Disclaimer: I don't own Third Watch. I'm just borrowing the characters for
awhile. I'm making no money out of this. Wish I was though J
Author's note: This is my first Third Watch fanfic so please be gentle. I
appreciate constructive criticisms but don't be nasty.
Summary: Faith contemplates her relationship with Bosco.
CONTEMPLATIONS
Sitting here in the car on this hot, sticky July afternoon. Everyone must be feeling the heat because things seem to have slowed right down. The windows are rolled right down in futile hope of catching the faintest of breezes as we drive along. My uniform shirt is plastered to my back. I'm feeling uncomfortable and grumpy. I look over at you. How do you always managed to look so relaxed and cool?
It feels as if we've been driving around in circles. I can't believe how quiet it is. I know that you're impatient for something to happen. You always love to be in the thick of things, which isn't necessarily a good thing. It's a wonder you haven't worn out your guardian angel. Sometimes I get so scared for you. I'm frightened for the day that you won't just get up and walk away. I can't imagine working with anyone else, though I'm sure that I would have far less stress. You drive me nuts at times. There have been moments when I could quite cheerfully strangle you! You can be rude and insensitive. Minority groups probably have your picture on the door to throw darts at. But, you're not a hopeless case. I've seen your gentler side. You don't show it often, but I know it's there. Not that you'd ever admit to it.
You pull up outside a diner. I look at you in question. "Might as well take a break," you say. "Nothing's happening around here." "Fine with me," I reply. I'll be glad to get out of this car. I hope the store has air-conditioning. We call in that we're taking a break, and enter the small diner. It's about half-full. We take seats at an empty table. The waitress comes to take our order. I'm not really hungry. The heat's taken my appetite. Hasn't done anything to yours. How can you eat so much and never put on weight?
The meals arrive and we eat in silence. It's one of those comfortable silences you get with close friends. I guess you'd be my best friend. More than a best friend though. Kind of hard to really explain. I trust you with my life, as you trust me with yours.
You push your empty plate away. I've barely touched mine. You look at my plate. "How come you're not eating? You sick or something?" I shake my head. "Just not hungry. It's the heat. Do you want it/" You snort in disgust. "I'm not eating rabbit food," you say, grimacing at my salad. I grin in reply.
You have ketchup on your chin. I moisten a corner of my napkin with saliva and rub at the spot. You try to draw back so I take hold of your chin. "There, all done," I tell you. You rub at your chin, screwing up your face. "Gee Mom, thanks," you say sarcastically. I swear it's almost like having a third child at times. It's not just the ketchup thing either. I've lost track of the number of times I've had to save your ass. Not so much on the streets, but from the brass. Don't get me wrong; I don't begrudge it at all. It's just that sometimes I wish you'd think before you act. Others wonder how I manage to put up with you. Frankly, I have no idea. I think we've just gotten used to each other over the years. It hasn't always been easy though. We've had our rocky patches. I know you were hurt I didn't tell you about my cancer. I guess it was because I didn't want you to worry, feel you had to protect me. I just wanted to work and try to forget about it for a while. I didn't want you to think I could let you down. But in the end I did, isn't that ironic. I didn't tell you because I wanted you to have confidence in me, but because I didn't tell you, I nearly got you killed.
"I suppose we should get back to it," I sigh. I'm not looking forward to going back out into the heat. I reach into my pocket for the cash to pay for my meal. You toss some notes onto the table. "I'll get it this time," you say. "Thanks," I say, surprised. It is a rare occurrence for you to pay for two meals. You shrug. "Come on, let's get outta here." The sunlight is bright. It blinds us after the dimness of the diner. "I'm still driving," you say. I just smile. Some things never change.
CONTEMPLATIONS
Sitting here in the car on this hot, sticky July afternoon. Everyone must be feeling the heat because things seem to have slowed right down. The windows are rolled right down in futile hope of catching the faintest of breezes as we drive along. My uniform shirt is plastered to my back. I'm feeling uncomfortable and grumpy. I look over at you. How do you always managed to look so relaxed and cool?
It feels as if we've been driving around in circles. I can't believe how quiet it is. I know that you're impatient for something to happen. You always love to be in the thick of things, which isn't necessarily a good thing. It's a wonder you haven't worn out your guardian angel. Sometimes I get so scared for you. I'm frightened for the day that you won't just get up and walk away. I can't imagine working with anyone else, though I'm sure that I would have far less stress. You drive me nuts at times. There have been moments when I could quite cheerfully strangle you! You can be rude and insensitive. Minority groups probably have your picture on the door to throw darts at. But, you're not a hopeless case. I've seen your gentler side. You don't show it often, but I know it's there. Not that you'd ever admit to it.
You pull up outside a diner. I look at you in question. "Might as well take a break," you say. "Nothing's happening around here." "Fine with me," I reply. I'll be glad to get out of this car. I hope the store has air-conditioning. We call in that we're taking a break, and enter the small diner. It's about half-full. We take seats at an empty table. The waitress comes to take our order. I'm not really hungry. The heat's taken my appetite. Hasn't done anything to yours. How can you eat so much and never put on weight?
The meals arrive and we eat in silence. It's one of those comfortable silences you get with close friends. I guess you'd be my best friend. More than a best friend though. Kind of hard to really explain. I trust you with my life, as you trust me with yours.
You push your empty plate away. I've barely touched mine. You look at my plate. "How come you're not eating? You sick or something?" I shake my head. "Just not hungry. It's the heat. Do you want it/" You snort in disgust. "I'm not eating rabbit food," you say, grimacing at my salad. I grin in reply.
You have ketchup on your chin. I moisten a corner of my napkin with saliva and rub at the spot. You try to draw back so I take hold of your chin. "There, all done," I tell you. You rub at your chin, screwing up your face. "Gee Mom, thanks," you say sarcastically. I swear it's almost like having a third child at times. It's not just the ketchup thing either. I've lost track of the number of times I've had to save your ass. Not so much on the streets, but from the brass. Don't get me wrong; I don't begrudge it at all. It's just that sometimes I wish you'd think before you act. Others wonder how I manage to put up with you. Frankly, I have no idea. I think we've just gotten used to each other over the years. It hasn't always been easy though. We've had our rocky patches. I know you were hurt I didn't tell you about my cancer. I guess it was because I didn't want you to worry, feel you had to protect me. I just wanted to work and try to forget about it for a while. I didn't want you to think I could let you down. But in the end I did, isn't that ironic. I didn't tell you because I wanted you to have confidence in me, but because I didn't tell you, I nearly got you killed.
"I suppose we should get back to it," I sigh. I'm not looking forward to going back out into the heat. I reach into my pocket for the cash to pay for my meal. You toss some notes onto the table. "I'll get it this time," you say. "Thanks," I say, surprised. It is a rare occurrence for you to pay for two meals. You shrug. "Come on, let's get outta here." The sunlight is bright. It blinds us after the dimness of the diner. "I'm still driving," you say. I just smile. Some things never change.