"Lieu, you seen Boscorelli?" Chandler attaches his radio his belt and looks at Swersky, casting a questioning glance his way.

"Naw," Swersky replies. "Haven't seen him. He's your partner, don't you know where he is?"

"Do I look like his goddamned babysitter to you? The guy's always late, doesn't seem to give a shit about anything but that kid."

They don't know that Bosco's not late. He's sitting in a washroom stall, feet up on the toilet, crying.

"That kid?" Swersky asks, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

"Yokas' kid, Charlie. He goes and visits him on dinner breaks."

Swersky puts his hands on his hips. "Give it to me straight Chandler," he says, the muscles in his neck twitching a bit. "Is Bosco fit to be out there?"

"You want the honest truth?" Chandler tosses his hands up in the air. "That guy shouldn't be out there. He shouldn't be at work. He risks his own life and everyone else's as well. I think he's off on some on some revenge kick. Can't seem to accept that Yokas is dead and gone."

Swersky nods his head and looks sorrowful for a moment. "No one wants to accept that she's gone. She was a damn fine officer."

"Didn't really know her." Chandler says. "Only by reputation."

"Take a look around for Bosco," Swersky says. "When you find him, tell him I want to see him. I'm takin' him off patrol."

A slight smile crosses Chandler's face. His stone grey eyes glint. "Be glad to Lieu." he says and then walks away.

________________

Bosco reaches for the roll of toilet paper and tears off a few pieces. Wads them up in the palm of his hand. He stopped crying a few minutes ago, finally gained control over his emotions. "Dammit," he whispers and wipes his hand over his face.

"Pull yourself together Boscorelli." he says softly. His voice is tinged with anger. Bosco never did like showing emotion.

Bosco? I look at him, red eyes, haggard appearance. He's not the man I once knew. Come on Bos, you gotta get over this. They're gonna fire you Bosco.

"Faith?" Bosco tears off a few more pieces of paper. He plays with them, tearing them into shreds. "I bet they're all lookin' for me, huh? Wonderin' where I am."

Yeah Bos, they are. Chandler's lookin' for you, gonna tell you that Swersky wants to see you.

"Probably never think to look in a toilet stall." Bosco mutters. The shreds of toilet paper fall from his hand and scatter on the floor.

The door to the room opens and heavy footsteps approach. Bosco draws his feet up further, trying to keep himself well hidden. His eyes flit around, he's scared. Scared of being caught in such a vulnerable position.

"Boscorelli? You in here?" Chandler yells, his bass voice booming off the walls.

Go to hell Chandler. Bosco doesn't need to see you right now. Doesn't need your false sympathies.

Bosco draws in a shuddering breath. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." He tries to control his voice, but it falters slightly.

"Lieu wants to see you Boscorelli." Chandler says. A quick glance reveals a sardonic smile pasted across his face. "You'd better be finished up quick."

His footsteps retreat back out the door and Bosco lets out his breath. "Damn," Bosco whispers. "Probably gonna fire my ass for bein' such a nutcase."

His blue eyes fill with tears again and Bosco looks helplessly down at his hands as the tears stream down his face. "I need you Faith." he whispers, his voice quavering. "Damn you Faith, this is all your fault."

I know Bosco and I'm sorry. So sorry.

"Why'd you hafta go and get shot Faith? I'm nothin' without you. Nothin'."

I reach out to him, lay my hand on his trembling shoulder. Stay with me Bos. Don't you go doin' somethin' stupid on me now.

Angrily he tears off a large strip of toilet paper and jams the wad in his face. He blows his nose and wipes off his cheeks. Then he stands up and opens the toilet stall. "I'm pathetic," he mumbles. "Cryin' in a stall like some goddamn five year old."

Bosco splashes some cold water on his face and examines himself in the mirror. His eyes are still rimmed with red. It's obvious he's been crying. Drawing in a deep breath and steadying his composure, Bosco leaves the room and heads for Swersky's office.

With a tentative hand, he knocks on the door. Three times, loud bangs. The glass rattles. "Come in!"

Bosco turns the knob and enters the office. "Bosco." Swersky says with a nod of his head. "Have a seat."

"I um, I prefer to stand." Bosco replies.

"Suit yourself," Swersky says with a shrug. "Do you know why I called you here Bosco?"

"I could make a few guesses." Bosco replies. "None of them good."

"I know it hasn't been easy, adjusting to Officer Yokas' death. Especially for you. I've been getting some complaints, from your partner, fellow officers and the general public."

"Great." Bosco mutters.

"I'm taking you off patrol." Swersky says. "It's not permanent. Just until you talk to a bereavement counsellor and get yourself back on your feet."

"I don't need to talk to a shrink." Bosco says. His eyes flash. "I don't know what you've been hearin', but I'm fine!"

No Bosco, you aren't fine. I watch as Swersky shakes his head and pulls a piece of paper from his desk drawer. "Here's some names of counsellors, I want you to see one of them. It's mandatory."

"And if I don't?" Bosco asks, challenging the lieutenant.

"Then that's it. You're gone. Your career is over before it ever began."

Bosco pauses for a moment. The wheels in his head turning. "Then I quit." he says finally. He takes off his badge and places it on Swersky's desk. His gun soon follows.

Swersky just stares at Bosco, in disbelief. Bosco shrugs and leaves the office. He's fighting back the tears again. I can tell, I know these things. He heads for the locker room and tears off his uniform. Replaces it with a pair of faded jeans and an old, baggy sweatshirt.

"Thanks a lot Faith." he whispers. "Now see what you've done?"

He jams his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. I touch his face again. His eyes close as my fingers touch his cheek. "I need help." he whispers. "But not a damn shrink."

Taking one last look around the room, Bosco leaves. Walks down the hallways, ignoring the questioning stares of his fellow officers. Ignoring the smirk on Chandler's face as he passes him by the door. I follow, not willing to leave Bosco alone.

He gets into his car. Not bothering to do up the seatbelt, he tears out of the parking lot and down the street. Narrowly missing pedestrians and other vehicles. I don't know where he's going and I don't think he does either. He's driving to escape. To get away from the pain.