Title: Third One Between Us
Author: Sarken (sarken@gmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All the characters are from Third Watch, which isn't mine. The title is from Vienna Teng's "Between," which also isn't mine.
Author's note: I tried and tried to write a birthday fic for Deb, but I just couldn't make it work in time. It's quite late, but I never forget promises that I made. Happy belated birthday, girl!
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I.
They haven't seen each other in over a year, and the first time they do, it's over dead bodies instead of drinks. They stare at each other across a maze of yellow crime scene tape until she breaks the silence. "Did you touch anything?" she asks, already knowing the answer.
Bosco has to think before he can answer; there are too many bodies and bullets. He hopes he's right when he answers, "Nope."
She looks at his feet, at the work boots he wears that are covered in New York grime. "You're standing in my blood." She smiles a little. It's far from the most inconvenience he's ever caused her.
His eyes turn to the wet pavement, the streetlights reflecting in blood and water. The toe of his shoe is just touching a puddle of blood. "Damn it." He remembers another time he stood in her blood. He watched it seep into the hotel room carpet for what felt like hours before he remembered to help her. He didn't think the blood would ever come off his hands. "These are new boots."
She raises an eyebrow. She's never known him to spend money on things other than fifty dollar, nickel plated handcuffs. "You bought new boots?" In twelve years, she can think of one time that he bought new boots. She supposes there's an argument to be made that he's about due.
Bosco shrugs. Bed-Stuy murders can get messy; he's used to the procedure that follows his big foot landing in some hotshot detective's blood. He just isn't used to what happens after he steps in Faith's blood.
II.
In her office, he leans back and sets his shoeless foot on her desk. His toes poke through his navy sock and Faith scrunches up her nose. "I see you didn't buy new socks."
He grins, wiggling his toes and placing his arms behind his head. His elbows stick out. "Nah. Why? You think I need to?"
"Yes." She takes a pen from a coffee mug that's pulling double duty as a pencil holder. The pen is shiny, silver, cost more than the mug, or so she suspects. John is the kind of guy who remembers to remove the price tag.
Her fingers cover the inscription on the pen and she uses it to guide his feet off the desk. "Not to mention your feet stink."
"And I'm sure yours don't." He looks over his shoulder, looking for someone who might be bringing his boot back. The hall is empty. "Where'd they take my shoe, anyway?"
"Venezuela, I think." She shrugs with her left shoulder and smiles with the same side of her mouth. "Relax, you'll get it back. I didn't tell anyone how bad you treated me. Except John, but bloody boots and careless cops aren't part of his job description, so you're good."
"John?" Bosco never knew Faith to call any of her coworkers by their first names.
"John Miller. My boyfr--my boss." She tosses the pen back into the cup and hopes the action hides her mistake.
"Your what?" He turns his head, angling his ear towards her. He knows what he heard.
"My boss." She picks a mechanical pencil up and scribbles a few letters on her calendar. The letters don't form words but they clearly say she doesn't want to talk about this.
"That's not what you were gonna say."
A young man walks in; he can't be more than twenty-five. "Excuse me, ma'am. And sir. Officer Boscorelli, here's your boot back, sir."
Bosco accepts the shoe and wonders if he was ever that young. He has no illusions that he ever said 'sir' that much. He doesn't dwell on it, just slides his foot into his boot as Faith thanks the officer and reminds him to lay off the ma'ams and the sirs.
"Drinks later?" he asks, standing and straightening his pants leg.
There are multiple victims with multiple gunshot wounds on the streets of Brooklyn tonight, but Faith knows how to curry favor with her boss. She'll get off in time. "Absolutely."
III.
"So," Faith says, hanging her purse and her jacket on the chair across from Bosco. She thinks about asking how he's been, how Bed-Stuy's been treating him, or some variation on that theme, but that isn't something they do.
Bosco looks up. He doesn't wait for her to get settled before he asks, "How long have you been--how long for you and Miller?" He doesn't know what comes after 'been,' if they're dating or sleeping together or what.
"About a year. We don't really keep track, you know?" It's a lie. John keeps perfect track, and this morning he gave her a pen for their anniversary. A shiny, silver pen with a story about NASA, Russia, zero gravity, and pencils. Months ago, she received an email debunking that myth.
Bosco lets out a low whistle. "That was one hell of an expensive pen to give to someone for no reason." The look in his eyes challenges her to accuse him of snooping. The thing was right in front of his face for forty-five minutes; he could quote the inscription by now. He'd just rather not.
"Yeah, well, I don't keep track." She swallows some of her drink and licks her lips.
"He doesn't mind? Hell, now I kind of want to date him."
They chuckle and a comfortable silence settles over their table until he speaks again. "So, what, you're not happy with him?"
"No, he's great." Her voice holds no conviction, no enthusiasm to enforce the meaning of her words. He is great, though: stable, attentive, a good father, a good lover. He's everything she's supposed to want, except a best friend. "I miss you."
IV.
There are no traces of Miller in her apartment. It's all Faith, except for Emily's issues of Seventeen resting on the couch. Bosco knocks them onto the floor and pushes Faith onto the couch, letting her pull him on top of her.
She unbuttons his shirt, gradually rising to her knees and pushing him into a similar position. Once his shirt lands on the floor, it's his turn to be on his back. "Don't you want to know what I gave John?" she asks as she unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans down.
Bosco has no idea why she wants to talk about Miller now, but he'll talk about anything she wants if it means she'll finish undressing him. He grabs the waistband of her pants and pulls her down on top of him. Her smiling lips are hovering above his mouth, and he can't help but smile too. "Tell me." He kisses her, grinding their lower bodies together.
She pulls her mouth away from his, but they're still close enough for their noses to touch. "I gave him a blowjob in his office," she brags.
"Detective!" Bosco pretends to be scandalized in order to cover the hurt. He doesn't care that she did it; he just didn't need or want to know. He watches her rise to her knees and he waits for her to tell him to get dressed and get lost because she's not like this, but instead she peels off her shirt.
"I gave him a blowjob on our anniversary so I could get out of work and meet you for drinks." She reaches around and unfastens her bra. It slides down her arms and lands on his chest. "Drinks," she clarifies, "and sex."
V.
The next morning, Faith is in the kitchen when Bosco wakes up. There are no awkward words when they first see each other; she just hands him a travel mug filled with overly sweetened coffee and points him toward the door. She holds the door open, her fingers curled around its edge as he leaves.
He stands in the corridor a moment, his back to Faith. He feels like he should say something, so he turns around. "Is that going to happen the next time I step in some blood at one of your crime scenes?"
Faith doesn't know the answer to that. "Will it happen the next time John and I have some sort of anniversary?"
He passes the coffee cup to his other hand. "Only if I need socks."
She laughs. She still doesn't know the answer, but she laughs anyway. "You always need socks."
"So it'll happen." He says it like it's a fact, like maybe she should have known the answer. "I gotta say, I'm all right with that."
"Yeah." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes; she's a little embarrassed she didn't pick up on the inevitability of this, of her and him. "So, I'll see you out there, I guess."
"And then I'll see you back in here."
She doesn't close the door until he's out of sight.
:end: