Hi Everyone! I just wanted to thank you all for the wonderful feedback I've received regarding
this fic! As any fanfic writer knows, it's what keeps me writing. I'm sorry that I've been
continuing Dark Places sporadically, but real life has been getting in the way (don't you hate it
when that happens?). This is a short installment, but I figured I owed another chapter (plus
Debbie has started getting on my case! Thanks Deb for keeping me going!), so here it is. Oh, by
the way…there's yet more Bosco angst in here…generated by my sick and weird mind. Makes
me a little nervous when I see what my mind can come up with….
Dark Places Part 8
Disclaimer: See previous installments.
This time, awareness came to him instantaneously. One moment he had been dreaming
about his father throwing him against the kitchen wall of the cramped apartment of his
childhood; in the next, his vision had widened to encompass the contents of a strange room and
Faith's blurry but concerned face looking down at him. It took only an instant for him to
recognize the strangling presence of the ventilator tube, and he glared at her furiously. The look
of concern on his partner's face immediately turned to one of apology. It seemed his
circumstances had not changed, except…now his nose felt stuffed up. What now? Was his luck
so bad that he had managed to catch a cold while he was unconscious?
He crinkled his nose, and the pressure in it caused his eyes to water. What the hell was
going on?
Faith steadied him with a pointed look and smiled encouragingly at him.
"I know Bosco, I know. They had to keep you on the ventilator. You crashed about five
minutes after they took you off it the last time, and you've been out of it ever since."
Bosco had a second to wonder how long "ever since" really was before a twinge in his
nose made him want to sneeze. He put a hand up to rub at it and stopped when he found another
tube there.
Again, Faith easily understood the question foremost in her partner's mind without him
having to vocalize it.
"You started vomiting about twelve hours back, Bozz. The doctors said it had something
to do with your concussion. But you were choking, because everything was getting caught up in
the ventilator tube, so they put another tube down your nose and into your stomach to suction out
all of your stomach contents before you throw it all up." She neglected to tell him that she had
been the one to find him choking and gagging. She had just stepped out of the room to go to the
bathroom, and when she returned the sight of him had caused her to panic. She had kept her wits
about her long enough to get a doctor, but she never wanted to live that particular slice of life
over again if she could at all help it.
A wave of despair flowed over Bosco, and he pushed it violently away. So what if he
had tubes sticking out of every possible hole in his head? It wasn't like he was dying or
anything, right? He'd recover from this…eventually. The pain he felt everywhere made him
question his own insistent thinking, and he lay still for a moment as he tried to think of a way to
ask Faith all the questions that he had for her.
But again, Faith's thoughts were perfectly in sync with his own. She smiled warmly and
reached down and out of his field of view. When her face returned, he saw that she was holding
up a small chalkboard.
"Sully and Davis heard that you were back on the ventilator, and so they brought this for
you," she explained. "They figured that you would feel better if you had some way of pissing
everyone off with your words as you are so often trying to do," her smile softened her words into
a joke.
He grabbed the board, scribbled "I don't try to piss people off!" and then handed it back
to Faith.
Her snort of laughter argued otherwise, and she smiled broadly at him. "Okay, you're
right. You don't try to piss people off…you actually succeed in pissing people off!"
He grabbed the board back, and this time he wrote "Low Blow!" Faith laughed again
when he showed her the words, and the sound of it made both of them feel better. The two of
them knew that if Faith was able to laugh at any part of this situation, then things could only
improve.
Bosco began to feel a certain measure of weakness and pain creep through him, and he
decided he had better get the information he wanted before he didn't have the strength to listen to
the answers. As quickly as he could in his shaky condition, he wrote a succession of questions
and showed them to Faith.
Faith suddenly became serious as she looked at his questions and put a hand on his
shoulder to steady him.
"Like I said, Bosco. You've got a bad concussion, a punctured lung, two broken ribs,
and a bullet fractured your pelvis. You're also recovering from some severe blood loss."
Bosco closed his eyes as he heard the list of his injuries and felt that wave of despair
return. When Faith gently squeezed his shoulder, he opened his eyes in response and tried as
well as he could to smile a cocky smile.
"As far as your other questions," she said gently, "You've been out of it for over 24
hours. It's 3 A.M., and no, you're not in the same room you were in the last time. They decided
to move you to I.C.U. until your breathing stabilized a bit more, because the damage to your lung
is worse than they had initially thought. Actually, they were worried at first that the vomiting
had destabilized your ribs and re-punctured your lung, but that wasn't the case. It hasn't been a
fun day," she conceded with a haunted look in her eyes.
Her words made him increasingly more tired, and he suddenly felt too exhausted to
continue any sort of conversation. He still had many questions for her, but he let the chalkboard
drop from his hand as he felt his eyelids droop involuntarily.
"Go to sleep, Bosco. You need your rest. I'll get the doctor and tell him that you woke
up for a while, but you should sleep while you can." Her words caused him to focus on her once
again, and with a flash of insight he realized that she also was exhausted. Had she been here
with him the whole time?
With a great effort, he lifted the chalkboard and asked her how long she had been at the
hospital with him.
"Don't worry about me, Bozz," she replied. "You need to concentrate on yourself."
With strength he didn't realize he possessed, he wrote "Fred?" on the board. The board
fell from his grasp again, and he couldn't find the energy to pick it back up.
"Shhhh. Bozz. Go back to sleep. Fred and I worked something out. You rest."
He knew she was hiding something from him, but the demands of his body precluded any
chance he had of continuing the conversation. He fought against sleep, but was successful only
for a moment before his vision blurred further and then became focused once more on his world
of nightmarish dreams.
this fic! As any fanfic writer knows, it's what keeps me writing. I'm sorry that I've been
continuing Dark Places sporadically, but real life has been getting in the way (don't you hate it
when that happens?). This is a short installment, but I figured I owed another chapter (plus
Debbie has started getting on my case! Thanks Deb for keeping me going!), so here it is. Oh, by
the way…there's yet more Bosco angst in here…generated by my sick and weird mind. Makes
me a little nervous when I see what my mind can come up with….
Dark Places Part 8
Disclaimer: See previous installments.
This time, awareness came to him instantaneously. One moment he had been dreaming
about his father throwing him against the kitchen wall of the cramped apartment of his
childhood; in the next, his vision had widened to encompass the contents of a strange room and
Faith's blurry but concerned face looking down at him. It took only an instant for him to
recognize the strangling presence of the ventilator tube, and he glared at her furiously. The look
of concern on his partner's face immediately turned to one of apology. It seemed his
circumstances had not changed, except…now his nose felt stuffed up. What now? Was his luck
so bad that he had managed to catch a cold while he was unconscious?
He crinkled his nose, and the pressure in it caused his eyes to water. What the hell was
going on?
Faith steadied him with a pointed look and smiled encouragingly at him.
"I know Bosco, I know. They had to keep you on the ventilator. You crashed about five
minutes after they took you off it the last time, and you've been out of it ever since."
Bosco had a second to wonder how long "ever since" really was before a twinge in his
nose made him want to sneeze. He put a hand up to rub at it and stopped when he found another
tube there.
Again, Faith easily understood the question foremost in her partner's mind without him
having to vocalize it.
"You started vomiting about twelve hours back, Bozz. The doctors said it had something
to do with your concussion. But you were choking, because everything was getting caught up in
the ventilator tube, so they put another tube down your nose and into your stomach to suction out
all of your stomach contents before you throw it all up." She neglected to tell him that she had
been the one to find him choking and gagging. She had just stepped out of the room to go to the
bathroom, and when she returned the sight of him had caused her to panic. She had kept her wits
about her long enough to get a doctor, but she never wanted to live that particular slice of life
over again if she could at all help it.
A wave of despair flowed over Bosco, and he pushed it violently away. So what if he
had tubes sticking out of every possible hole in his head? It wasn't like he was dying or
anything, right? He'd recover from this…eventually. The pain he felt everywhere made him
question his own insistent thinking, and he lay still for a moment as he tried to think of a way to
ask Faith all the questions that he had for her.
But again, Faith's thoughts were perfectly in sync with his own. She smiled warmly and
reached down and out of his field of view. When her face returned, he saw that she was holding
up a small chalkboard.
"Sully and Davis heard that you were back on the ventilator, and so they brought this for
you," she explained. "They figured that you would feel better if you had some way of pissing
everyone off with your words as you are so often trying to do," her smile softened her words into
a joke.
He grabbed the board, scribbled "I don't try to piss people off!" and then handed it back
to Faith.
Her snort of laughter argued otherwise, and she smiled broadly at him. "Okay, you're
right. You don't try to piss people off…you actually succeed in pissing people off!"
He grabbed the board back, and this time he wrote "Low Blow!" Faith laughed again
when he showed her the words, and the sound of it made both of them feel better. The two of
them knew that if Faith was able to laugh at any part of this situation, then things could only
improve.
Bosco began to feel a certain measure of weakness and pain creep through him, and he
decided he had better get the information he wanted before he didn't have the strength to listen to
the answers. As quickly as he could in his shaky condition, he wrote a succession of questions
and showed them to Faith.
Faith suddenly became serious as she looked at his questions and put a hand on his
shoulder to steady him.
"Like I said, Bosco. You've got a bad concussion, a punctured lung, two broken ribs,
and a bullet fractured your pelvis. You're also recovering from some severe blood loss."
Bosco closed his eyes as he heard the list of his injuries and felt that wave of despair
return. When Faith gently squeezed his shoulder, he opened his eyes in response and tried as
well as he could to smile a cocky smile.
"As far as your other questions," she said gently, "You've been out of it for over 24
hours. It's 3 A.M., and no, you're not in the same room you were in the last time. They decided
to move you to I.C.U. until your breathing stabilized a bit more, because the damage to your lung
is worse than they had initially thought. Actually, they were worried at first that the vomiting
had destabilized your ribs and re-punctured your lung, but that wasn't the case. It hasn't been a
fun day," she conceded with a haunted look in her eyes.
Her words made him increasingly more tired, and he suddenly felt too exhausted to
continue any sort of conversation. He still had many questions for her, but he let the chalkboard
drop from his hand as he felt his eyelids droop involuntarily.
"Go to sleep, Bosco. You need your rest. I'll get the doctor and tell him that you woke
up for a while, but you should sleep while you can." Her words caused him to focus on her once
again, and with a flash of insight he realized that she also was exhausted. Had she been here
with him the whole time?
With a great effort, he lifted the chalkboard and asked her how long she had been at the
hospital with him.
"Don't worry about me, Bozz," she replied. "You need to concentrate on yourself."
With strength he didn't realize he possessed, he wrote "Fred?" on the board. The board
fell from his grasp again, and he couldn't find the energy to pick it back up.
"Shhhh. Bozz. Go back to sleep. Fred and I worked something out. You rest."
He knew she was hiding something from him, but the demands of his body precluded any
chance he had of continuing the conversation. He fought against sleep, but was successful only
for a moment before his vision blurred further and then became focused once more on his world
of nightmarish dreams.