TITLE: THE REPLACEMENT
AUTHOR: MINN
DISCLAIMER: I don't own nothin' - mores the pity - just playing. No character was really harmed during the typing of this nonsense. The creators of Third Watch are, of course, gods. (But if you ever do get stuck for ideas guys, gimme a call...HAH!)
CHEERS! to all the kind folks who said such nice things about my maiden outing "Grace". Just remember, if you encourage me, you'll NEVER get rid of me...
EXPLAINATION: This wasn't HALF as much fun to write as Grace was, so don't feel too bad if you find yourself not liking it. Consider this as back-story - the journey to Grace, if you like. But be patient. Nothing in the Minn-verse ever happens quickly...
*********
PART SIX
The "just who I needed to top off a perfect day" look O'malley gave him as he walked in made him want to turn right back around and leave again.
"OK Boscorelli, are we gonna do the 'nothing's wrong with me' dance or are you actually here to achieve something?"
Bosco glared at him, thought some more about leaving, then silently settled himself in the chair opposite O'malley.
The gentle sway and creak of the boat punctuated the silence. Bosco stared at the floor.
"I take it this wasn't your idea to be here?"
Bosco nodded.
"Let me guess - you don't think you need it, right?"
Silence.
"Let's recap how this works, Boscorelli. I'm a therapist. You come to me, we talk. If you're not prepared to talk, get the hell out."
"Faith's dead."
O'malley watched him carefully and nodded. "I heard."
More silence.
"How have you handled that? Or is that a stupid question?"
Bosco fidgeted.
O'malley fought the urge to throw a blunt and heavy object at him.
"We've been through all this before, and you know what, I can't be bothered spending hours having to chip through your big man act in order to get to what's bugging you." O'malley's voice took on the hard edge of irritation. "How many times do I have to say this before you actually get it Boscorelli? Your problem is you don't grieve. Hell, I'm not even sure you know how to feel. You lock whatever emotion you can't handle away in some kind of bomb proof inner vault and then you tell yourself and whoever else is stupid enough to listen to you that you're OK, you're doing just fine. But you know what? Your shitty life is testament to the fact that you're NOT fine, you have never been fine, and until you stop trying to convince the world that you've got it all figured out when you haven't, you're never gonna BE fine. Just when are you gonna GET that?!"
He watched his client carefully, taking in the averted gaze and the 'don't mess with me' posture that was being presented to him. O'malley, cursing quietly under his breath, stood up. "I've got better things to..."
"You once told me that instead of shedding tears, people like me throw punches."
O'malley sat himself back down and leaned forward. "That's 'cos people like you, men like you, think crying is for pussies."
Bosco was studiously examining the decking at his feet. "I can't go to Faith with this," he said softly.
The tone of O'malley's voice softened slightly. "You trusted her."
"She always had a way of knowing what to say, even if it was sometimes like listening to a mommy lecture."
"You saying you think Faith treated you like a child?"
Bosco shrugged. "That's what it felt like sometimes. Like she didn't feel she could trust me to tie my own shoelaces."
"Why do you think she did that?"
"Faith mothered people, you know? Every loser with a problem, Faith would try to make it all better."
"Of course it wouldn't have anything to do with the way you conduct yourself would it Boscorelli?" O'malley murmured sarcastically. "You know, Faith's concern for others could just mean she was a caring person. Did you ever consider that?"
Silence.
"Do you miss Faith?"
Bosco speared him with a look. "What do you think?"
"I'm asking you."
"Yeah I miss her. Of course I miss her. She was my partner, she put up with me when everyone else..." he shrugged. "She cared."
"About you?"
The reply, when it came, was barely audible. "I should be so lucky."
O'malley studied him carefully. "Why lucky?"
Bosco was clearly uncomfortable with that line of inquiry. O'malley tried another angle.
"You admired her?"
"Yeah."
"In what way?"
"What do you mean?"
"What were the qualities you admired in Faith?"
Bosco fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere over O'malley's right shoulder. "She was strong, she knew how to look after herself. And loyal. I knew I could always depend on her, even when she wasn't prepared to put up with any of my crap."
His gaze dropped back down to the decking as he paused to gather his thoughts.
"I loved her sense of humour...and the way she always listened when I needed to talk. She was always there for me - even when I was trying to convince her I didn't need anyone's help. She was someone I knew I could turn to." He shrugged. "That's not what usually happens with me and women."
O'malley leaned forward. "You've placed Faith on a pretty high pedestal, Boscorelli. So I want an honest answer out of you: how do you feel about the fact that she's dead?"
There was a tense silence before Bosco answered.
"It hurts," he whispered. "And it's my fault. I didn't listen...she knew better but I didn't listen."
"So you think if you start feeling all the pain and the guilt it'll never stop?"
Silence.
"We have feelings for a reason, Boscorelli. When we get the hell over ourselves to feel and process them, we can eventually work them through and move on. But when we deny them they mutate into actions and behaviour that can hurt us and the people we love."
Something in him was beginning to crack. "That's the problem, O'malley," Bosco said, his voice filling with emotion.
"What is?"
"I think I might have had...feelings...for Faith."
O'malley sat back in his chair and regarded Bosco with some surprise.
"Do you think she felt the same?"
"No way." Bosco's eyes, rapidly filling with tears, searched the ceiling. "I wasn't anything else to her but her pain-in-the-ass partner."
Once again, O'malley was caught off guard. The level of awareness such an insight required he had thought beyond the likes of Maurice Boscorelli. He had underestimated him.
O'malley considered him carefully.
"Do you accept that your life is crap? And that you need help?"
Bosco eyed him warily for a moment, and then it seemed to O'malley as if he finally gave up some inner fight. Without a word or any sign of descent or posturing, Bosco nodded.
"I don't want you wasting my time, Boscorelli. If being a jerk for the rest of your shitty little existence suits you, then get out. But if you really want to make some changes, tell me now. Are you prepared to do the work?"
Bosco, his face a picture of desolation, looked him straight in the eye and said quietly:
"I need help."
****************
So do I - nyahaha!!...
TBC
AUTHOR: MINN
DISCLAIMER: I don't own nothin' - mores the pity - just playing. No character was really harmed during the typing of this nonsense. The creators of Third Watch are, of course, gods. (But if you ever do get stuck for ideas guys, gimme a call...HAH!)
CHEERS! to all the kind folks who said such nice things about my maiden outing "Grace". Just remember, if you encourage me, you'll NEVER get rid of me...
EXPLAINATION: This wasn't HALF as much fun to write as Grace was, so don't feel too bad if you find yourself not liking it. Consider this as back-story - the journey to Grace, if you like. But be patient. Nothing in the Minn-verse ever happens quickly...
*********
PART SIX
The "just who I needed to top off a perfect day" look O'malley gave him as he walked in made him want to turn right back around and leave again.
"OK Boscorelli, are we gonna do the 'nothing's wrong with me' dance or are you actually here to achieve something?"
Bosco glared at him, thought some more about leaving, then silently settled himself in the chair opposite O'malley.
The gentle sway and creak of the boat punctuated the silence. Bosco stared at the floor.
"I take it this wasn't your idea to be here?"
Bosco nodded.
"Let me guess - you don't think you need it, right?"
Silence.
"Let's recap how this works, Boscorelli. I'm a therapist. You come to me, we talk. If you're not prepared to talk, get the hell out."
"Faith's dead."
O'malley watched him carefully and nodded. "I heard."
More silence.
"How have you handled that? Or is that a stupid question?"
Bosco fidgeted.
O'malley fought the urge to throw a blunt and heavy object at him.
"We've been through all this before, and you know what, I can't be bothered spending hours having to chip through your big man act in order to get to what's bugging you." O'malley's voice took on the hard edge of irritation. "How many times do I have to say this before you actually get it Boscorelli? Your problem is you don't grieve. Hell, I'm not even sure you know how to feel. You lock whatever emotion you can't handle away in some kind of bomb proof inner vault and then you tell yourself and whoever else is stupid enough to listen to you that you're OK, you're doing just fine. But you know what? Your shitty life is testament to the fact that you're NOT fine, you have never been fine, and until you stop trying to convince the world that you've got it all figured out when you haven't, you're never gonna BE fine. Just when are you gonna GET that?!"
He watched his client carefully, taking in the averted gaze and the 'don't mess with me' posture that was being presented to him. O'malley, cursing quietly under his breath, stood up. "I've got better things to..."
"You once told me that instead of shedding tears, people like me throw punches."
O'malley sat himself back down and leaned forward. "That's 'cos people like you, men like you, think crying is for pussies."
Bosco was studiously examining the decking at his feet. "I can't go to Faith with this," he said softly.
The tone of O'malley's voice softened slightly. "You trusted her."
"She always had a way of knowing what to say, even if it was sometimes like listening to a mommy lecture."
"You saying you think Faith treated you like a child?"
Bosco shrugged. "That's what it felt like sometimes. Like she didn't feel she could trust me to tie my own shoelaces."
"Why do you think she did that?"
"Faith mothered people, you know? Every loser with a problem, Faith would try to make it all better."
"Of course it wouldn't have anything to do with the way you conduct yourself would it Boscorelli?" O'malley murmured sarcastically. "You know, Faith's concern for others could just mean she was a caring person. Did you ever consider that?"
Silence.
"Do you miss Faith?"
Bosco speared him with a look. "What do you think?"
"I'm asking you."
"Yeah I miss her. Of course I miss her. She was my partner, she put up with me when everyone else..." he shrugged. "She cared."
"About you?"
The reply, when it came, was barely audible. "I should be so lucky."
O'malley studied him carefully. "Why lucky?"
Bosco was clearly uncomfortable with that line of inquiry. O'malley tried another angle.
"You admired her?"
"Yeah."
"In what way?"
"What do you mean?"
"What were the qualities you admired in Faith?"
Bosco fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere over O'malley's right shoulder. "She was strong, she knew how to look after herself. And loyal. I knew I could always depend on her, even when she wasn't prepared to put up with any of my crap."
His gaze dropped back down to the decking as he paused to gather his thoughts.
"I loved her sense of humour...and the way she always listened when I needed to talk. She was always there for me - even when I was trying to convince her I didn't need anyone's help. She was someone I knew I could turn to." He shrugged. "That's not what usually happens with me and women."
O'malley leaned forward. "You've placed Faith on a pretty high pedestal, Boscorelli. So I want an honest answer out of you: how do you feel about the fact that she's dead?"
There was a tense silence before Bosco answered.
"It hurts," he whispered. "And it's my fault. I didn't listen...she knew better but I didn't listen."
"So you think if you start feeling all the pain and the guilt it'll never stop?"
Silence.
"We have feelings for a reason, Boscorelli. When we get the hell over ourselves to feel and process them, we can eventually work them through and move on. But when we deny them they mutate into actions and behaviour that can hurt us and the people we love."
Something in him was beginning to crack. "That's the problem, O'malley," Bosco said, his voice filling with emotion.
"What is?"
"I think I might have had...feelings...for Faith."
O'malley sat back in his chair and regarded Bosco with some surprise.
"Do you think she felt the same?"
"No way." Bosco's eyes, rapidly filling with tears, searched the ceiling. "I wasn't anything else to her but her pain-in-the-ass partner."
Once again, O'malley was caught off guard. The level of awareness such an insight required he had thought beyond the likes of Maurice Boscorelli. He had underestimated him.
O'malley considered him carefully.
"Do you accept that your life is crap? And that you need help?"
Bosco eyed him warily for a moment, and then it seemed to O'malley as if he finally gave up some inner fight. Without a word or any sign of descent or posturing, Bosco nodded.
"I don't want you wasting my time, Boscorelli. If being a jerk for the rest of your shitty little existence suits you, then get out. But if you really want to make some changes, tell me now. Are you prepared to do the work?"
Bosco, his face a picture of desolation, looked him straight in the eye and said quietly:
"I need help."
****************
So do I - nyahaha!!...
TBC