Title: Breathing
Series: Just Breathe
Author: Joani
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler: 'Closing In' (aired Apr. 21, 2003)
Disclaimer: The author (having tried all sarcastic avenues to express this)
does not own Third Watch, the ideas of Third Watch, or the characters of
Third Watch. But don't tell her that, you might break her.
***
Faith closed the door in his face and took in a deep breath. Leaned her forehead against the door and let it out. Just breathe, she reminded herself.
Behind her, Fred moved away from the wall, gave her shoulder a pat and went into the kitchen.
She had done it. She had gotten rid of Bosco, washed her hands of him, told him never to darken her doorstep again.
It should feel liberating, Faith thought. But she just felt three thousand different kinds of crap right now.
It wasn't that she had told him to go away.
Nor was it that she had told someone to fix his own problems - if there were an accounting of how many people she wished would go do that, then she would have the gold medal.
Faith heard Fred rustling around in the kitchen, the clink of two cups being set on the counter, the filling of the kettle, the placing of it carefully onto the heating coil.
He was going to give her tea and sympathy, she realized. Fred was going to pat her on the shoulder and let her cry it out. Let her justify how he felt about Bosco. Tell her that she had done the right thing.
That wasn't right, Faith suddenly thought, and felt disgusted with herself. She had turned down a friend, no matter how much of an asshole he could be, a friend who had quite clearly asked for her help. A friend who had held her through thick and thin.
She felt her skin crawling, and thought her heart and her mind were crawling with it. What kind of heartless person was she? What kind of cop?
Straightening her shoulders, Faith opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She should hear him out.
The hallway, however, was empty. No wry, sarcastic little twist-of-the-lips that wasn't quite a smile, no desperate need in his eyes that she had seen before she had shut the door.
Bosco was gone.
Wouldn't that figure? she thought to herself. A sense of disappointment overlapped the feeling of shame, one sickening oily feeling over another.
But she'd see him at work tomorrow, right? Right, she told herself. She'd always see him tomorrow. She could listen to him and his problems then.
Faith closed the door in his face and took in a deep breath. Leaned her forehead against the door and let it out. Just breathe, she reminded herself.
Behind her, Fred moved away from the wall, gave her shoulder a pat and went into the kitchen.
She had done it. She had gotten rid of Bosco, washed her hands of him, told him never to darken her doorstep again.
It should feel liberating, Faith thought. But she just felt three thousand different kinds of crap right now.
It wasn't that she had told him to go away.
Nor was it that she had told someone to fix his own problems - if there were an accounting of how many people she wished would go do that, then she would have the gold medal.
Faith heard Fred rustling around in the kitchen, the clink of two cups being set on the counter, the filling of the kettle, the placing of it carefully onto the heating coil.
He was going to give her tea and sympathy, she realized. Fred was going to pat her on the shoulder and let her cry it out. Let her justify how he felt about Bosco. Tell her that she had done the right thing.
That wasn't right, Faith suddenly thought, and felt disgusted with herself. She had turned down a friend, no matter how much of an asshole he could be, a friend who had quite clearly asked for her help. A friend who had held her through thick and thin.
She felt her skin crawling, and thought her heart and her mind were crawling with it. What kind of heartless person was she? What kind of cop?
Straightening her shoulders, Faith opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She should hear him out.
The hallway, however, was empty. No wry, sarcastic little twist-of-the-lips that wasn't quite a smile, no desperate need in his eyes that she had seen before she had shut the door.
Bosco was gone.
Wouldn't that figure? she thought to herself. A sense of disappointment overlapped the feeling of shame, one sickening oily feeling over another.
But she'd see him at work tomorrow, right? Right, she told herself. She'd always see him tomorrow. She could listen to him and his problems then.