Since there are now two Deschaines, I'll only refer to Matthew by his first name to avoid confusion. Anytime you see 'Deschaine' – other than in the context of conversation – it will be Sarah unless otherwise noted. As Bosco gets to know her better, I'll break it down even further so that I only use 'Deschaine' as an identifier when a scene is told from Bosco's POV.

"Listen up, folks. Got two new guys with us." Swersky called over the chatter of voices. "Probationary Officers Matthew Deschaine and Jamie O'Shea, take a bow."

Ty Davis clapped politely, grinning as the two rookies stood up to bow. They sure weren't shy. That was a good thing, he thought, remembering his own tentative approach to The Job when he had been a rookie.

"All right, sit down, you two. With the addition of these two, the pairings will be different tonight. Barrantes, you're with Harrington, Five-Five George. Monroe, you're with Sullivan in Five-Five Charlie." The lieutenant checked his list. "That leaves Davis with Deschaine in Five David. Everyone else is the same. Both O'Sheas, see me after. That's it. Eyes and ears out there."

The cops stood up and gathered their gear. Davis worked his way through the chairs, sticking out his hand. "'Sup? Ty Davis."

"Matt Deschaine."

"Nervous?"

"A bit. I'm not completely unfamiliar with The Job, but it's different."

"Oh yeah?" Davis led the way to the radio desk. "I've never trained anybody before, so this is a little weird."

Matt took his radio with a nod of thanks. "No kiddin'. So what do we do first?"

"Most important thing: Get coffee."

"Right, gotcha." Matt grinned.

"You ever been a cop before?" Davis asked, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Nope."

"Where you from, anyway? You don't sound like a New Yorker."

The rookie shook his head. "Boston. Born and bred Grade-A Masshole."

Davis laughed as he pulled into traffic. A good sense of humour was important. "What brings you to the great City of New York?"

"Didn't want to work for Boston PD all that much. I mean, come on, this department has all the reputation."

"True."

"Besides, it would've been hard to share the city with my sister. One of us is a lot for one place. Two of us together would be a nightmare."

"Does she work for the city or something?"

"She's a cop in Six District. I used to go on ride-alongs with her and her partner before I moved."

"Nice."

Matt nodded. "She's riding with some new guy now. I guess he used to work here or something."

"For the NYPD?"

"I think that's what she said. What was his name? It was Italian. I remember that much." His brow furrowed in concentration. "B-something."

A tingle of suspicion shivered in the back of Davis' mind. "Boscorelli?"

"Yeah! That's it. Boscorelli."

Davis fell silent, considering this revelation. So that was where Bosco had disappeared to. Boston, of all places. His former partner would want to know this, he decided after moment's thought. She had been tearing herself to pieces since finding out that he had left without so much as a forwarding address. At least knowing where he had gone would be a relief.

"After we get coffee, I need to stop someplace to see a friend."

"Sure."

Poor Bosco, Davis thought. He didn't have any idea how big a mess he had left behind him. Maybe Faith would be able to convince him that it wasn't his fault once she knew where to find him.

"Bosco?"

"Deschaine?"

"Yeah." His partner nodded, wiping rainwater from her face. "Can you spare a minute?"

"Get inside, it's raining buckets." Bosco held open the door for her. "What the hell are you doing outside in this weather?"

"I'm ready to talk."

"About what?"

Deschaine wrung out her soaked beanie. "About why I've been so tired and crabby. Are you busy? I can come back later, if you are."

"No, I'm not busy. Come on upstairs."

She said nothing more as she followed him up the steps to the second floor. He couldn't help wondering why she looked scared. He'd never seen even the smallest flicker of fear cross her face before. Her steady sense of composure was one that he was coming to admire more and more.

"Are you all right?"

"Not really."

Bosco frowned to himself, letting her step past him into his tiny apartment. There had to be something very wrong for her to be here at all, let alone as clearly upset as she was. "Did something happen in New York?"

"No, it was a good trip." Deschaine replied, glancing around. "Nice place."

"It works."

"Is it all right if I sit down?"

"Sure."

His partner tentatively took a seat on the edge of the battered couch, looking more uncomfortable than he had ever seen her. "I think I'm in trouble, Bosco."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I'm being harassed."

"By who?"

"A guy… somebody I dated…" she looked down at her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. "He's a dirtbag. I don't know why he's bothering me now."

Bosco felt his neck begin to grow warm. "Who is it?"

"It's another cop," Deschaine answered after a lengthy silence. "Patrick Harris"

"The detective?"

"Yeah."

"Man. I thought he was kinda creepy, but…" his voice trailed off and an angry expression came onto his face. "How long has this been going on?"

"Too long. Sit down, Bosco. I'm dealing with him myself. I just… I just needed somebody else to know."

He forced himself to sit back down. "You dated a detective?"

"Yeah. It was stupid. Usually I know better. But… things happen for a reason."

"Why's he bothering you now, if you've broken up?"

"Patrick has the long-term memory of a rock. He still thinks I like him." She sighed tiredly. "I can't count how many times I've told him to shove it."

"What are you going to do about him, if he doesn't take the hint to back off?"

"Report him." The reply was quick and firm, and Bosco was pleased to see the familiar spark of defiant life come back to her eyes. "The dirtbag won't listen to me, but he'll damn sure listen to his boss."

"I'm a little confused, Deschaine. How long ago did you two date?"

Deschaine drew in a breath and let it out slowly, easing her fists open. "I hope you don't have any plans, 'cause it's kind of a long story."

"I've got all night."

"Is, uh, is Faith around?"

Fred looked Davis over closely, as if trying to decide whether or not to shut the door in the officer's face. "Yeah, she's here."

"Is it all right if I come in?" Davis asked uncertainly, toying with his hat.

"I guess so," Fred stepped back to let the other man enter. "She's in the bedroom."

Great, the most personal room in the apartment. Davis walked slowly through the apartment. It was relatively quiet and he wouldn't have been surprised to find that Faith was asleep. He knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.

"Who's there?"

"Ty."

He heard the mattress creak. "Come in," she said, sounding tired.

"Hey. What's up?"

"The usual crap. Nothing special. How are things at the house?"

"Not bad. It's quiet without Bosco around."

Faith grinned but the gesture lacked feeling. "Does anyone know where he went?"

"Actually…" Davis drew in a breath, turning his hat over in his hands. "There's a new guy at the house, Matt Deschaine. He's from Boston, I guess."

"Do you know where he is, Ty?"

"Yeah, actually. The new guy, Deschaine, mentioned something about his sister being a Boston cop and having a new partner. He said the guy's name was Boscorelli."

She sank back against the pillows propped up behind her back. A dozen emotions flashed across her face in rapid succession and she almost seemed at a loss for a reply. Davis shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, wondering if he should go back down to the RMP. The rookie was waiting for him.

"Listen, um, I gotta get back out there, so…"

"Davis."

He stopped halfway through the door and looked back. Faith's expression was pained. "Do you blame me?"

"For what?"

"For Bosco taking off like he did."

What could he say to that? "No. No, I don't."

"Honestly? He wouldn't have gone anywhere if I hadn't told him to." Her hands were curled tightly around the blanket covering her legs. "I let my pride get ahead of my common sense and it's cost me my best friend."

"Stop it, Faith." Davis told her, taking a chance by sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault. Everything he's done was because he wanted to do it. It has nothing to do with you."

"How can you be sure? I told him to go away, Davis, and he did. Whose fault is that but mine?"

"Look, you couldn't have known he would take you so literally. It's not your fault. Don't beat yourself up over it."

There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I miss him, Davis. I miss his stupid jokes, his pathetic comments. It sucks to know he left because of me."

"At least we know he ended up in Boston," he said. "Maybe if you managed to get a hold of him there, you might be able to convince him that he needs to come back. At the very least, you can tell him that you didn't mean it."

"Yeah." She looked down at her hands, fighting to keep a hold of her composure. "Did this new guy say how Bosco was doing?"

"No. I can find out if you want."

"Please."

"You got it." Davis managed a smile for her sake. "I have to get back out there. Take care, all right?"

"Yeah." Faith said, reaching her hand out to him as he got back to his feet. "Thanks for stopping by, Ty."

"No problem," he told her, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

Bosco drummed his fingers on his knee impatiently, waiting for his partner to emerge from the station house. She had run in to grab something from the desk and it was taking her almost ten minutes. How hard could it be to pick up paperwork or whatever it was from the desk officer? He rested his head against the window and stared out at the cars going by. If she took much longer, he'd go inside himself to see what was keeping her. This was just plain ridiculous.

Her unexpected appearance at his apartment the night before and what she'd told him was still weighing heavily on his mind. She was being harassed by another cop. The revelation had made his blood boil. He would have gone straight to the station house to knock the bastard flat on his ass, or at least talk to the detective squad supervisor, but she'd made him promise to stay out of it. All she wanted to do was tell somebody. That kind of secret was too much to bear for just one person. He wished that there was something he could do to help, beyond just being there to listen.

"That was fun." Deschaine commented, sliding into the driver's seat.

At last. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her tuck a folded sheet of paper behind the sun-visor. "Nothing?"

"Yeah, nothing." She replied. "Let it go."

"If you say so," he muttered. "What now?"

"It's around the usual lunch hour, so we take a ride around and see how many parking tickets we can give out. People tend to ignore parking signs and the like more often between twelve and two."

"Great." Bosco rolled his eyes at the prospect of writing out citations. At least it had stopped raining. He hated wearing the rain slicker.

"We'll take our meal break around one o'clock."

"Even better."

Deschaine guided the cruiser into the outside lane, glancing at the other vehicle as she passed it. Bosco heard her quick intake of breath and followed her gaze. The blue Dodge was just turning onto A Street. He didn't see anything special about the vehicle but Deschaine clearly did. She flipped on the lights to make a hard U-turn in the middle of the busy street.

"Did you see something?" Bosco asked as the cruiser bumped over a pothole onto A Street.

"Yeah. The driver gave me the weirdest look when we passed him. There was blood all over his shirt and it looked like he had some on his hands too. I couldn't really tell. And he didn't signal, like most people. More than enough to warrant a stop." His partner reached down to flash the take-down lights at the Dodge in front of them. The driver obediently, if a little hesitantly, pulled over to the right. Deschaine brought the cruiser to a stop so that the left taillight of the other vehicle in line with the centre of the police unit's hood and unclipped the mike from the centre radio console. "Six Adam, Boston. 10-60."

"Go ahead, Adam."

"Massachusetts tag, One-Four-Nine-Victor-Echo. West Broadway and A Street."

"Standby, Adam."

Deschaine clipped the mike back to the radio console. "Let's go."

The two officers approached the Dodge casually, but Bosco could sense the tension in his partner. He was on edge too. Stopping somebody who was driving around covered in blood was enough to get his nerves crackling.

"Licence and registration, please, sir." Deschaine said. "And could you roll down your passenger window? Thanks."

"I don't have my wallet on me," the driver told her as he obeyed, remarkably calm despite the glaringly evident blood splatters on his shirt. "Why did you pull me over for, anyway? I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"Failure to signal a turn is wrong. Do you have registration for this vehicle, sir?"

"I didn't signal?"

"No sir." Deschaine's voice was studiously polite. "Registration?" The driver blinked slowly and reached for the glove compartment. Bosco scanned the backseat, looking for anything that would suggest how this guy could have gotten so much blood on him. There was nothing. The backseat was spotless. As he turned his attention back to the driver, something on the rear door handle caught his eye. Curious, Bosco looked closer. It looked like dark red paint, but he had a suspicious feeling that it wasn't.

"How did you get all the blood on you?" He asked the man, leaning through the open passenger window. A sweet, grassy odour assaulted his nostrils and he tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Great, the driver was high. Man, this day just keeps getting better and better.

"I had a nosebleed earlier. I was on my way home to change."

"Uh-huh. Why is there some blood on your neck, then?"

"There isn't any blood on my neck."

Deschaine nodded. "Yes, actually there is."

"Really?"

"Yes sir. Is it okay if we take a quick look in your trunk?" His partner asked, all but reading his mind.

"No, you can't. There's personal stuff in there."

"We promise not to tell anyone what we see."

The man fidgeted. "No. You can't look in the trunk."

Bosco caught his partner's glance and moved toward the rear of the vehicle. The guy didn't say they couldn't look at the trunk. There was something definitely fishy about this car. He noticed more red paint-like drops on the rear bumper. They were too small to be visible from a distance, which explained why neither he nor his partner had seen them from the cruiser.

"Deschaine."

She met his gaze over the car's roof and nodded. It was time to be a little less polite. "Step out of the car, please."

"I haven't done anything."

"Step out of the car, sir."

The driver sighed and opened the door to get out. "I really don't see the point of all this."

"Put your hands against the car." Deschaine said, pulling out a pair of gloves from her pocket. "And spread your legs out wide."

Bosco moved around to the driver's side of the car and reached through the open window to shut off the ignition. "We're going to search your trunk now."

"You can't, I said you can't!"

"The drops of blood on the rear bumper say we can."

"What blood? There's no blood back there. You're making it up!"

Deschaine gave the man a push back against the car. "Keep your hands on the roof, sir."

"Boston, Six Adam, your status?"

"Standby, Boston." Deschaine looked over at her partner. "What's in there?"

"Nothing here but a wool blanket," Bosco reported, slightly relieved. "There's a baseball bat here too. I'd say somebody got beaned hard by it because it's got blood all over it."

"Looks like this isn't your lucky day. Put your hands on the car."

"I didn't do anything," the man insisted as Deschaine gave him a thorough pat-down. "I swear I didn't."

"Sure. Hands behind your back." Deschaine ordered, pulling her handcuffs from her belt. She got one cuff secured on the man's left wrist and was about to repeat the process for the other wrist when the man suddenly jerked his arm from her grip.

"I said I didn't do anything!" He cried, flailing wildly with his left arm. Bosco saw the glint of sunlight on metal as the open cuff traced a line across his partner's face. He leaped forward to get to her before she could fall. The man took off down the street, the handcuffs dangling from his left wrist.

"You okay?"

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Deschaine pressed her fingers to the gash on her cheek, far .more angry than in pain. "Get him!"

Bosco needed no further urging. He was off running without a backward glance. The man had a decent head-start and he probably knew the area a lot better than Bosco did. It'd be a real stroke of luck if he managed to catch the bastard.

"Six Adam, Boston, in foot pursuit of male subject, southbound on A Street," his partner snapped over the radio. "Fled from traffic stop, I need detectives to secure the vehicle."

"Ten-four, Adam."

Bloody Shirt tripped over some gravel as he tried to round the corner onto a side street. Bosco pushed himself faster in an effort to close the distance but the guy was back on his feet again. The cruiser whipped past the intersection without turning and he wondered for half an instant what the hell his partner was doing. Hello! We're going this way! "Six Adam, suspect now heading east on…" Bosco looked around for a street sign, realising that he had no idea what street they were on. Bloody Shirt sprinted around a parked car, increasing his lead ever-so-slightly. Clenching his teeth, Bosco powered himself faster. No way was this guy getting away. Not today.

"Boston, Six Adam. What is the suspect's direction of travel?"

Finally, an intersection and a street sign. "Southbound on B Street." Bosco told the dispatcher, glancing quickly around to check for traffic. He saw his partner flash past one street away. Wrong direction, Deschaine! He thought as he raced on, unable to close the gap between himself and Bloody Shirt. If anything, the distance was growing. What was this guy, Superman?

From out of nowhere, his partner reappeared. She must have turned around somewhere. Whatever. It wasn't important right then. Deschaine stopped the cruiser directly in Bloody Shirt's path, springing immediately from the driver's seat onto the pavement. Bloody Shirt broke left. Bosco was two strides ahead of his partner and was determined to keep it that way. He wanted to catch this guy.

A throaty bark from off to his left took his attention away from the chase in a heartbeat. "Dog!" He sprang back from the un-tethered animal, all thoughts of Bloody Shirt driven straight from his mind. The big rottweiler barked as it charged and Bosco turned tail fast. Deschaine had made a sharp about-face upon seeing the dog, her thoughts clearly similar to his. Run!

"Get to the car!" His partner shouted over her shoulder.

He wasn't fast enough to outrun a dog and he was running out of breath. His only option was to get someplace high. Like a telephone pole. Yeah, that would work just fine. Bosco gathered his weight and leaped up onto a covered trashcan, grabbing one of the staples driven into the pole. He pulled himself up to the next staple as the dog sprang airborne after him. Its frustrated bark seemed to originate too close so he climbed higher. The dog hopped up and down like a mad rabbit, barking non-stop, trying to get at Bosco, now safely perched out of reach.

"Six Adam, Boston. Request Animal Control to 149 Flaherty Way for a loose dog. Foot pursuit is abandoned at this time." Deschaine's voice reflected her disgust.

"Suspect's last known direction?"

"Southbound from this location, heading toward Marotta Way. Suspect is male, mid-forties, wearing a blood-stained shirt. He has one wrist handcuffed. Possibly under the influence of narcotics or alcohol."

Bosco glared down at the still-barking dog, annoyed that it had felt the need to chase him instead of Bloody Shirt. Dammit this was embarrassing.

"How's your face?"

"It's felt better," Deschaine answered, wincing as the paramedic dabbed at the deep gash on her cheek with a hydrogen peroxide-soaked Q-tip. "I've always figured handcuffs could be used as a weapon, but not by a guy already wearing 'em."

"Well, you're gonna need stitches. It's too deep to be treated with just a bandage."

"Great."

Bosco cracked a grin at her irritated expression. "Just hope it won't leave a scar."

"You're so funny."

"You miss runnin' a bus, Deschaine?" The paramedic asked, stowing his bag into the back of the ambulance.

"Sometimes, like when I get chased back to my cruiser by a damn dog. What's it to you, Wagner? You miss me?"

"Depends on the day. Hop up, we'll give you a lift to the hospital."

"I'll meet you there," Bosco said as Wagner shut the rear doors. Deschaine nodded at him.

"Follow us in. Don't need you to get lost or anything in this great big city."

Her partner only grinned and walked the short distance to the cruiser. She accepted the four-by-four dressing that Joe Duncan handed her, holding it to the cut on her cheek. Duncan held open the side door for her and she climbed in, taking a seat in the cushioned captain's-style chair near the head of the stretcher. Truth be told, she did miss the ordered chaos that was Boston EMS from time to time. Her partner's expression when Wagner had hinted at her previous experience as a medic was utterly priceless. It was one more thing he would have known a lot sooner if personal banter between them didn't put him so much on edge. Deschaine winced as she adjusted the dressing on her cheek. Dammit that hurt. The metal teeth on the cuff sure could leave a hell of a gouge.

"Is it stingin' yet?"

"Yeah. Hurts like hell."

Duncan shook his head, glancing back from his position in the passenger's seat to grin knowingly. "That's what you get for movin' down the job ladder."

"Hey, Metro Transit was a good gig. I just got a better offer."

"You know what I mean, Deschaine." The paramedic said. "There's always a spot open on the roster if you want it back."

"I'll keep that in mind. Who knows, after Boscorelli gets assigned a permanent partner, I might try to go half and half."

Wagner snorted a laugh. "There ain't any half and half paramedics on my shift. Either you're in all the way or you're just dead weight."

"Then I guess you're not gettin' me back. Sorry Joe."

The two medics said little more on the subject, for which Deschaine was inwardly grateful. She wouldn't even need to be sitting the back of the ambulance, pressing a four-by-four to her cheek, if she had been completely focussed. Her mind had been preoccupied with her request to rejoin the paramedics' rotation. The single piece of paper that she had somehow left in her locker and hurried back to the station to retrieve was indirectly responsible for her lack of concentration. All she had to do was drop it off downtown and wait for the official response. Simple and straightforward, but it was an errand that was suddenly delayed indefinitely. She wanted out of the station house. Simply reporting Harris' behaviour to his lieutenant wasn't enough. They still worked out of the same building and as long as she was assigned there, he wouldn't stop. Taking legal action against him would brand her as a rat, she knew it. Transferring was her only viable option.

Deschaine heaved herself out of the chair as the bus lurched to a stop outside the hospital's emergency entrance. Time to get jabbed with a needle. Wonderful. Joe Duncan opened the side door and stood back to let her out.

"Watch your step as you disembark the ambulance and thank you for choosing Charlie Six-One for your emergency transportation needs."

"Anyone ever told you that you're a dork, Duncan?"

Duncan blushed. "Coming from you, Deschaine, that's a compliment."

Bosco appeared from around the bus, an unreadable expression on his face. "What's a compliment?"

"Nothing, Bosco. It's just pointless humour."

"Between paramedics, right?" Her partner held up the single folded paper that she had tucked over the visor in the cruiser. "I didn't think you were planning to just leave me hanging."

Crap. "That's a personal letter, Bosco. I didn't give you permission to read it."

"You left out where it could be found by anyone. Plain view, right?"

Her temper flared red-hot at his boldness. "What the hell do you care whether I go back to EMS or not? You haven't shown an interest in getting me to want to stay. If anything, I should be the one giving you crap for being an ass."

"Funny how you haven't."

"That might be because you won't clean the rocks out of your ears long enough to listen."

"Why should I waste my time listening to you? You're as messed up as I am, if not more."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means get your own life figured out before you nag me about mine." Bosco answered, a cross expression on his face. "You can't even decide whether you want to be a cop or a medic. Get off my case and keep your worthless advice to yourself."

"So I have to be a saint in order to have any credibility? Well damn, Bosco! I'll be sure to talk to you when I need tips on how to look after my own partner." Wagner and Duncan stared and she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their gazes, her energy spent. It wasn't worth arguing with him. All they were doing was going in circles. "Look, I've got to get this sutured and then I'll discuss this with you."

"There's nothing to discuss, Deschaine. I think this request says it all," Bosco snapped, flinging the paper at her in disgust. "I hope you've got a ride back to the house, because I'm not gonna be waiting for you."

"Bosco, wait a minute – "

"I'll get a new partner for tomorrow. It's been great fun ridin' with you." Her partner interrupted as he stomped to the cruiser. Deschaine said something decidedly unladylike at his retreating back and bent to pick up the paper from the ground.

"Um… I guess that means 'welcome back to Boston EMS'?"

"Shut up, Wagner," she snarled, entering the hospital without a backward glance at the departing cruiser. Great day this turned out to be.

10-60: Traffic stop (Penobscot County Sheriff's Department)