Author's note: Well, here's another one, and you're actually going to find out what happened to Bosco here... ;) Enjoy, and as always, thanks for your reviews! Also, to answer someone's question, this is NOT going to be a Bosco/Faith shipper fic. I want it to be as much true to character as possible, so that's not likely to happen in this story.

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Chapter six – The Dark Side of the Moon

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It's amazing how quickly it happens. How little time it takes to go from safety to trouble, from routine to tragedy. A handful of seconds. A heartbeat, and your life starts falling apart, spinning out of control.

Bosco exhaled slowly as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment, willing the memories of the last couple of hours to go away. The windshield immediately clouded with the condensation of his breath, blurring his reflection.

His head was still pounding, his eyes bloodshot, and the gash on his forehead would've probably needed stitches, but he'd managed to fix it as best as he could before heading to the bus station.

After getting out of the building through the fire escape, he'd hailed a cab and rushed over to his place to get some cash and gather a few things. Then, giving the driver an extra tip to step on the gas pedal, he'd reached the terminal and hopped on the first bus available, not even caring about the destination.

Leaving New York hadn't probably been the smartest choice, but the possibility of facing his superiors about facts that he still couldn't remember had sounded even scarier than dealing with his conscience and trying to make some sense of the senseless.

The fog in his brain wasn't thinning, as well as the pain, both physical and emotional. He tried to think back and focus on the questions that floated through his brain, seeking light into the darkness, but nothing came out.

He still had no recollection of the events that had led to Diaz's murder, or of how Cruz fitted into the story, but an overwhelming guilt was already infecting his system like a dangerous poison. The kind of guilt that can tear a man up inside. What have I done? He kept asking himself, desperate to find an answer.

Just then, the raspy voice of the bus driver informed him that they'd reached Providence, Rhode Island. Bosco retrieved his duffel bag and got off the bus, pulling his jacket closer as a gust of cold wind hit him.

He looked around, his gaze fixing on a young couple who'd apparently reunited after a long time. The woman was crying as the man pulled her into a hug and promised never to leave her again. Don't make promises you can't keep, Bosco said to himself as he walked past them and out of the station, wondering if his fellow officers had already searched his apartment.

The night had fallen around him like a black steel curtain as the wind continued to howl.

Bosco swung his bag over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together to warm them up as he tried to figure out what to do. He had no idea where to go, but as soon as he rounded a corner he spotted a 24-hour convenience store and figured that was a good choice to grab something to eat and ask for the nearest motel.

The clerk, a young boy with thick glasses who looked like he wished to be anywhere else but there, annoyingly told him that his uncle owned one.

"It's only two blocks away. Down the road to the left."

Bosco thanked him and turned to leave.

"Hey, you tell him Frankie sent you. I... he gives me extra bucks for every customer I provide."

"Sure." He absently replied, heading for the door.

The motel wasn't big, but pretty easy to spot, and the owner had been quite impressed to hear that young Frankie had given him his name.

"That kid's gonna give my ol' sister a heart attack one day. I'm telling you, he's a good-for-nothing little prick!" he angrily said, shaking his head.

"Whatever." Bosco replied. "Can I go now?"

"Room 126." He handed him the key and watched as he disappeared down the hallway. "Weird guy," he muttered to himself. "And weird name."

The room was small and cold, but it looked clean.

Bosco dropped his duffel bag on the ground and laid down on the bed, feeling a familiar weariness settling in. He was alone again, and had no one to blame but himself.

He stared at the phone and thought about calling Cruz, but quickly dismissed the idea. He missed her, but didn't want to be caught. At least, not until he was able to figure out what had happened.

He'd worked so hard for justice. He'd followed the rules. He had principles. He was a good man, a good cop. He should've been rewarded, not forced to sacrifice his whole career or hide in a cheap motel.

He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare he desperately wanted to awaken from, and wished he had his best friend to turn to.

Faith. Faith would know what to do. She'd have a good piece of advice to give, or a comforting word to ease his pain. Why have I turned her down? What am I gonna do now? He asked himself as he gazed out the window.

He got up and took a beer from the six-pack he'd purchased at the store.

There were worse things than being alone, he reasoned. But as he sat there in the dark room, with his future hanging by a thread, he had a hard time thinking of what those things were.

As he took a sip of the cold liquid, his mind thought back to that night at the cabin, to Sully's self-destructive behaviour. 'He had a gun.' 'Haven't we all thought about it once or twice?'

The words echoed in his mind.

He wished that he could drink himself to death, but deep inside he knew he didn't want to end his life so he kept drinking, beer after beer, his head spinning with all kinds of terrible thoughts and images, until his eyes finally closed and his mind trailed off into darkness.

***

"Lieu? Any news on Bosco?" Faith asked as she rushed into her superior's office.

She'd received a call from the dispatcher a couple of hours before, and advised that Officer Boscorelli had been involved in a shooting and was now listed as a suspect for the murder of one Ray Diaz.

They had told her that he'd left the crime scene with no apparent reason, and that she should notify the department if he ever tried to contact her.

Why should he? She'd asked herself. He hates me. I hurt his feelings when I told him Cruz was no good, he probably doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore.

Despite all that, she still cared, and the news that he might be responsible of taking another man's life had affected her more than she ever thought it would.

After a quick phone conversation with the Lieutenant to get a few more detail, she'd found herself driving to his place. Of course he wasn't there, but a few things were missing, so she figured he wouldn't be home anytime soon.

She'd tried his cellphone, searched the neighborhood, even called his mother to ask her if she'd heard from him, but ended up empty-handed.

Now, coming back to the precinct hours after the end of her shift, she hoped against her better judgement to hear some good news.

"Faith?" Swersky looked at her through the stack of paperwork on his desk and motioned for her to come closer. "Sorry. No leads."

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Oh. I just... hoped, you know..."

"Yeah, I know." He got up and approached her. "We'll find him, Faith."

She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

I hope you're alright, Bos. Wherever you are.

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