Bosco and Deschaine respond to a disturbance.

"Ready for dinner?"

Bosco looked at his partner with an odd expression on his face. "It's only seven-thirty."

"So? I'm hungry."

"After what you had for lunch? I won't be hungry again until after midnight."

"You don't have to eat anything." Deschaine told him. "But fine. We can wait another half an hour or so."

"Good." He sat back and watched the passing traffic through the windshield. After a lengthy silence he asked, "Do you ever get tired of the monotony?"

"Monotony?"

"Yeah. There's next to nothing to do in this city. The shifts are quiet and there aren't any places to go afterwards. What do you do to keep from going crazy?"

"Bar-hop, shoot pool, play cards with the guys on Saturday nights. I go watch the Sox play every time they're at home and sometimes if they're playing in New York. I get season tickets every year. They're tough to get but I manage."

Bosco rolled his eyes. "Red Sox. Of course."

"You got a problem with the Sox?"

"Yeah, they suck."

She smacked him in the shoulder. "They do not suck! They just get unlucky."

"Every season?"

"Hey, Mr Yankees fan, not even New York has great seasons all the time."

"They can still kick Red Sox ass any day."

"Right. Okay." Deschaine said. "Oh, look. It's Rabbit."

"What?"

"Rabbit. He's a frequent rider behind my cage. Odd, he looks sober for once."

"What are you doing?" Bosco asked, following his partner out of the cruiser. "Come on, we got better things to do."

Deschaine smiled as she approached the man in the tattered jacket. "'Sup, Rabbit? Haven't seen you around in a while."

To Bosco's surprise, Rabbit grinned back and stuck out his hand. "Yup. How you been?"

"Not bad. Surviving. How's life been treatin' you? You don't look too bad off."

"Twelve-step programme," Rabbit said, proudly holding up a wooden coin he'd dug out of his pocket. "I'm half-way through it."

"Good for you. I'm glad."

"Who's the kid?"

Colour rushed to Bosco's face. He wasn't a kid-cop anymore. "Um – "

"Him? New partner. He transferred from out of town. Maurice Boscorelli, meet Rabbit."

"How ya doin'." Rabbit said, offering his hand. Bosco gave a tight smile as he returned the man's surprisingly firm grip. "One of them Eye-talians, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Bosco replied uncertainly.

"Good people, wizards in the kitchen." The man nodded approvingly.

"Listen, we gotta get going. It was nice seein' you."

"Either you want a coffee? It's on me."

Deschaine's eyebrows went up. "You got money?"

"Yup. I've been holdin' down a job on the docks for almost a month. Got paid yesterday."

"You have got in under control. No, we're all set. You earned that paycheck."

"Okay. See you around, then."

"Good luck!" Deschaine called as Rabbit walked off down the sidewalk. He turned back a moment to lift a hand and then he was on his way again.

Bosco couldn't resist a grin. You certainly didn't see that every day. "How long have you known him?"

"Three years, off and on, when he wasn't in jail. We've been working with him for ever to get him out of the bottle. Looks like it's finally paying off."

"I don't think I've ever seen a guy actually finish one of those twelve-steps," he commented as he settled back into the cruiser. "Most of the time they end up right back in the game."

"That could be because you don't step in to help them stay with it. We've helped Rabbit use the system to get help. It requires a lot of effort and dedication, which is probably why you've never tried it yourself."

"Hey, I'm not – " he began, then checked himself. She had him figured out, even if she didn't know how he handled The Job back in New York.

"I've seen guys like you come in and fall hard because they're not willing to put in an extra couple of hours to help out a drunk like Rabbit. It's how we play the game here and you best start learnin' the rules if you want to stay here."

He remained silent and considered what she'd said. This was an entirely new system of operation. She was dead on; if he wanted to stay in Boston longer than a couple of months, he had accept their methods and forget just about everything he'd learnt in New York. Easier said than done, but he had little choice.

"Heads up, Boscorelli. You're not paying attention to the radio again." His partner scolded, grabbing the mike from the centre console. "Six Adam."

"Be advised, Engine 39 has requested assistance at 133 Flaherty Way. A crowd is preventing the Company from entering the structure. Ten-three?"

"Ten-four." Deschaine snorted. "Lucky for them we're right around the corner," she said, returning the mike to its metal clip on the side of the radio. "Hit the lights."

Bosco obeyed without reply and looked out the driver's side window as the cruiser came around the corner onto Flaherty Way. The light of flames licking out a second floor window cast eerie shadows on the crowd milling around in front of the building, determinedly keeping the frustrated firefighters from getting close. He turned the siren on as the unit eased toward the group. Someone from the crowd heaved a chunk of cement at the approaching cruiser.

"You did not just throw that crap at my car. Look at that! He scratched the paint." Deschaine slapped the siren from 'Wail' to 'Wig-wag' and then turned the noise off before shifting the vehicle into park. "That's it, I'm pissed. Nobody puts a dent into my brand-new cruiser. Let's go."

"Right," Bosco said, grabbing his nightstick on his way out. He sensed immediately that the mood of this crowd was far from friendly when several more pieces of cement and brick hit the street in front of the two cops.

"Get the shotgun."

"What?"

"It's on the ceiling over the seats. Get it out here now."

He ducked back through the open passenger door and saw the weapon held securely in place by a rack over the seats. After a moment's study, he figured out how to get it free and emerged with it. Deschaine had drawn her sidearm as the rain of debris continued. Simple crowd control was no longer an option as members of the crowd started toward the cruiser.

"Crap."

"Rack one up," she ordered, flicking the safety catch off with her thumb. Bosco pulled the pump back and was rewarded with the loud and satisfying clack of a shotgun shell entering the chamber. The approaching group stopped dead at the sound, clearly reconsidering an open attack.

"Break up and go home!" Deschaine barked at the crowd. "Nobody needs to get hurt here."

Somebody in the crowd shouted a rude comment in response and colour flooded her cheeks. Bosco looked at her across the roof to check her composure. She was in control, albeit a little embarrassed.

"I won't say it again. Break up and go home."

There was no sign of acknowledgement from the crowd, save for a second wave of cement chunks and rocks. Deschaine ducked as a piece of brick flew past her head. Obviously, verbal warnings were insufficient.

"Six Adam, Boston. We're going to need additional units at this location. Large crowd throwing debris at us. Engine 39 has taken cover behind their rig."

"Ten-four, Adam."

"Boy responding."

"Charlie responding."

"Four David responding."

The crowd had started forward again, emboldened by the lack of further offensive action from the two outnumbered cops.

"Now what, Deschaine?"

She swallowed nervously, resting the barrel of her gun on the edge of the open driver's door. "I don't know."

Wonderful. Bosco lifted the shotgun to his shoulder anyway. "I say we walk 'em back."

"With just the two of us?!"

"Why not? We got backup coming."

"It won't do us any good if we get our skulls bashed in before they get here!"

"I don't hear you coming up with anything better." Bosco retorted.

A pop echoed in the night air and suddenly there was a new dent in the cruiser's hood. Both cops stared at the hole. There was no more time to argue now.

"Cover!" Deschaine yelled as another shot cracked into the pavement near the left front tire. She and Bosco dropped into firing crouches, using the open doors for the light cover they provided. "Six Adam, shots fired! I repeat, shots fired at police!"

Sirens burst to life from only a few blocks away. Backup was coming with banners flying. Another shot sank into the ground only a few inches from Bosco's boot. His memory flashed back to the hotel room Faith was staring calmly down the barrel of Cruz's gun. She showed no trace of fear as the wild-eyed sergeant ranted and waved her weapon around carelessly. He'd been all but frozen, mesmerised by the chilling spectacle unfolding in front of him. When he finally realised that something was going to happen, his hand slipped down to his gun. He didn't care what happened to Cruz. All he cared about was protecting his partner…

"Boscorelli!" Deschaine's voice was tense. "What's happening over there?"

He fought the shiver that coursed through him and risked a peek around the edge of the door. There were five or six people advancing on him. One of them was carrying a gun in his left hand.

"I got a shooter!"

Deschaine threw a glance at him over the seats, visibly fighting to calm her frayed nerves. "Same here. Go hot if he does."

Go hot. He had never heard that phrase before but he knew exactly what it meant. The shiver danced along his spine again, stronger this time. Getting into a shoot-out with a guy in a crowd wasn't what he had imagined he'd be doing on his second shift. The punk with the gun brought his left arm up. In agonising slow motion, Bosco saw the finger tightening on the trigger. Go hot. His own finger curled around the shotgun's trigger and he shifted his weight to his right side to get a clear shot. A split second hung in the air as he sucked in a breath to steady his aim. Go hot.

The shotgun bucked hard against his shoulder when he squeezed the trigger, the boom rattling his eardrums. The sharp pop of the other gun going off was completely drowned out by the shotgun blast, but Bosco heard the crackle of shattering glass well enough. Bits of the window showered down on him and he ducked forward to avoid getting glass down his shirt. The shooter in the crowd was down, thankfully, hit in the side. A grumble of anger rippled through the crowd at the sight of the downed man.

"Oh crap." Bosco muttered, peeking through the space where the window should have been.

"You all right?" Deschaine called.

"Yeah."

Other cruisers were on scene now and the cops spilling out of them with guns drawn were a welcome sight. Bosco straightened from his crouch, keeping the shotgun levelled at the crowd. The people apparently decided that enough was enough. One by one, they put their hands on their heads at the shouted command from one of the newly-arrived officers. Only when the last one had dropped to his knees did Bosco let out a relieved breath. He never liked getting shot at.

"You guys okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Donahue. Go check on the guy Boscorelli hit."

"Medics are on the way. He doesn't look too bad." Donahue grinned. "You're a horrible shot with that thing. You only just clipped him."

Bosco only nodded, feeling strangely numb. He put the shotgun back into the cruiser and looked around. The firefighters had reappeared to do what they could for the building that had blazed away while the brief shoot-out had gone on. There wasn't much hope for the building anymore.

"Hey, you all right?"

"Yeah. That was a bit scary."

Deschaine nodded. "I hate getting shot at. C'mon, we gotta sign out of service and head back to the house. The detectives will be waiting. Boy and Charlie will handle these punks for us."

"Right. I'm ready." Bosco dusted glass shards off his seat before getting into the cruiser. He slid the shotgun back into the rack on the ceiling, for some reason hating the weapon. It had power and authority, but he hated it. His emotions made no sense, but precious little did anymore. As Deschaine backed the cruiser away from the cluster of other vehicles, his thoughts turned to his old job. The investigation following the hotel room shoot-out had just about finished when he'd quit. After the animosity that had flown around the house during that mess, he was extremely apprehensive about talking to any detective, IAB or not.

And, as expected, he thought about Faith. He had severed all contact with people from the precinct so he had no idea how she was doing. For all intents and purposes, he'd dropped off the face of the earth. Nobody but Swersky knew where he had gone. The lieutenant wasn't thrilled about it, but Bosco had gotten him to swear not to tell anyone. He didn't want people bugging him to come back.

He looked over at his new partner and wondered if he'd get into another tight spot where a repeat of the hotel room would come to pass. If he screwed up that badly again, would he get this partner shot too? The idea was unbearable and he wanted desperately to believe that such a thing wouldn't happen again, that he'd learned his lesson. He couldn't handle another disaster like that. Where would he go if it happened again? Would he leave Boston for another post in a new department, somewhere farther away this time? Maybe he'd just give up on being a cop altogether and find some far less dangerous job, something that wouldn't issue a gun or a uniform as part of the standard equipment.

"Wake up over there."

"Huh?"

Deschaine was looking at him worriedly. "You sure you're all right? You've been spaced out for the whole ride."

"Sorry. I was just thinking about – " he stopped himself and angrily collected his flashlight and nightstick as a prelude to exiting the vehicle.

"Thinking about what?"

"Nothing." He hadn't intended the reply to come out so sharply, and a flicker of surprised hurt came and went from his partner's face.

"Okay. They're your demons."

Bosco felt his anger rise again. "It's none of your damn business what I'm thinking. Keep your stupid concern to yourself and just do The Job, okay?" He kicked open the windowless passenger door and fairly threw himself out of the cruiser. Guilt was already nibbling at him for his outburst but pride made him keep walking into the precinct. Guilt and pride. He had a terrible feeling that those two emotions were going to be constant enemies until he found a way to forgive himself for getting his best friend shot.

She watched the lieutenant through half-closed eyes, waiting for the inevitable, cautious greeting. Everyone treated her with kid gloves, as if she were some fragile porcelain doll that couldn't be handled roughly. She was still a cop, dammit, and more than capable of taking care of herself. After the news about Bosco, what could anyone possibly say that would be worse?

"Hey, Faith." Swersky's tone was low, as if he expected her to be sleeping.

"Hey boss."

He didn't seem surprised that she was awake. "Sully said he'd told you about Bosco. I was hoping to tell you myself when you were better."

When you were better. That would happen as damn soon as she could make it. She wanted her partner back. This was all her fault. "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. All he said was he was leaving."

"This is my fault, Lieu. I told him to go away but I never dreamed that he would take me so literally."

Swersky's face was gentle. "Maybe you can convince him to come back."

"I would, except I don't know how to find him. And it's damn hard to go anywhere like this."

"It's Bosco. Sooner or later, he'll turn up. He likes the spotlight."

"Yeah." Faith looked down at her fingers, linked tightly together. How could she sort out this mess that she had created? She needed Bosco around, even if she never saw him face-to-face. Just knowing that her best friend was somewhere in the precinct was a comfort. If anything happened, he'd be the first one there. But not anymore. "I miss him already, Lieu. He's only been gone for what, three days? I feel like I've lost something irreplaceable."

"We all do. It's not the same without him stirring up trouble." Swersky smiled ruefully. "I miss having him to yell at when something goes wrong."

"Any word on Bosco?" Fred asked as he entered the room.

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Odd. Usually everyone knows where he is."

Swersky shrugged. "He's definitely keeping a low profile, but I've asked some people I know to let me know if he shows up on their streets."

"I'm not all that fond of Bosco, but for him to quit his job and simply disappear just because Faith told him to, even I feel bad for him."

"He's certainly taken this whole mess hard. Sully said he saw Bosco giving Sergeant Cruz the third degree before he left for good."

"Good. She deserves every bit of blame for this." Faith said tartly.

"I'm glad you're doing all right. I've got to get back to the house before it gets any later. Take care, okay?"

"Thanks for stopping by, Lieu."

The lieutenant paused in the doorway to offer a half-smile. "Sure."

Her partner was uncomfortable in the detectives' squad room. He all but squirmed as Patrick Harris asked him about the brief shoot-out. Something about detectives really put him on edge. Did it have anything to do with why he'd left the NYPD? She watched him fidget and figured that it probably did. Harris was more than aware of Boscorelli's discomfort and honed in on it. It wasn't necessarily his job to play the role of IA detective, but Boscorelli's clear restlessness gave Harris ample reason to grill him hard. Deschaine watched the interview from the hallway, waiting patiently for her turn in the proverbial hot-seat. Calm down, Boscorelli. It's not like you shot another cop or something.

Good God. The well-greased wheels inside her head started spinning overtime. He didn't like detectives so he'd obviously had bad experiences with them before. What in the hell did you do in New York, anyway? Certainly Captain Driscoll wouldn't let a disgraced cop onto his patrol force. Unless there was something that Boscorelli hadn't told him, which seemed more and more likely. He'd been quick to deflect her questions about his old job so there had to be some sort of skeleton in the closet. She wondered if he'd get to trust her enough to tell her. It was very difficult to work with somebody with lingering demons like his.

Deschaine hooked her thumbs on her belt and watched Harris flip to a fresh page in his notebook. He must be done with Boscorelli. Great, it was her turn. Her partner practically ran in his eagerness to leave the office. She reached out to stop him before he could head toward the locker room.

"Hey, you all right?"

He shoved her arm away. "I'm fine. Go get it over with so we can get back out there."

"We have to wait a bit for the detectives to clear us."

"Fine, whatever. I'll be outside."

The alarm bells were clanging loudly inside her head. "Don't go too far," she muttered as she stepped into the squad room.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon," Harris said, giving her a quick, almost suggestive once-over. She sat down without a greeting, determined not to give him the benefit of a prolonged view.

"This is business, Patrick. Ask me the damn questions so I can get out of here."

"And I thought you just missed me."

Deschaine scoffed. "Hard to miss the son-of-a-bitch who hopped into the sack with some wench from District Seven behind my back."

"That was a misunderstanding, Sarah."

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with so I don't end up sitting here any longer than I have to."

"Come on. You know you still – "

She stood up abruptly. "Where's Kyle? I want him to handle this interview."

"He's down at the desk. C'mon, Sarah, I didn't mean – "

"Grow up and get your eyes off my chest. Do your damn job or let someone else do it for you."

Harris had the nerve to look hurt. "Fine. Sit down and we can begin. When did you and your partner first get fired upon?"

"We were using our cruiser for cover after people in the crowd started throwing pieces of cement at us. I told Boscorelli to get the shotgun out as a show of force, but it didn't work. Two guys near the front of the crowd opened fire and I called for backup."

"Did you return fire before backup arrived?"

"I didn't. Boscorelli fired at the guy who was shooting at him and dropped him. All offensive fire ceased at that point."

"So the only one of you to discharge a weapon was your partner?"

"That's what I just told you."

The detective tapped the end of his pen against the desk. "One last question. Why'd you break up with me?"

Deschaine was on her feet immediately. "Because you're a bastard." She let the door slam behind her, disgusted at his behaviour. Kyle Tibbets was walking toward the squad room, reading from some report. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes directly – unlike his partner – and smiled.

"How'd it go?"

"He should hang himself with that ugly tie he's wearing."

Tibbets laughed. "I'll be sure to pass that along."

"No, don't. He'll only take it as a come-on. I don't want that slime thinking he's got a chance."

"Roger. Take it easy out there."

"You want to tell me why you left New York?"

Bosco stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets to protect them from the brisk September wind. He didn't look at his partner. "No."

The rustle of fabric told him that she also had her hands in her pockets. "You want to tell me why you're being such a jerk, then?"

"My personal life is none of your business."

"It is if it's tagging along with us on street." She told him bluntly. "Look, you may have things you don't want anyone to know about and that's peachy. It's your business. But it becomes my business when it gets in the way."

"It's not."

"It's not. Okay. Then the daze you fell into when we were getting shot at was just you concentrating real hard?"

Bosco interrupted his study of the building across the street to glare at her. "I don't get distracted."

"You were staring off somewhere like nothing was going on."

"So I spaced for a second."

"A second? Boscorelli, I was yelling at you for a good five minutes before you came back from whatever planet you drifted off to. If that's not distraction, I don't know what is."

"Sorry. I just lost focus."

Deschaine's voice was disbelieving. "You lost focus. You spaced out. What in the hell made you leave New York and bring your sorry ass here? Did you get distracted and let somebody take a hit they shouldn't have?"

She might as well have taken a knife and driven it straight into his heart. How could she know what had happened to his old partner? No one here knew. Bosco felt his chest grow tight. It was happening again. His carelessness was creating doubt where no doubt should be. It was just a guess, that's all, she had no idea she had hit on the truth. Just a guess. He had to relax before she got even more suspicious. Take a breath and relax. Can't let his sudden tension become apparent.

"I covered for you with the detectives about the daze. Don't make me regret it."

"I slipped up. It won't happen again."

"It better not. I won't work with somebody who might get me or himself shot." She said, somehow not noticing his silent battle to keep from bursting out the truth. It was better that nobody knew.

"Yeah." Bosco drew a steadying breath, intensely grateful that she accepted his statement at face value.

"Come on, it's getting chilly out here. Let's go inside."

A strange impulse rippled through him. He reached for her jacket sleeve as she started to walk away. "Deschaine."

"What?"

"Thanks for…" he tried to find words to better express his relief that she hadn't pressed him for details, that she'd kept silent about his inattention. The words eluded him. "Thanks."

She looked at him for a long moment before giving him a slight smile. "You're welcome."