Disclaimer: See previous installments.
Dark Places part 10/story ending
Bosco gritted his teeth against the pain as it tore its way across his hip. Sweat instantly
broke out on his face, and the waves of nausea that rolled their way through him caused him to
double over. His injured leg collapsed beneath him, and he groaned as strong arms grabbed him.
The surgery on his hip had been bad. Really bad. But nothing could have prepared him
for the difficulties that faced him after the slice and dice. All he wanted to do was walk, and he
could barely make two pitiful baby steps a reality without falling on his face. For a moment he
became resigned to a desk job, but then anger took over, and he grabbed at the walker and
brushed off the supporting hands.
"I can do it by myself," he growled furiously at Faith who was hovering over him with
disapproval evident on her face.
"Bosco, maybe you should…" she began warningly, but was interrupted as Bosco
crumpled to the floor, and she had to catch him again.
"Bosco, you're overdoing it!" she yelled at him. "The physical therapist said you could
try walking, but I have it on good authority that she said it only because she wanted to stop your
complaining and knew you couldn't do it yet. I don't think she understands how stubborn you
are."
"I can do it," Bosco insisted between deep gulps of air. The nausea continued to pound
its way through him, and it took all his will power to keep the small lunch he had eaten down in
his stomach where it belonged.
"Yeah, sure you can, just look at you," Faith snorted derisively. "And next week you'll
be running the NY marathon."
Bosco shifted his head up to give her a dirty look, but the movement only made the
nausea worse, and he closed his eyes and allowed his head to sag. He felt…defeated.
"I need to lie down," he said raspily.
***
Once he was settled back in his hospital bed, Bosco felt foolish. Faith was right when
she said that he was overdoing it, but he wanted his life back, and he wanted it back
immediately. He wanted to get back to being a police officer patrolling the streets and doing
something useful. The surgery, as horrible as it had been, had been a complete success, and he
was expected to make a full recovery. That meant, if he played his cards right, he wasn't
doomed to being a desk jockey for the rest of his life. But it also meant time and patience would
have to be the emphasis for him for a little while. Unfortunately, time and patience were not part
of his vocabulary.
He closed his eyes as another wave of pain and nausea hit, and he mulled over the
positive points to being patient and taking time. Maybe there was something to it, he decided as
his stomach clenched yet again.
"I'm gonna be sick," he moaned miserably, and Faith quickly reached for an emesis
basin. She thrust it into his hands just in time, and he violently retched into it. Faith rubbed his
back as he vomited, and her brows creased with concern. If he kept on overdoing it, he was
going to end up with another tube up his nose, she thought.
After he was finished with the emesis basin, Bosco leaned back in the bed and closed his
eyes. Faith noticed a fine sheen of perspiration coating his face, and she studied him carefully as
she wiped it away with a damp cloth. It was only three days after his surgery, and she could see a
definite improvement. But the nausea (still due to his head injury, according to the doctors, but
Faith was beginning to believe it was a side effect of one of the medications) continued, and
when he was in pain it always landed him back in bed with the emesis basin. He really was
trying too hard to put the entire experience behind him without dealing with it, and she continued
to worry about his emotional well-being.
"Bosco," she said cautiously. "Do you ever think that maybe you're over-compensating
by trying to do too much physically?"
"Huh?" he asked with his eyes still closed. "Faith, you know I don't get that psycho
babble. What the hell are you trying to say?"
"It's just that, well, uh…" This was so difficult! She didn't know how to discuss his
mental health without him becoming ballistic. But there was no sense stopping now. "Well,
Boz. Maybe you're trying so hard to get into physical shape, because you just don't want to deal
with the emotional effects of all that happened to you," she suggested bluntly.
Bosco opened one eye and looked at her warily. She was not doing this now, was she?
Not now when he felt so weak and so completely sick.
"Faith," he said with an unmistakable warning in his tone.
"No, I'm serious, Boz. You're practically killing yourself doing these little stunts like
you just did. You're pushing yourself too hard physically, and yet you keep denying that you
need any sort of therapy at all. I mean, god Bosco! If I had gone through what you went
through, I'd need to speak to a shrink every day! There is just no way that you can handle all of
this on your own!"
It felt good to yell about this, because she was tired of placating him by avoiding the
subject. Avoidance had not kept his nightmares at bay, and he needed some sense beaten into
him.
Bosco opened his other eye, and stared at her quietly for a moment. Damn! She was
actually starting in on him now.
"Faith," he growled angrily, "I'm going to say this once, and then I don't want to talk
about it again. I am not "over-compensating" or whatever the hell it is you called it. I just want
to get back to work as soon as possible so that I can put this whole god-awful situation behind
me. I want to get bad guys and lock them up. I want to walk, for Christ's sake! That's all there
is to it, I promise!
"I will go to the police assigned therapist when they force me to go. I will say exactly
what the therapist wants to hear so that I can get out of there in the fastest way possible, and I
have no intention of seeking out any other professional help. I told you once before that I've
gotten over plenty in my life without going into therapy, and I'll get over this too."
"But Boz, those nightmares that you have. They're horrible! Don't you want to deal
with all of that stuff?" Faith pleaded.
"I've had nightmares my entire life, Faith. They're nothing. I get by."
"Nothing! Are you crazy?" Faith replied. "God, Boz. Don't you want more out of your
life than just getting by?"
"I have more in my life than I ever expected, Faith. I've damn well got more than the
rest of my family has, and that makes me realize just how lucky I am. So yeah, I might have
overdone it today, and I might overdo it again tomorrow. But it's not because I'm trying to run
away from something; in fact, I'm running to something. I'm happy with my life, and I just want
it back. My way. My terms. Just like it's always been."
Faith looked down at her partner and saw the determination in his eyes. He wasn't
averting them from her this time, and it was evident that he was being truthful with her. She
realized suddenly that he had been working hard on his own in putting everything that had
happened to him in perspective. Not for the first time, she found herself surprised by his
strength. She never could have handled herself as well as he had and continued to do under the
circumstances. He was still as stubborn and proud as ever, but he was going to be okay. With a
great sigh of relief, she allowed her worry to subside. He really was going to be okay, and with
time she would have her partner back.
"Okay, Boz. Okay. You win," she said with a chuckle.
"Well thank god for small favors. Now maybe you'll get off my back and let me sleep. I
feel like crap. I swear, you women and your need to talk. Yap, yap, yap. That's all you do! All
that yammering gives me a headache!" he mumbled as sleep began to overtake him.
Faith smiled down at him, knowing that he was just trying to irritate her.
"I'll forgive you for that seeing how you're a little under the weather Boz. But you say
something so chauvinistic to me when you're feeling better, I'll send you back to this hospital."
She lowered herself into the damnable wooden chair to watch over her partner as he slept. She
saw his breathing slow and become regular, and she settled herself even further into the stiff and
uncomfortable edges of the chair.
But Bosco surprised her one more time by popping his eyes open.
"Faith…"
"Yeah, Boz. I'm right here. What's wrong? You okay?" she asked anxiously.
"One more thing. I'm not handling this all alone, and I'm really thankful for that. You
know?"
She was touched by the rare sentiment of his words, and she smiled back at him.
"Now I do, Boz."
"Good," he said, and with a satisfied grin on his face he closed his eyes again. "Now go
home, Faith. And I mean it."
Within seconds, he was asleep, and Faith remained by his side. She was struck again by
his strength, and she felt grateful tears well up into her eyes. She kissed his forehead and,
smiling, left the room.
Author's Note:
I realize that parts of this fic sort of mimic ideas presented in recent television episodes,
but I honestly had come to the conclusion that there would be no big Bosco breakdown in this fic
before everything occurred in the show. I know that some of you are probably disappointed, but
this is the way my mind's eye saw this fic ending, and I couldn't write it any other way.
In case you're curious, I have another fic started in my head (using my Bosco who went
through all of this hell in Dark Places; it will also deal with the effects Faith's devotion to Bosco
had on her marriage), and I'll probably start writing it soon (I just need to get it set a little bit
more solidly in my head).
I do apologize for being a slow updater. My life this year is very, very busy, and it makes
it hard to update regularly. So to all of you who have patiently (or not so patiently) waited for
each installment of my fic, I just wanted to thank you for reading it. And for those of you who
have left me feedback, you have my deepest gratitude, because it's nice to hear nice things about
something you've created. Thank you all!
~~Emrys
Dark Places part 10/story ending
Bosco gritted his teeth against the pain as it tore its way across his hip. Sweat instantly
broke out on his face, and the waves of nausea that rolled their way through him caused him to
double over. His injured leg collapsed beneath him, and he groaned as strong arms grabbed him.
The surgery on his hip had been bad. Really bad. But nothing could have prepared him
for the difficulties that faced him after the slice and dice. All he wanted to do was walk, and he
could barely make two pitiful baby steps a reality without falling on his face. For a moment he
became resigned to a desk job, but then anger took over, and he grabbed at the walker and
brushed off the supporting hands.
"I can do it by myself," he growled furiously at Faith who was hovering over him with
disapproval evident on her face.
"Bosco, maybe you should…" she began warningly, but was interrupted as Bosco
crumpled to the floor, and she had to catch him again.
"Bosco, you're overdoing it!" she yelled at him. "The physical therapist said you could
try walking, but I have it on good authority that she said it only because she wanted to stop your
complaining and knew you couldn't do it yet. I don't think she understands how stubborn you
are."
"I can do it," Bosco insisted between deep gulps of air. The nausea continued to pound
its way through him, and it took all his will power to keep the small lunch he had eaten down in
his stomach where it belonged.
"Yeah, sure you can, just look at you," Faith snorted derisively. "And next week you'll
be running the NY marathon."
Bosco shifted his head up to give her a dirty look, but the movement only made the
nausea worse, and he closed his eyes and allowed his head to sag. He felt…defeated.
"I need to lie down," he said raspily.
***
Once he was settled back in his hospital bed, Bosco felt foolish. Faith was right when
she said that he was overdoing it, but he wanted his life back, and he wanted it back
immediately. He wanted to get back to being a police officer patrolling the streets and doing
something useful. The surgery, as horrible as it had been, had been a complete success, and he
was expected to make a full recovery. That meant, if he played his cards right, he wasn't
doomed to being a desk jockey for the rest of his life. But it also meant time and patience would
have to be the emphasis for him for a little while. Unfortunately, time and patience were not part
of his vocabulary.
He closed his eyes as another wave of pain and nausea hit, and he mulled over the
positive points to being patient and taking time. Maybe there was something to it, he decided as
his stomach clenched yet again.
"I'm gonna be sick," he moaned miserably, and Faith quickly reached for an emesis
basin. She thrust it into his hands just in time, and he violently retched into it. Faith rubbed his
back as he vomited, and her brows creased with concern. If he kept on overdoing it, he was
going to end up with another tube up his nose, she thought.
After he was finished with the emesis basin, Bosco leaned back in the bed and closed his
eyes. Faith noticed a fine sheen of perspiration coating his face, and she studied him carefully as
she wiped it away with a damp cloth. It was only three days after his surgery, and she could see a
definite improvement. But the nausea (still due to his head injury, according to the doctors, but
Faith was beginning to believe it was a side effect of one of the medications) continued, and
when he was in pain it always landed him back in bed with the emesis basin. He really was
trying too hard to put the entire experience behind him without dealing with it, and she continued
to worry about his emotional well-being.
"Bosco," she said cautiously. "Do you ever think that maybe you're over-compensating
by trying to do too much physically?"
"Huh?" he asked with his eyes still closed. "Faith, you know I don't get that psycho
babble. What the hell are you trying to say?"
"It's just that, well, uh…" This was so difficult! She didn't know how to discuss his
mental health without him becoming ballistic. But there was no sense stopping now. "Well,
Boz. Maybe you're trying so hard to get into physical shape, because you just don't want to deal
with the emotional effects of all that happened to you," she suggested bluntly.
Bosco opened one eye and looked at her warily. She was not doing this now, was she?
Not now when he felt so weak and so completely sick.
"Faith," he said with an unmistakable warning in his tone.
"No, I'm serious, Boz. You're practically killing yourself doing these little stunts like
you just did. You're pushing yourself too hard physically, and yet you keep denying that you
need any sort of therapy at all. I mean, god Bosco! If I had gone through what you went
through, I'd need to speak to a shrink every day! There is just no way that you can handle all of
this on your own!"
It felt good to yell about this, because she was tired of placating him by avoiding the
subject. Avoidance had not kept his nightmares at bay, and he needed some sense beaten into
him.
Bosco opened his other eye, and stared at her quietly for a moment. Damn! She was
actually starting in on him now.
"Faith," he growled angrily, "I'm going to say this once, and then I don't want to talk
about it again. I am not "over-compensating" or whatever the hell it is you called it. I just want
to get back to work as soon as possible so that I can put this whole god-awful situation behind
me. I want to get bad guys and lock them up. I want to walk, for Christ's sake! That's all there
is to it, I promise!
"I will go to the police assigned therapist when they force me to go. I will say exactly
what the therapist wants to hear so that I can get out of there in the fastest way possible, and I
have no intention of seeking out any other professional help. I told you once before that I've
gotten over plenty in my life without going into therapy, and I'll get over this too."
"But Boz, those nightmares that you have. They're horrible! Don't you want to deal
with all of that stuff?" Faith pleaded.
"I've had nightmares my entire life, Faith. They're nothing. I get by."
"Nothing! Are you crazy?" Faith replied. "God, Boz. Don't you want more out of your
life than just getting by?"
"I have more in my life than I ever expected, Faith. I've damn well got more than the
rest of my family has, and that makes me realize just how lucky I am. So yeah, I might have
overdone it today, and I might overdo it again tomorrow. But it's not because I'm trying to run
away from something; in fact, I'm running to something. I'm happy with my life, and I just want
it back. My way. My terms. Just like it's always been."
Faith looked down at her partner and saw the determination in his eyes. He wasn't
averting them from her this time, and it was evident that he was being truthful with her. She
realized suddenly that he had been working hard on his own in putting everything that had
happened to him in perspective. Not for the first time, she found herself surprised by his
strength. She never could have handled herself as well as he had and continued to do under the
circumstances. He was still as stubborn and proud as ever, but he was going to be okay. With a
great sigh of relief, she allowed her worry to subside. He really was going to be okay, and with
time she would have her partner back.
"Okay, Boz. Okay. You win," she said with a chuckle.
"Well thank god for small favors. Now maybe you'll get off my back and let me sleep. I
feel like crap. I swear, you women and your need to talk. Yap, yap, yap. That's all you do! All
that yammering gives me a headache!" he mumbled as sleep began to overtake him.
Faith smiled down at him, knowing that he was just trying to irritate her.
"I'll forgive you for that seeing how you're a little under the weather Boz. But you say
something so chauvinistic to me when you're feeling better, I'll send you back to this hospital."
She lowered herself into the damnable wooden chair to watch over her partner as he slept. She
saw his breathing slow and become regular, and she settled herself even further into the stiff and
uncomfortable edges of the chair.
But Bosco surprised her one more time by popping his eyes open.
"Faith…"
"Yeah, Boz. I'm right here. What's wrong? You okay?" she asked anxiously.
"One more thing. I'm not handling this all alone, and I'm really thankful for that. You
know?"
She was touched by the rare sentiment of his words, and she smiled back at him.
"Now I do, Boz."
"Good," he said, and with a satisfied grin on his face he closed his eyes again. "Now go
home, Faith. And I mean it."
Within seconds, he was asleep, and Faith remained by his side. She was struck again by
his strength, and she felt grateful tears well up into her eyes. She kissed his forehead and,
smiling, left the room.
Author's Note:
I realize that parts of this fic sort of mimic ideas presented in recent television episodes,
but I honestly had come to the conclusion that there would be no big Bosco breakdown in this fic
before everything occurred in the show. I know that some of you are probably disappointed, but
this is the way my mind's eye saw this fic ending, and I couldn't write it any other way.
In case you're curious, I have another fic started in my head (using my Bosco who went
through all of this hell in Dark Places; it will also deal with the effects Faith's devotion to Bosco
had on her marriage), and I'll probably start writing it soon (I just need to get it set a little bit
more solidly in my head).
I do apologize for being a slow updater. My life this year is very, very busy, and it makes
it hard to update regularly. So to all of you who have patiently (or not so patiently) waited for
each installment of my fic, I just wanted to thank you for reading it. And for those of you who
have left me feedback, you have my deepest gratitude, because it's nice to hear nice things about
something you've created. Thank you all!
~~Emrys