Title: Tears From a Star (3/4)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I have no affiliation with whatsoever. No money is being made; please don't sue.

Rating: R for language, violence and content.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Long Guns."

Summary: It's all about the choices we make.

Distribution: My site Only Time, 55-HQ, fanfiction.net, anywhere else that TW fics are archived.

Category: Alternate ending for "The Long Guns."

Subcategories: Angst, angst and more angst

Feedback: Please

Author's Note: I read a book called Breaking and Entering: Women Cops Talk About Life in the Ultimate Men's Club by Connie Fletcher. It's a fascinating book that I recommend to anyone interested in police work, specifically if you're a female. Anyhoo, that's where I got a lot of ideas for this part.

Dedication: This part goes out to Dem, for listening to me babble about not knowing how to start it. :) Thanks!

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around."

-Leo Buscaglia

Tears From a Star (Part Three: Without Condition)

"Mrs. Yokas, I have to state again that you're not fully recovered and that signing out AMA frees the hospital and the staff from any responsibility should your condition worsen when you leave."

"I know that. Where do I sign?"

I hate hospitals.

I think most people do. I mean, who *likes* to be unable to do anything besides lie in a hospital bed with a needle stuck in your hand whilst a doctor or nurse comes in every ten minutes to wake you up if you've managed to fall asleep?

Nobody.

You know how they say that doctors make the worst patients? Well, after doctors, it's cops. We're used to being active--chasing down perps, making arrests, helping those in need...but it's not just the inactivity that makes us bad patients.

There's this unspoken rule when you become a cop: never let your weakness show. Especially not if you're a woman officer.

See, women cops already take flack for being cops--just because of our gender. We're told we're too emotional, that we're not physically strong enough to do the job, that it's a man's profession. If you're a woman and you want to be a cop, you've really got to be able to put up with the remarks and the harassment and the mind games that you're going to be put through. Because you *will* be put through it. And either you deal with it and prove 'em all wrong, or you quit.

That's just how it is.

I didn't have it easy when I joined the academy.

Fred and I had only been married for four years. Emily was just starting kindergarten and Charlie had just discovered he could climb out of his crib if he didn't want to take a nap. I'd already had two years of college--I'd gotten through that much schooling before I had Em. But I didn't know what I wanted to do with it.

Not long after Charlie was born, one of our neighbors--Mr. Walker--was murdered in his apartment. The police determined that it was a robbery gone bad. All the guy got was thirty bucks and an antique watch. For that, Mr. Walker lost his life. They never caught the guy who killed him.

That's when I decided I wanted to be a cop. I thought maybe I could do some good in this world, help people out, make it safer for my kids, you know?

I applied and was hired by the 55th precinct. They paid for all of my tuition and training, so I didn't have to worry about coming up with the money since Fred was out of a job.

When I walked into the classroom at the academy for the first time, I knew I was in trouble. There was only one other woman there--and there were probably 75 people all together. The men just stared at us like we were different lifeforms.

For the first couple weeks, Shawna and I stuck together. The guys--at least the majority of them--didn't want anything to do with us. And the ones who did, did so only in an attempt to get rid of us.

It worked. Shawna quit after the third week.

I, however, wasn't going to be scared off so easily.

Even the instructors did their best to get to me. Either they would ignore me completely or they would pick on me and make sexist jokes and remarks.

I ignored it. I was determined to become a police officer no matter what.

I sat by myself at lunch every day, eating and studying while all the guys ate together, laughing and joking.

All of them except one.

There was one guy in the class who sat at a table by himself, too.

I had noticed him before, mainly because he neither went out of his way to ignore me, nor did he ridicule me for being there.

His name was Maurice Boscorelli.

I stand outside, shivering from the chilly January wind, hoping my husband doesn't get too upset with me for what I'm about to do.

A taxi pulls up to the curb and the driver rolls the window down. "You call for a cab?"

"Yeah, I did," I tell him as I reach for the door handle.

"Where to?" he asks as I climb carefully into the backseat, my hand covering the spot beneath my ribs.

"57th North Water," I say softly, leaning back against the seat. I turn and stare out the window.

Believe it or not, Bosco approached me first.

We'd been at the academy for four and a half, maybe five weeks.

And then one day at lunch time, I looked up and saw him standing by my table, lunch tray in hand. "This seat taken?" he asked.

"You see anybody sittin' there?" I retorted.

"Nope." Without another word, he sat down right across from me.

Truthfully, I was a bit cold to him. And more than a little bit suspicious that he had been sent by the other guys to torment me somehow. We didn't talk much that first day. Or the second day.

On the third day that he sat down with me at lunch, I nodded towards the tables where everyone else was sitting. "If you keep sitting with me, you're gonna be ostracized."

Bosco shrugged. "What do I care? Bunch of losers anyway, if you ask me." He took a drink of his soda. "They think they're so cool, tryin' to be bad ass cops without doing any of the damned work. Half these jack-offs won't even make it through physical training." He paused and looked at me. "You will, though."

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?"

He shrugged again. "After everything these idiots have put you through, you're still here. That means something. I don't have you figured as a quitter."

It was shortly after that conversation that the two of us discovered we'd been hired by the same police precinct. That fact made us stick together even more. We started training together, studying together, and sitting together during classes.

Don't think Boz wasn't ridiculed for hanging around the only female in class. For awhile they were almost as hard on him as they were on me. But he never seemed to care--he gave 'em hell right back. He's never been the type of person who'd turn away from a friend so he could be part of the 'in' crowd. And by that time--that's what we were, friends.

Not best friends, mind you. That didn't come til later. But we'd held a mutual respect for one another that had blossomed into a friendship.

Things eventually did get better. Once I'd proven I could hold my own in the physical aspects of the training--the obstacle courses, the wall, and defensive tactics--then the other guys began to back off and tolerate my presence. But after everything that had happened, Bosco's the only one from the academy that I consider to be a close friend.

Boz and I graduated from the police academy a few months later at the top of our class.

"Strange weather we're having, eh?" the cab driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"Yep," I answer, wincing as he drives over a pot hole and a stabbing pain below my ribcage reminds me that I'm far from healed.

I bite my lip, knowing that despite the fact that I was shot, I'll heal much faster than my partner will.

Bosco and I have been partners since our second week on the job. They didn't put us together right away because they didn't want two rookies working together.

I was partnered with Officer Bob Cartwright, and Bosco was paired up with Sully.

Let's just say that there was a definite personality clash with that pairing.

And with every other partner they had him work with that first week.

The lieutenants were at their wits end by the time that week was over, and they were talking about transferring him to another precinct since he didn't seem to get along with anyone. But transferring him would have made the 55th an officer short, and they didn't want that, either.

Pairing the two of us up was their last resort.

Lieutenant Matthews pulled me aside that Friday afternoon and asked me if I minded working with Bosco. He quickly assured me that he would understand if I didn't want to--by then everyone in the precinct had heard that Officer Boscorelli was not the easiest person to get along with. What Lt. Matthews didn't know was that I already knew Bosco. I quickly agreed to the request.

I was relieved.

It's not that Officer Cartwright was a bad guy. He just didn't seem to think I could handle the job.

So the Monday after that, Bosco and I started the first day of our partnership. We've been together ever since.

I'm not going to say that it's been all roses and sunshine; Boz and I have had our fair share of problems.

But I would never trust another partner even *half* as much as I do Bosco.

"Stop right here," I tell the cab driver as he pulls up in front of the apartment building on North Water Street.

He does as told and parks the car at the curb. "That's $8.23."

I nod and remove the money from the pocket of my knapsack and hand it to him. "Thanks." I reach for the door handle.

"You want I should wait?"

"No. I'll be in there awhile," I respond as I carefully slide out of the backseat. I close the door behind me and watch as the cab speeds away.

Then I take a deep breath and turn to look at the building.

Fred never has liked Bosco. He's told me more than once he thinks Boz is a smart-ass, loud-mouth jerk.

I never used to let it get to me when he talked about my partner that way. The truth is, Bosco *can* be a jerk.

But lately whenever Fred says something like that, I get this urge to smack him upside the head. Because despite the fact that Fred's known Bosco almost ten years, he doesn't *know* the first thing about my partner.

He has no idea what Boz's life has been like. He has no idea all the crap he's been through.

Honestly? Even if he did, I'm not sure he'd care. It's not that Fred's a bad guy...it's just that for him, it boils down to the fact that I spend the majority of my time with Bosco.

He's jealous. I'm not stupid; I see it in his face every time Boz is around or someone merely mentions his name.

But there's nothing I can do about that.

Not too long ago I told Fred I wouldn't turn my back on Bosco, and I meant it. I won't, ever.

Not even when he tries to close me out.

Sully told me last night that everyone at the precinct, and even Doc, Kim and Jimmy--had been trying to call and stop by Bosco's apartment for the past six days to no avail. He's holed himself up in there and won't come out to talk to anyone.

Fred's ticked because first of all, he blames Bosco for me getting shot, and secondly, because Bosco didn't come to see me in the hospital.

"Yeah, some great partner you've got," he muttered last night as I pushed away the tray of (and I use this term loosely) food the staff had brought me for dinner.

"It's not his fault," I said quietly.

"He should have backed you up."

"He did. I put my gun down," I pointed out.

Fred shook his head. "If he's such a great friend, where the hell is he? Huh, Faith? Why hasn't he been here to see how you were?" When I didn't respond immediately, he snapped, "I'll tell you why. He's a selfish bastard!"

"Don't say that. You don't know him," I said sharply.

"I know you've been in the hospital with a gunshot wound for almost a week and he hasn't been here once!"

"Just shut up, all right?" By that time my head was starting to hurt.

"Why do you always jump to his defense? Why do you care so damned much?"

"Because he's my partner, Fred. He's my friend. And if you really care about me and respect me, you'll stop talking about him that way. I know you don't like Bosco. You don't have to. But don't act like you expect me to choose between the two of you. Because I won't."

After I said that, Fred muttered something about coffee and left the room. I was glad he'd gone; I needed to be alone anyway. I needed time to think about what I had to do. And lying there in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I made my decision.

See, what Fred doesn't understand is that when you love somebody, really love somebody--it's unconditional.

They can mess up, hurt you, hurt themselves--it doesn't make you stop loving them.

That's how I feel about Bosco. I love him. Without condition.

It's not the same kind of love I feel for Fred, but it's still love. And I would do anything for him.

Which is why I'm standing here outside his apartment door. He wouldn't let anyone in--not Sully or Davis or Kim or Doc or anyone.

But I know my partner.

And right now? Right now I'm the only person he won't be able to turn away.

I take a deep breath and knock on his door.