The Waterfront

"You ever think about having a baby?"

Stivers sipped her vodka, enjoying the sharp warmth in her belly after a day spent out in the cold rain. She and Laura Ballard were sharing a drink and unwinding after a tough abduction case had gone down with a happy ending. Stivers turned slightly in her stool to answer Ballard'squestion, "I've never wanted children."

Stivers was prepared for the look of disbelief on the younger woman'sface. She'd seen that reaction before.

"Are you kidding me?" Ballard half-smiled in puzzlement.

Stivers sighed, "Why does everybody say that?"

Rolling her eyes, Ballard turned on the sarcasm, "I don't know...maybe because you have to? Everybody wants a baby!" At least, thought Ballard,everybody thinks everybody wants a baby.

Stivers was in no mood to get into this, especially not with SuzyCreamcheese here.

"Yeah, like Sandy Reynolds, right? She wanted to be a mom so much she stole a child." Stivers had long believed that baby-madness should be treated as a mental illness. Today's case seemed to prove her point.

Ballard swirled the vodka in her glass. She was taken aback by Stivers' vehemence. Wishing she'd never brought the subject up, Ballard pressed on, "Well, I guess it's just hormonal. It's an animal-drive thing."Ballard remembered her sister spouting this argument convincingly,albeit in different circumstances.

Stivers shook her head in disgust, "A ticking clock. Baby lust. I'venever felt it."

"Wow." Ballard was in awe of the older detective's self-assurance, "I feel like I've spent my whole life wanting things I can't have..." (shut up, Laura, this is dangerous territory). "Like a man who will love me unconditionally, " she added hastily, "A baby. Hair that doesn't frizz in the rain."

Both women laughed a little. Stivers' gaze passed appreciatively over Ballard's tousled dark hair as she touched her own cropped curls. Whatwas it about this west coast nut? Today, she suddenly decides we need to spend social time together and all she wants to talk about is husbands and babies. This was why Stivers didn't have women friends. If they were single, they talked about marriage. If they were married, they talked about babies.

Bored, Stivers stared past Ballard at the crowd of beat cops that had entered the busy bar. Stivers caught Ballard searching her face with an odd intensity. She wondered if she'd said too much, let her guard down without realizing it. All Stivers needed was to have Ballard telling Falsone about her 'unfeminine' proclivities.

Forcing herself to adopt a lighter tone, and hoping to hell she didn'tsound as false as she felt, Stivers picked up the thread, "Not that Iwouldn't be open to marriage, you know, if the right man ever camealong. Or the right baby." Stivers grinned into her drink at the thoughtand declared, "I just don't crave it, you know? I'm happy. I don't have any unfulfilled longings." Well, maybe just one Stivers thought, looking away from Ballard's full lips and smoky eyes.

Taking in the play of emotion on the small, earnest face so near herown, Ballard sighed, not sure if she was envious or relieved, "You'relucky."

Stivers stared into her glass and murmured, "I don't know about that."

The women were silent for a few moments, each caught in her own thoughtsof desire, longing, and sacrifice. The noise of the bar washed aroundthem.

"Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish Ladies...Farewell and adieu, youLadies of Spain..."

The beat cops at the other end of the bar had launched into a tunelessrendition of the cop-drinking standard, effectively drowning out the Rand B oldies on the jukebox.

Ballard looked at the petite, wiry woman next to her. Stivers could besuch a smartass and tough as proverbial nails. Then, every once inawhile, you'd catch a glimpse of her vulnerability. Like how she lookednow, alone in the boisterous crowd. Ballard felt a familiar ache in aplace she thought had healed. Damn Falsone for not joining them andmaking this get together a safe one. Ballard wanted to reach out toStivers. Take her hand. Comfort her. Hug her. But the distance betweenthem was too great, and fraught with personal and professional perils.

They were the only two women in the Homicide unit, but they'd neverreally clicked. Stivers' tightly controlled demeanor contrasted sharplywith Ballard's easy manner and almost bubbly personality. Aside from afew Ladies room confidences, they'd never really talked. To be fair,Stivers didn't exactly encourage intimacy and Ballard hadn't made muchof an effort with her. Ballard's instincts told her that this was onecolleague to keep at arm's length...so why had she set herself up likethis tonight?

Stivers felt Ballard's eyes on her again, but refused to look up fromher drink. She fucking hated having to explain herself to other women.Why was Ballard suddenly so interested in Stivers' life story? What wasshe supposed to do? Lie? Get all gooey over some kid? That was NOTTeresa Stivers, thank you very much. Hell, she had to lie about so muchelse in her life, surely she should be allowed some truthfulness in thisone area without being thought a freak.

Truthfulness. That was a laugh. Hadn't she just backpedalled with allthat 'Mr. Right' bullshit? The 'right' man. Hell, the 'only' man hadcome and gone. Meldrick Lewis had been unhappily married when Stiversmet and fell in love with him. From that first moment when he'd bargedinto her office shouting, "Where's Terry Stivers? I'm gon' smack 'im",Stivers had known that the lanky, rakish detective was the only manshe'd ever want. They'd shared cocktails, longing glances, and a desireto nail Luther Mahoney's criminal ass. But honorable Meldrick wouldn'tbetray his wife. Now the marriage was all but over and a wedge of liesover the Mahoney shooting had driven Lewis and Stivers apart.

So where did that leave Stivers? Unable to be with the only man she'dever cared about an unwilling to become the subject of gossip by owningup to her true desires. Happy and fulfilled. Sure. And that's why, onthis Friday night she was at a cop bar, trading half-intimacies withthis cute flake from Seattle.

The silence between the two women lengthened and grew uncomfortable.Ballard tried to break the tension by uttering a small chuckle.

"What?" Stivers turned sharply toward the other woman, "I'm some kind ofmutant because I don't feel the need to breed?"

Ballard smiled mischieviously, "No, it's not that. I was just trying topicture you in a white chiffon dress and veil."

Stivers looked down at her baggy khakis and scuffed brown boots, thenthrew her head back and laughed, exposing the creamy cafe-au-lait skinof her throat. Ballard felt a shivery thrill at the sight of thisnormally intense woman laughing with abandon.

Stivers glanced at Ballard, noting the amusement, and something deeperin the other woman's eyes. Stivers decided to do some needling of herown. Leaning toward Ballard, she whispered teasingly, "Geez, a coupleof dates with Falsone and you've got bridesmaids on the brain!"

Now it was Ballard's turn to laugh as the beginnings of a blush turnedher olive skin the colour of a ripe peach.

"Please," she coughed, "I've had dinner with the guy a few times. It'snot exactly a life committment!"

"I don't know," Stivers grinned wickedly, "Paul's always talking abouthis kid, and now you're having an, um, hormonal crisis. I am adetective, you know. What am I supposed to think?"

Ballard drained her glass and set it deliberately on the bar, "Let's getone thing, um, straight, Stivers. Paul Falsone and I will never beanything more than friends. Let's just say he's not my type."

Stivers was enjoying herself now and couldn't resist taking the bait,"So Laura, tell me...what is your type?"

As the bar had filled up, the women had been forced closer together.Ballard was all too aware of the pleasant pressure of Stivers' thighresting against her knees. She could feel heat emanating from the tinywoman who now fixed her with a provocative stare.

Ballard stared back, unflinching, and licked her lips, "Well," she beganin a low voice, "I like dark hair and eyes, someone who's strong andsexy, someone who can make me laugh..."

"Aha!" Stivers broke in, "I knew it, you've got the hots for Munch!"

The women collapsed in a spasm of giggles. It felt so good to laugh likethat with a woman again. Their mirth drew the attention of the bartenderon duty. John Munch strode toward the laughing women and glared at themwith arms folded across his chest, "I feel that I should point out toyou ladies that this is a cop bar. There is to be no giggling of anykind, even if it is girls' night out. If you two can't be miserable likethe rest of us, you'll have to take it outside."

The sudden appearance of the source of their mirth sent the women togreater heights of giddiness. Gasping for breath and wiping a tear,Stivers recovered first, "Sorry Munch, we'll try to behave ourselves."The look of puzzlement on the seasoned detective's face was enough tostart Stivers off again.

This time Ballard was able to regain some composure. Leaning close toStivers to be heard over the increasing din, Ballard put her mouth nearStivers' ear and whispered, "Maybe we should get out of here. I can'thear myself think and if Munch says another word, I'm gonna wet myself!"

Stivers nodded her agreement, trying to ignore the quickening she feltwith Ballard's warm breath on her cheek. Tossing some money on the bar,the women threaded their way to the door. As they stepped out into thedamp night, they could hear Munch calling, "Hey, I didn't mean it! Whatwas so funny?"

Outside The Waterfront

The ocean breeze whipping across Thames Street dissipated some of theintimate giddiness Stivers and Ballard had felt inside the Waterfront.It was time to make a decision. Head down, Ballard fumbled with thebuttons on her leather coat, "So, where to now?" She asked with anonchalance she didn't feel.

"Well, it is a Friday night," Stivers thrust her hands into her pantspockets, "Most of the places around here are going to be pretty packed."Stivers hesitated for just a second, "Listen, I live just around thecorner. I've got some Absolut in the freezer and cold chicken in thefridge. You hungry?"

Ballard's eyes remained fixed on her coat buttons. Her heart waspounding. Surely Stivers could hear it.

"Uh, hello? Paging Detective Ballard?" Stivers stepped close to theother woman and cocked her head so she could see Ballard's face. Ballardraised her head and looked away.

"Is there a problem?" Stivers asked, "What, you prefer Stoly?"

Ballard was forced to smile, "Actually, I'm a Smirnoff gal, but I havebeen known to slum it."

Stivers grinned and tugged Ballard's sleeve, "Well, c'mon then. Let'sget inside before our tits fall off in this wind."

A brisk five-minute walk brought them to Stivers' tiny, renovatedrowhouse. Ballard looked around in undisguised astonishment as Stiverskicked off her boots and snapped on the stereo. The dark velvet voice ofTracy Chapman filled the small room.

This was not what Ballard had expected. Thinking of her own sterileinteriors, Ballard drank in the dark green walls accented byhighly-polished honey coloured parquet. Bookshelves lined one wall witha large fireplace standing opposite. The furniture, while not antique,had a well-preserved, though lived-in look. It was like the smoking roomof a gentlemens' club.

Stivers returned from a foray to the kitchen with glasses, ice, and afrosted bottle of vodka. She noticed that Ballard hadn't moved, "What,you were expecting a dungeon?"

"It's just so homey and cozy. That wing chair could have come out of mygrandfather's study."

Stivers laughed, "Where do you think I got it?" She put the drinks on anold steamer trunk that she used as a coffee table and took Ballard'sproffered coat, "You know it ain't just suburban white chicks gotgrampas."

Ballard took another look around the room and sat in the leather wingchair near the fireplace, "Okay, who are you and what have you done withDetective 'Kick Ass' Stivers?

Stivers smiled, handed her guest a glass of vodka, then settled on thefootstool in front of the wing chair. She always enjoyed her guests'reactions when they first walked in. Raised by her grandparents, thiswas the only kind of home Stivers could imagine living in. She workedhard to create this safe sanctuary, where the ugly realities of her jobcouldn't touch her.

Stivers turned and set a match to the kindling and firewood waiting inthe grate. Might as well max out on the coziness.

"It's not that mysterious really. My parents died when I was three and Ilived with my grandparents in Baltimore County. Most of this stuff wastheirs. When they died, a developer offered me a bundle for their oldhouse. I took it and bought this place before the neighbourhood wentyuppie. And, well..this is it," she finished lamely.

The fire was snapping nicely now. She turned back toward Ballard andsipped her vodka.

"It's beautiful, Terri, really. I'm sorry for being so shocked. Theplace really suits you. I guess I'm just jealous. Compared to this, myapartment is a dive."

"Apology accepted," Stivers grinned, "So, now where were we before Munchthrew us out?"

Ballard decided it was time to turn the tables a bit, "You were fixingme up with the erudite Mr. Munch, and I was about to ask if the rumoursabout you were true."

Stivers looked up sharply, "Rumours? What rumours?" She looked a littlepanicky. Ballard realized she must have touched a nerve and could guessthe reason for it.

"Relax, Terri, we're not in the Box. I just wanted to know if it's true,what they say about you and Lewis."

For a sickening moment, Stivers was convinced that Ballard knew it all,that she'd somehow figured out the truth about the Mahoney shooting.

"So?" Ballard pressed, "Tell me, are you two an item or what?" Ballardwas puzzled by what looked like relief in the older woman's eyes, buther detective's instincts were dulled by alcohol and a familiar tinglein her stomach.

Recovering quickly, Stivers put the teasing quality back in her voice,"Don't be ridiculous, Detective. Meldrick Lewis is a marriedman...well, sort of."

"And...?" Ballard prompted.

"And nothing. We worked together," Stivers smirked, "Besides, he's not'my' type." Stivers took another sip of her drink and searched for somereaction on Ballard's face. Could the woman take a hint? Stiverscouldn't read the emotion in Ballard's eyes as the younger woman staredinto the fire. Stivers was surprised at her own boldness and the levelof comfort she was feeling with this woman. Except for the little startover Meldrick, Stivers was enjoying herself. She hadn't felt this safewith anyone in years. She sensed that Ballard was risking a lot byopening up to her. Somehow, it made Stivers feel safe to know thatsomeone else shared the danger she felt every day.

Ballard watched the flames dancing and resisted the urge to get as faraway from Terri Stivers as she could. What was she doing here? How hadshe managed to manipulate herself into exactly the position she'd beenavoiding. How was she going to get herself out of it this time? It wasalmost funny. Ballard smirked a little and took a sip of vodka.

Both women were surprised when Ballard let out a yelp of laughter.Before long, she was doubled over in the chair, shaking with laughterand struggling for control.

Stivers was getting annoyed. This was one flaky white chick. What couldshe possibly find so amusing now? How much had she had to drink, anyway?Ballard managed to stop laughing long enough to notice the beginnings ofhurt in the other woman's expression.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm not laughing at you! No. God, no! I'm laughing at me.At the irony of it all." Ballard re-filled her glass as Stivers' woundedlook changed to puzzlement.

"Okay, Laura. You've got my attention. Now what in hell are you talkingabout?"

With a sigh, Ballard took a deep pull on her vodka, and set the glassdown.

"Alright, it's like this..it's ironic that I travelled thousands ofmiles across the country, left my job, my family, my whole life to getaway from something. And now that something is sitting right in front ofme. That, Terri Stivers, is what's so funny."

Understanding dawned on the other woman's face, "I get it. So the fiancein Seattle was..."

"A woman." Ballard nodded.

"And that Mr. Right and motherhood stuff was..."

"Me, trying like hell to deny who I am...and not doing a very good jobof it, I might add."

"Well," Stivers smiled, "I don't think any of the guys would have pickedup on it. Hell, you had me fooled, and you'd think it would take one toknow one."

"Terri Stivers, master detective."

"Uh huh. So tell me, What really happened? Why'd you leave Seattle? Wasshe a cop too?"

Ballard nodded, "It's a long story and I don't come out too well in theend." Ballard's voice turned bitter. Stivers responded to the otherwoman's obvious distress by placing her hand over one of Ballard's.

"It's okay, Laura. I won't be telling anyone your secrets." Somethinglike electricity turned the friendly gesture into a demand.

Ballard fixed Stivers with a penetrating stare and leaned forward in herchair, "But you see, Detective, it's not okay," her voice becamehusky,"because I'm right back where I started, in an affair with anothercop." Ballard slid her free hand around the back of Stivers' head andpulled the darker woman toward her for the kiss she'd been craving formonths.

Stivers' lips were unresponsive. She was stunned by the other woman'sboldness. That was usually her move. Ballard's fingers in her hair anddemanding lips on her own snapped Stivers out of her initial shock.Parting her lips, Stivers tongue darted out to probe Ballard's mouth.She was so soft, but with a strength and determination that sent a thrilof desire from Stivers' lips straight to her clitoris.

Ballard was beyond caring about cops, convenions, or even conscience asshe took Stivers' tongue in her mouth. Ballard moaned as the tip ofStivers' tongue traced the roof of her mouth. Stivers tasted like warmhoney, with a bitter trace of vodka.

Ballard pulled Stivers closer, aching to feel the other woman's bodynext to hers. Needing that intimacy she'd denied herself for so long.

Stivers wanted Ballard. Badly. But she needed to feel a measure ofcontrol in this situation. She would decide how to proceed. Stiversbroke the kiss, panting, "Not so fast, missy...not so fast."

Stivers stood up and pushed Ballard's shoulders back into the leather ofthe wing chair. Still standing, she straddled the seated woman's legs,leaning her hands on the arms of the wing chair.

"Now you just listen to me, Detective," Stivers' voice dropped to aharsh whisper, "you will sit here, with your hands folded in your lapand you will not move until I tell you to. Got it?"

Ballard whimpered slightly, but nodded.

"Say it, Ballard. Say, 'Yes, Detective Stivers.'" Ballard met thechallenge in Stivers' dark eyes.

"Yes. Detective Stivers." Ballard folded her hands in her lap andwatched as Stivers straightened up. Keeping Ballard's knees clampedfirmly between her own, Stivers began swaying gently to the bluesy riftof Tracy Chapman's 'Give Me One Reason'. Slowly, Stivers slid her handsup over her chest and began to unbutton her rust-coloured shirt.

Ballard sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip as the shirt parted toreveal the warm brown skin of Stivers' chest contrasting with thewhiteness of a lacy bra. This woman, who exuded toughness, from heraggressivlely shorn hair to her scuffed Doc Martin boots should, in areasonable world, be wearing a Fruit of the Loom undershirt, or maybe asports bra. The sight of butch little Terri Stivers in this wildlyfeminine, utterly pristine garment was too much for Ballard. With asmall moan, she began to squirm in the big chair as she felt herselftwitch and grow wetter.

Stivers increased the pressure on Ballard's legs and admonished her, "Nowiggling, Ballard...don't make me tell you again."

Ballard tried to say 'Yes, Detective', but her throat was dry and nosound would come out. It was as if all of her body's moisture hadcollected in that burning, throbbing place between her legs. The wool ofher long skirt trapped the heat there as the pressure of Stivers'muscular legs squeezed Ballard's thighs together.Her muscles began to twitch and contract, the confinement, andrestriction on her movement becoming almost unbearable.

Stivers had begun to touch herself. Still swaying to the music, shemoved her hands over her belly, down inside the waistband of hertrousers, and back up over her small, rounded breasts. With one hand,she stroked Ballard's face, running her fingers along the other woman'sjawline and allowing two fingers to slip into Ballard's mouth. Theyounger woman sucked hard on the fingers, teasing their sensitive tipswith her tongue.

Stivers pulled her fingers out of Ballard's mouth and slid them underthe fabric of her bra, further hardening her small nipples with thewetness rom Ballard's mouth.

A low moan escaped from Ballard's lips as her eyes pleaded with Stiversfor some release. Stivers smiled wickedly and leaned forward, drivingBallard mad with the change in pressure on her thighs. Stivers pushedher breasts together, inches from Ballard's mouth. Unable to hold back,Ballard moved forward to bury her face between Stivers' breasts. At thelast second, Stivers pulled back with a mocking chuckle, "I'm reallygonna have to teach you some patience, girl.'

Ballard bit her lip and contracted her pelvic muscles. Her engorgedclitoris throbbed almost painfully as her hands gripped each otherconvulsively in her lap.

Relenting a little, and beginning to lose control herself, Stiversleaned in to capture Ballard's deep red, swollen-looking lips. Shepulled herself on to the chair, now kneeling, straddling Ballard'sthighs. Stivers pressed herself downward, her crotch making contact withBallard's clenched hands. The contact sent a shudder through Stivers'body. Feeling her lover's response, Ballard thrust upward with her hips,grinding herself against her own hands, as they ground into Stivers'vulva.

Ballard felt the tingling waves first as Stivers, gripping the wings ofthe leather chair, thrust her tongue deep into Ballard's mouth. Ballardsucked voraciously on Stivers' tongue as the women rocked against eachother with increasing urgency.

Every nerve taut and unable to hold back a second longer, Ballard threwher head back with a gutteral cry as the spasms tore though her body.Stivers buried her face in Ballard's sinuous neck and sucked on theglowing flesh of her throat as she rode the crest of her lover's releaseto her own shattering climax.

The contractions slowed as the women slumped against each other in thewarmth of the leather chair. Stivers listened to Ballard's raggedbreaths, feeling the rise and fall of the woman's chest against hercheek.

"Laura, oh shit, Laura, what did we do tonight?" Stivers leaned back tolook at Ballard's flushed face. Ballard smiled and placed a gentle kisson her lover's bruised lips.

"Well, I'll tell you, Stivers, we sure as hell didn't find Mr. Right."

"No, I guess not," Stivers grinned, "But I think we've brought newmeaning to the phrase, 'girls' night out."