Funny how things change on the other side of the big "D"…

There are all these big adjustments to make - like learning how to be a single again, making ends meet on less money, residing in a smaller space, cooking for one… Stuff that didn't matter before suddenly becomes a lot more important.

And then there are the little changes. Like that image he uses as a background for his cell phone. It used to be a picture of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model; before that it was a news photo of the scoreboard from that awesome Knicks game he had attended with some buddies years before…

Now? It's the latest school picture of his son. The child whose very existence HR has been using as a club to beat him into toeing their line. He stares at the phone. He doesn't see the boy near as much as he'd like to. Probably his fault - just like the divorce.

After she dumped him, he'd resisted the inevitable, flapping back and forth, like a fish on a deck. Getting booted out of his own house was bad enough, but having to stand there helpless, while that door was being slammed in his face, shutting him off from his kid...that was the real kick to the head! Then the court papers were served and it was more than just the closing of a door; it was the turning of a lock to which he no longer had a key, literally and figuratively.

The stench of failure shouldn't still depress him, but it does…all the time.

But, he's trying much harder these days to be a better dad, having missed the opportunity to be a good husband. Not that it makes much difference to his ex-wife; she still hates his guts. She'd always been fairly certain life is a colorful fashion show, whereas with the kind of experiences he brought home from the job? Only shades of gray make up his existence.

Well, cry me a river…so what else is new?

"Everything OK, Fusco?"

Oh, right. Wonder Boy is giving orders again. Something about sending him a photo of their latest charity case. He hopes Carter has been listening 'cause he sure hasn't…

"Yeah. Must be something I ate…" he replies, though not at all sure Mr. Happy is buying it. The guy is like a mind reader. Carter has a word for that but he can't remember what it is. Omni…something. But whatever, the Suit always seems to know what's going on, which rock to turn over on a hunt.

"When's the last time you saw your pal Simmons?" Reese asks.

Simmons. The bastard who keeps threatening him. But given all that's gone down with HR lately, it's not something he's willing to share. So he does something he didn't think he'd ever have the guts to do.

He lies to Mr. Deadly…

"Ah…we haven't talked since the last time I shot at him saving your ass!"

He hopes his poker face is in place and working. After all, how can he confess to this vigilante that he desperately wants out of that dirty cop club. That Simmons is using the carrot and stick approach, promising him in exchange for helping HR one more time, he'll be free from their clutches.

"Just do this one thing for us Lionel, and then if you want out, you're out."

That's the carrot. And the stick? If he doesn't help them, Lee will be told all about his Dad's dirty past. And so will his ex-wife. With the anger she still harbors for him, it would be good-bye visitation rights…he'd never see his boy again!

He's never embraced the culture of that sewer pit organization, never really wanted to be part of it from the beginning. He's hinted often enough, in fact, flat out told the ex-agent that he enjoyed being a good cop again. And in return for that confession? Wonder Boy destroyed the only evidence that could have let him be a hero for once!

Not only that, he was forced to cover up a murder, one he didn't even commit - though to be fair, it was done in the process of saving his ass. But it also forced him to sink even more deeply into that unholy quagmire of crooked cops. He'd had to ask HR for help in the cover-up, thereby giving away a piece of that integrity he'd worked so hard to nurture, to grow.

No, his current problem is not something he'll admit to Mr. Happy. After all, the guy has always been deliberately orchestrating events so that he, Fusco, has to remain a dirty cop! Even Carter, knowing about his undercover status, can't help him get out from under HR…make his past involvements go away. In that regard, he thinks, Simmons had it right.

"Push comes to shove who's got your back here? That Goodie Two Shoes partner of yours, or me? You need this to go away just as much as we do…"

But there's still this smidgen of guilt when Reese gives him an assignment to tail Simmons - and then adds, "If he gives you any trouble, I've got your back." Riiight…

The flip side of this guilt is of course anxiety, fear of what will happen if…when…the ex-agent finds out the truth: that he's been helping Simmons erase some of HR's dirty tracks. Not something on which he cares to speculate. But, the deed is done. The lie is out, the words spoken, and like a poisonous vapor drifting between them, never to be retrieved.

As vindication, Simmons words ring in his ears again and again: "HR may be down Fusco, but we're not out!"
So why does he still feel like a shit…?

…..

"Carter, is Fusco there? I haven't been able to get hold of him all day!"

"Not here, John. He left early…I think I remember his ex was supposed to drop Lee off at his apartment. They were going to take in the game this evening," she replies. "Is there a problem?"

"No. No, I just need to talk to him."

"I'll let him know if he checks in…"

Reese clicks off the connection and stares thoughtfully at the phone. Fusco had been increasingly avoiding his calls, an irritant that is starting to morph into worry. His pet detective, who despite all his blustering protestations is usually so eager to please, has become ever more distant over the last few weeks.

The ex-op had put it down to Fusco's complaint over interference in his personal life - making a big issue over a demand for his backup while he was on a date. Hah. Like Fusco deserves to have a personal life…? The cop ought to know better by this time.

But that was several weeks ago. Surely the detective's pity party is over by now. No, there is something else at work here - and he intends to find out what that something is. And the best place to start is with Fusco's buddies. With a little schmoozing and liberal applications of beer he should be able to get them to spill information about the detective's current activities. When the alcohol goes in, secrets come out.

He heads downtown to the bar he knows is a favorite hangout for Precinct 8 personnel.

To be continued…