Had a busy week...my muse was hyperactive and she didn't want to settle
enough to write this...instead she decided to come up with a zillion and one new ideas, which are now craving my attention and seriously PISSING ME OFF...lol
So currently she is grounded--should she decide to try and go off in another
direction, she will be forced to read the dictionary (which is actually
something I enjoy, but she hates, lol).

I would just like to take a second to thank all of you who are still with
me at this point. Your interest and support have really helped me churn
this thing out, and it makes me feel really good about what I'm writing.

Thank you so much. Again, sorry for the delay...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abyss
By: Syko4Bosco aka A. Lalad
Rating: PG-13
Category: Bosco Angst, B/Y UST
Summary: Bosco is kidnapped and witnesses a horrific act
that he can not come to terms with. As his guilt
and silence overwhelm him, he spirals downward
into a deep depression. Can Faith get to him
before it's too late?
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership, nor do I gain any type
of compensation or reward for this story. I
write for my own personal enjoyment, and share
my writing with others who may also enjoy it.
Third Watch (c) and all registered characters belong
to NBC.



Abyss
By: Syko4Bosco aka A. Lalad
(13/?)


==*==
Two Weeks Later
Streets of Manhattan
2:47 am

The weeks of Bosco's leave were one long, drawn out blur to him.

During the day he was going to the mandatory therapy that the department
was forcing on him. Bosco hated every second of it. He didn't want
to talk about all the things that had happened. He wanted to forget them.

Every day Dr. Rex would tear down the walls he had worked so hard to build
and every night he would struggle to put them back up. Bosco grudgingly
took Faith's advice after the first two sessions ended in his misery.

He realized that it would be easier on him if he just did what he
had to do and not fight it. He also realized that he could do that and
still retain sanity by feeding the good doctor...mistruths. That way, he
could let the doc believe he was tearing down the walls, when all the while
they remained strongly standing.

He hated the sessions. Hated everything about them. He hated the hours
between sessions, knowing he had to go back. He hated the office, with it's
smooth jazz muzak in the waiting room and the plethora of freaks he had to
sit with. He hated when he was called in--he would sit in the lobby, acting
as if he was waiting for someone, but when they called his name, his facade
was blown.

He would walk into the room and the doctor would be sitting there, nice and
neat and ready to 'talk.'

And therein started another act.

As if he needed something else to juggle, this therapy crap forced him to
act out another role. At therapy, he was 'I-admit-I-need-help' Bosco,
which sometimes coincided with 'I-am-willing-to-tell-you-my-problems' Bosco.
With Faith, he was 'I'm-fine' Bosco...'Everything-is-back-to-normal' Bosco.

When he was alone, he was himself. Terrified. Haunted. Running.

Like he was running now.

It had become his nightly ritual, his feet pounding the pavement, hammering
out the minutes of the night beat by beat.

Even though he was armed to the teeth and on high alert, the whole time he
was running, Bosco was out of his head.

When he was running, all that mattered was putting that one foot in front
of the other. Inhale, exhale. He was able to force all thoughts from his
mind except those.

It became his real therapy. Forget all the 'let's talk' crap Dr. Rex was
pushing. This became his survival...his sustenance.

Bosco pushed himself harder and harder each night, the pain of speed turning
into adrenaline surges. The sound of his heart in his ears and the intense
burning of the air through his nostrils turned into a craving.

The cold winter nights were invigorating and numbing. Perfect.

He would go for hours and not notice until the sun started to come up and
his legs started to buckle.

As if coming out of a dream, he would become aware of his surroundings.
His nightly journies had left him in the oddest places. Docks. Subway
stations. Parking lots. Bridges. And then came the increasingly
difficult task of finding his way home.

He would go back and relax for awhile, dozing lightly but never allowing
himself to fall into complete unconciousness.

Faith would drop by every day for about 2 hours before she had to go in to
work. She would fix lunch for both of them, forcing him to eat (as sick
as it made him) because with Faith, he had to be 'I'm-fine-everything-is-
back-to-normal' Bosco.

He knew she wasn't buying it. She was too afraid to confront him on it,
though, so he was able to allay her fears easily.

Mostly they sat and watched tv. He knew she wanted to talk, and he realized
she was going through a lot too, but he was guarding the walls to his memories
with his life.

He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to talk. Not to Dr. Rex, not to
Faith, not to anyone. It was a simple matter of sanity.

The same reason he refused to sleep. Refused to allow himself the opportunity
to dream. Saved himself from the nightmares.

Faith would leave, overly concerned and apprehensive. She was mildly calmed
by his assurances that he was, indeed, 'just fine.'

Then he would head off to see his good pal, Dr. Rex.

It was all he could do not to ring the guy's neck. Sitting in his leather
chair, pretending he understood...pretending he cared. The doctor was
putting on an act too, so why shouldn't Bosco?

That realization alone was enough to completely justify his false
responses and feelings. 'I-admit-I-need-help-I-am-willing-to-tell-you-my-
problems' Bosco had no conscience and no regrets.

He didn't need a shrink anyways. He needed everyone to leave him alone
and let him forget. If people stopped reminding him of Angela and 1013
Burlington St., he would be able to get back to normal 10x faster.

Or so he thought.

After the torturous appointments, he would head back home. Down a couple
of shots of whatever was in the cabinet and watch tv.

He couldn't drink too much, because Faith would occasionally stop by on
her break.

When it started to get dark and he started to get tired, he'd lace up his
shoes and leave.

The night brought comfort and fear. As relaxing as the running was, Bosco
never left the house without his gun, pepper spray, cell phone and personal
alarm system. He was going to purchase a stun-gun tomorrow afternoon.

His mind wandered, but his instincts and reflexes were right with him.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved, and Bosco slammed himself
to a halt, muscles tensing and hand on his weapon.

Bosco exhaled loudly, then laughed at himself as something small and furry
ran out of the bushes.

"Take it down a notch, man." he said to himself, then took off again with
more power than he realized he had left in him.

He was surprised at how many times he had been snapped out of his trance,
hand on his gun, senses in alarm. No shadow could move unseen before him.
He couldn't allow any of them to. It was too dangerous.

He wasn't about to become a victim again.

==*==
16 days later
Rex-Parson Psychiatric Offices
4:19 pm

"You've been making great progress. I think that your response to this
therapy has been phenomenal, and you are dealing with these issues fine
on your own. Unless you have any objections, I'm going to recommend that
the NYPD allow you back on duty."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, unless you think it's unwise?"

"N..no"

"You will still have to make appointments to see me until the department
allows you to stop, and I am recommending no field work for awhile, but
otherwise, I think you are ready to go back."

Dr. Rex smiled at Bosco, who forced a smile back, but said nothing.

==*==
2 days later
55 Station House
2:11 pm

Bosco felt his stomach flutter as he walked into the station. It had been
about two months since he had been here, and although not much had changed,
he felt like an alien as soon as he stepped in.

As if everyone inside had radar, and all eyes turned to look at him.

Many people smiled. Some turned to whisper to each other. Bosco bit his
lip, nodded a little in recognition and walked to Swersky's office.

Every person he passed on the way there had some greeting for him. Most
of those he didn't know. He forced a smile and nodded thanks, but all
the attention was making him nauseous. As if he wasn't nervous enough.

Swersky greeted him with a loose hug, and Bosco felt himself tense up
a little, his heart beat getting faster.

After he was assigned his duties for the day (desk duty paperwork), he
headed to the locker room.

He got dressed slowly, carefully, taking in the locker room around him
as if he had never seen it before.

Slowly, other officers began to arrive for duty to find their long-absent
comrade back to work.

Sullivan, Davis, and a couple of other guys were thrilled to see him,
Davis grabbing Bosco's hand and manipulating it into a complex handshake,
Sully pulling him into a surprising bear-hug.

Faith also had a hug for him. She knew he was coming back for a couple
of days now, but mentioned something about seeing him back in uniform.

When they walked into the briefing room for roll call, Bosco was greeted
by a standing ovation. As he looked into the sea of warm, smiling faces,
Bosco felt his chest tighten. He wanted to turn and get out of the room,
the station, but he swallowed nervously, and tried his hardest to receive
the welcome like he would have two months ago:

"See? I knew you couldn't run this place without me!" He walked in
proudly, giving high-fives to a couple of the guys. Faith walked beside
him, a look of extreme happiness on her face.

Sitting as the crowd calmed and role call began, Bosco felt panicked
adrenaline rush through him, and resisted the urge to run.

====================
END OF PART THIRTEEN (13/?)