It's been exactly two years since Cruz died or blew herself off. Bosco was standing at her grave deep in thought. He tried to block out his memories of ordeal but they all came flooding back. First 55 precinct, then explosion in which she was killed. Not to mention everything that happened earlier. The situation got so messed up and complicated after Mikey's death. They haven't talked for months; he was blaming her for all horrific and evil things that happened. Later avoiding her or being cold was a defense mechanism or even maybe a little a payback. This way she couldn't hurt him anymore.
He was so blind in his anger and self-absorbed that he failed to notice that something was going on with her, something terribly bad. She was giving him unmistakable signs, pretty ominous but he hadn't recognized them. To be honest he didn't care about them at all then. And just typical of her she shut herself off and put on her mask " I am Sergeant Cruz, bitch from hell, don't come near me". She didn't want anybody to see her weakness, pain, vulnerability, a softer side of her. Thank God Santiago was pretty persistent and didn't get discouraged easily. He was there for her, backing her up and supporting when she needed it. He was the other person that quite often visited her grave and placed roses. He cared about her, Bosco knew that. That day when she went into the warehouse everything changed. She decided to sacrifice her life or maybe just to end it on her terms. She had nobody in her life so she devoted it to her work.
"Wish the things had gone other way between us."- he thought. Maybe we were not meant to be together but we could be friends or care about each other or offer support . She was determined to do what she intended and it was really stupid not to guess what she was about to do. Well, it could have been another one of her revenges or cases like Noble. Maybe I guessed but didn't really believe. "She is a fighter, she would surely find another way." - I thought. When the building went off I was dumbfounded. When I called back- up some part of me wanted to believe that she wasn't dead, that she threw the grenade and managed to escape somehow. Then it hit me pretty hard that I underestimated her. Her inner strength and continuous will to fight. For me it was something that pushed her to catch criminals, put them in jail and protect others, making her a devoted cop. But it also allowed her to sacrifice herself in order to save many other cops' lives.
And then that kiss. It was a goodbye. The last, bittersweet memory of her. It couldn't have put the things between us straight. There has been too much. There were things that were lost and couldn't be regained or we hadn't tried enough hard. But this kiss meant so much. It was her way to express what she felt. She showed me that she was sorry, she trusted me and cared about me. She would have never told me about her feelings, she wasn't that type of girl. Or so I thought.
I didn't notice that she left something for me in our car. She slipped it into the compartment in the doors. I found it when I got back to the station or the remains of our house, when everything was over. It was a small red book. I didn't have courage to open it so I took it with me.
After many hours of repeating what had happened and why they let me go home. I didn't really want to go there. Alone with my thoughts I would have to face what happened and come to terms with it. But I still couldn't accept truth. It was too irrevocable.
Gathering some strength I opened that book and saw her handwriting. It was her diary. She left it to help me understand. She wrote about her childhood memories, growing up, academy, work, our relationship. She was so similar to me, lonely, desperately wanting somebody to care about her, vulnerable, broken inside. I never suspected the feelings she wrote about.
Few months later I had a dream about us and strangely it wasn't a nightmare. It was somehow peaceful and pleasant. Maybe a little far-fetched. We were married and she was pregnant. We were both happy and satisfied, it looked a bit like happily-ever-after in some cheap soap operas. I don't think it would ever happen but she, we were not given a chance. With her death everything is finished, lost and can't be regained no matter how hard I would try to.
Pondering his last thought Bosco put a single white rose and went away.
