and rested a hand on the space next to her, inviting Faith to join her.
Faith sat on the bed, her back to Claire. She took her thumbnail between her teeth as she remembered the bloody crime scene she had stood at hours ago. She thought about the suspect who had eluded them yet again, and how tomorrow would be the same. She shrugged and said lightly, "Bosco thinks I'm a lesbian."
I was hoping that everyone would read that line and cringe, knowing that this could not end well, even though the start isn't as bad as it could be.
"Yeah, I saw him out there this afternoon," Claire said, her eyes going to the bedroom's second door. Faith had closed it before leaving for work. "He has a problem with it?"
Faith bent over to slip off her shoes. The ends of her hair brushed against the floor. "He was pissed that I didn't tell him," she said, pulling down the zippers on her boots, "but he bought me coffee and a bagel, so I think things are okay with us now that he knows I wasn't lying."
Claire stared at the strip of skin that Faith's position exposed. "Lying?" Her tone was curious with a trace of annoyance.
"When I told him I wasn't gay." Faith kicked her shoes off and sat up, pushing her hair back. "He had himself convinced that I was gay or bi or something just because you and I slept together."
The proper response to this is *facepalm*. Was it like a train wreck? That's what I wanted. I wanted her to say things people knew were wrong, so they had to sit there, unable to do anything but watch in morbid fascination as Faith blew it. In slow motion, with everything around her going at regular speed. Like Doc.
"You're not gay." The annoyance in Claire's voice increased exponentially and she crossed her arms. "So what does that make me, your little sexual experiment? You're supposed to get that out of your system in college."
It wasn't until now that I realized that, "You're supposed to get that out of your system in college," could be bitterness over Faith running away that night.
Faith turned to face Claire. She shook her head slowly. "No, Claire, it's not like that. I love you, and I really enjoyed what we did last night. But I'm not gay. How can I be? I was married; I have two kids. Hell, I have a crush on George Clooney." She rested a hand on Claire's leg and looked into her eyes. "None of that makes you an experiment or makes how I feel about you any less real. It scared the hell out of me when I came home and thought you'd left, but that doesn't make me gay."
Have I mentioned my love of random canon facts? I forget how many stories I've done in which Faith's crush on George Clooney is mentioned. Plenty, though.
"I can't do this, Faith." Claire moved so Faith's hand was no longer touching her leg. Pulling her legs up to her chest, Claire said, "I can't have sex with you at night and then wake up and listen to you defend your heterosexuality to anyone who points out that you're sleeping with a woman. You can't go to bed with me and then wake up straight. It doesn't work that way. It's one thing to be in the closet, but you're in denial. I can't sit around and wonder if today's the day you're going to decide your charade is too much trouble and dump me for some guy just so you can stop being a misfit."
Ouch. I feel like maybe it would have packed more "ouch" had I not gone for the cute wordplay of "in the closet" to "in denial."
Faith closed her eyes as she said, "I wouldn't do that."
"That's not good enough for me." Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested her palms flat against the mattress, ready to flee.
"'I love you' isn't good enough for you?" Faith asked incredulously. It hadn't been enough for Fred, either, the day he had stormed out of the diner and left her sitting there. "I'm not good enough for you because I don't call myself a lesbian and walk around with a Pride pin stuck to my purse? What do you want from me, Claire? You want me to pretend to be something I'm not just so you can be more comfortable sleeping with me?"
Claire pushed herself off the bed and turned around to face Faith. Claire looked down at her with sad eyes. "No, Faith. I want you to stop pretending to be something you aren't just because you're uncomfortable sleeping with me." She offered a weak smile and reached out to stroke Faith's hair. "Where are the blankets?"
I cannot possibly tell you how much fun it was to write that part of their disagreement. I would much rather write a big argument than any other kind of scene--I like imagining where their voice raises and where they speak so deliberately every word seems like a different sentence, even if I don't include those details in the actual writing. It's always fun to make the characters say everything you wish you could think to say during a fight.
Faith looked at the floor and breathed in deeply to push down all the things she wanted to say. "Don't sleep on the couch, Claire. You think you're punishing someone else, but you're just gonna wake up sore as hell, realizing you only punished yourself. Take it from someone who knows." Faith lifted her feet onto the bed. "It's a big bed. We don't have to touch each other."
"Do you really think that's going to work?" Claire already knew the answer.
"In the hall closet, the second shelf from the bottom. There's a pillow on the top shelf." Faith waited until Claire was out of the room to mumble, "Goodnight." She turned onto her side, slipping her hands beneath the pillow and closing her eyes.
---
Arms crossed, Faith stood outside the interrogation room. She watched through the one-way glass as Jelly questioned the suspect Bosco had captured and hand-delivered to them. The man answered Jelly's questions quickly, but he never made eye contact. Turning to Bosco, who leaned against the wall beside her, Faith said, "This is our guy."
I wish I had done a little more with the work aspect of the story, but it would have been a lot of sitting in cars, waiting for the suspect, and it would have been Faith and Jelly working together. I know Faith wouldn't have said anything about Claire to Jelly, so I really couldn't justify getting into that part of the story, unless I somehow let Faith's new relationship affect her work, and I just don't think she'd let that happen. Besides, Bosco is the one who caught the guy.
Bosco smirked. "Like there was any doubt." He pushed away from the wall and said, "Guess I'll get back out there. Back to the excitement."
"What, this isn't exciting?" Faith indicated the interrogation room with a tilt of her head.
"Too much talk," Bosco threw over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. He made it down half a flight before stopping dead. "Yokas?"
Ah, yes: why they'll never be partners again. I hate the distance between them, but it's never going to be the same as it was before her promotion.
Faith had gone back to watching the interrogation, her head cocked slightly as she listened for a hole in the suspect's alibi. "What?" she asked, sounding disinterested in whatever Bosco had to say.
"That chick is here." His tone was somewhere between alarmed and confused as he watched the blond approach the front desk. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he knew she was asking for Faith. There was no other reason for her to be at the station.
"What chick?" Faith knew she had missed something important in the interrogation when Jelly looked up at his side of the one-way and nodded slightly at her.
"The one you're not queer for."
"Queer for" is such a Bosco phrase, and I knew I had to use it here. This is possibly my favorite Bosco line I've ever written.
"Shit," Faith blurted out, spinning toward the steps so fast she became dizzy. The last time her personal life had visited her at work, Fred had served her with divorce papers. "How does she look?" Maybe Fred had been right about her needing to quit the job.
The feel of this thing was definitely "fuck," but "shit" would be the word that first came out of my mouth.
Bosco walked up a few steps. "She doesn't look like she's here for the good kind of girl-on-girl action, no," he answered, and Faith looked around to make sure no one had heard. "Did we have a fight?" He raised an eyebrow.
Faith bit her lip. "A misunderstanding, maybe, or a difference of opinion. I wouldn't call it a fight." Hearing Claire's footsteps as she climbed the stairs, Faith felt her heart rate increase. "Okay, yes, we had a fight. It was like the one you and I had, and I think maybe I was supposed to buy her a bagel. Or possibly something in a rainbow motif for myself."
That's my favorite paragraph in the story. It's fun to read aloud, and I like it when someone's speech just dissolves into this rambling that makes sense to no one but them and maybe the reader.
Bosco frowned, not quite following what she meant. "I'll be in here, trying not to overhear, so keep your voice down, would you?" he said, jerking his thumb toward the homicide office. He disappeared inside, closing the door partway.
Faith plastered a smile on her face that felt about as sincere as the smile the suspect had given to Jelly. "Hey," she said once Claire reached the top of the steps. "What's up?"
"I'm leaving," Claire said, "unless you give me a reason to stay."
I should have written that dialogue as two separate sentences, since that's how I hear it.
"Leaving?" Faith repeated. "You just--"
Claire didn't let her finish the joke, for which Faith was grateful. It sounded forced even to her own ears.
"I'm serious, Faith," Claire said, stepping toward Faith. "You can walk me downstairs and kiss me goodbye in front of your coworkers, or you can just watch me leave. I won't put myself through this, not after Audrey and Amy."
The question here is, "Is Claire being unreasonable?" She knows she's asking Faith for something she just can't do. Didn't Fred do that to Faith as well, asking her to quit being a cop? Faith just ends up with people who want too much of her. On the other hand, aren't these people right? Fred wanted her to be safe, for him and for the kids. Claire's right, too, in that she deserves better than the relationships she has had. She's mistaken in her actions, though, because Faith would definitely be better.
Faith narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare compare me to them. I'd never do that to you." Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper and she added, "I love you, Claire."
Ha! It's ironic in a sad way, because you can bet Audrey and Amy said they loved Claire, too, even as they were hurting her. There's no evidence that Amy loved Claire because I made her the hell up, but I think we could see in "Castles of Sand" that Audrey loved Claire, at least in the only way Audrey knew how--not that I'm condoning what Audrey did.
"Then you're going to follow me downstairs," she stated, knowing it was a lie. Seeing the expression Faith wore, Claire shook her head. Her voice became sad, almost wistful just as it had the night before. "Yeah, I didn't think so, either. I had to take the chance, though." She turned around walked toward the steps.
"Claire," Faith called, surprised by her belief that Claire would turn around. She knew Claire better than that, knew about the stubborn streak equal to hers. "Claire, please don't do this." As badly as she wanted Claire to stay, Faith's feet remained rooted to the floor. She couldn't follow Claire down the steps. "Damn it," Faith said to herself, feeling like she was choking on the words. She turned away from the steps and walked into her office.
Bosco was sitting at Faith's desk, a sympathetic look on his face that clashed with his cocky body language. His feet rested on a stack of reports and his hands were behind his head, his elbows pointing outward. "You can still go after her," he said softly, placing his feet on the floor and dropping his arms to his sides.
Faith shook her head and looked away. She licked her lips that had gone dry in the short walk to her office. "I can't give her what she wants."
"There's always next time," Bosco said, standing and walking toward her. He would have rested a hand on her arm if they were the kind of friends who did that. They weren't, so instead he kept walking toward the door. "You'll see her again," he said, his hand on the doorknob.
It's true. I'm sure she does.
"Yeah, but when? Two years or fifteen?" She glanced toward the ceiling, fighting the tears that were forming in her eyes. She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe I'll be ready in fifteen."
"Maybe you'll be ready in two. And maybe you'll be the one to find her."
"Maybe." Faith ran a hand across her face, wiping the wetness from her eyes. She nodded and smiled tightly. "That'd be nice."
In conclusion, let me say that I find it unlikely Faith will ever be ready. I'm crazy about her, but she just can't do the relationship thing. She's not flexible, and neither are the people she loves. She's destined to be miserable, because she's not going to be happy with someone, and she's not going to be happy alone. In this universe, the best she's going to do is running into Claire every once in a while and having a few days (or just hours, even) of intense happiness followed by a fight and then being alone. I'd like her to have a happy ending, but she won't cooperate.
:end: