Author's note: This takes place post-hotel shooting, after Faith tells
Bosco to go away.
Please R & R!!! Thanks--Allison
Descent
- -
Though he never admitted it to anyone, Maurice Boscorelli spent the first five years of his police career learning his job. He preferred people to believe he was a natural, but in reality he had to work harder than anyone else did. Bosco preferred the School of Hard Knocks in the real world, because somehow justice was subjective on the street.
His Academy days were laced with less than exemplary marks, mostly due to his poor study habits, and predilection for arriving hung over for various lectures. The academy classmate who was to become his partner had bailed him out of that mess by letting him borrow her copious notes.
He and Faith Yokas had been partnered for years, only recently split by different goals and realities, and a series of pointless arguments that solved nothing. Now he regretted everything, especially the low-blow, personal stuff he'd spat in her face just to see her reaction. He recalled standing in the locker room after that shift, wanting nothing more than to make her cry so he could needle her some more. But she only stormed out of the locker room, leaving Bosco alone with his conscience.
Now as he walked numbly down the too-bright hospital corridors, his conscience began killing him.
She'd bailed him out over and over again throughout their careers. A few nights ago, he'd apologized, begged, talked her into bailing him out once again in the wake of his Anti-Crime nightmare. His ego had joined that unit, and then he wound up being dick-dragged through false reports and less-than-legal dealings by his Anti-Crime girlfriend, posed to be on desk duty that night, but he'd talked her into trying to help him one last time, but she got caught. A three-way gunfight erupted, and now Faith lay paralyzed in the hospital.
Bosco didn't know much about physiology, or about whether the paralysis was temporary, or not. He'd stopped to tell her that she was cleared by NYPD's investigation of the incident thanks to the copious notes she always took during her shifts. He used to tease her about that, and now he was at the same time thankful and deeply ashamed.
It had taken working with someone else for him to realize what a good partner she was.
He knew an apology was way too little, far too late. He tried anyway, and was repaid for his effort with a right hook from Faith's infuriated husband. He threatened to kill Bosco, and at that point Bosco didn't care whether he lived or died, anyway. So long as Faith was all right, he'd said.
Tonight he'd stopped by the hospital and had told them both that Faith was cleared, she'd said that was fine. And then she told him to go away, and turned away.
Something in Bosco's heart broke as he left the hospital room. He walked numbly toward the elevators and had run briefly into Faith's kids-Emily already was so grown up, and taking the motherly role toward her younger brother.
"Hey, I want you both to take good care of your Mom and Dad," he'd said. Charlie nodded solemnly, but Emily stared impassively back at him. He wasn't sure how much Emily knew about everything, but he guessed she probably knew most of it. She'd seen her dad punch him, and even had tried to defend Bosco in the face of her father's rage. Now she was doing her best to appear neutral.
"I'll. . . see you around," Bosco finally said. Charlie gave him another hug, but Emily didn't move. "Come on, Charlie," she said. "Goodbye, Bosco."
And then they were gone, around the corner, headed anywhere but near Bosco.
- -
Bosco thought about stopping at a bar on the way home, but walked past it, delirious and numb with everything that had happened. He staggered into his apartment and noticed his answering machine light, flickering like a beacon in the dark room.
He hadn't been home in two days. But there was only one message on the machine, from his mother.
"Maurice, it's your mother," she said. "I'm at St. Vincent's and I'm real sick. The doctors don't know what's wrong, yet, but they're gonna admit me. I need you go come down here."
He didn't wait that long. He picked up the phone and dialed from memory the number to St. Vincent's. He knew it well enough-he'd spent the last two days sequestered in its waiting rooms and pacing the floors. The operator connected him to her room.
"Hello?" his mother's voice was weak. Maybe she just woke up, Bosco hoped. But he knew better. No one gets put into the hospital for simply being asleep.
"Oh, Maurice."
"Ma, what's wrong?"
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he replied. "I was just there at St. Vincent's-I didn't know you were there. Ma, Faith got shot yesterday--," he felt his voice catching. "I didn't know you were in there. If I'd known you were."
"Maurice."
"Ma, I'm coming back down there, all right?"
"Is Faith all right?"
"Uh, she will be," Bosco lied, and then had a horrible realization. "Did that asshole beat you up again?!?"
"No, no he had nothing to do with this," she answered.
"What happened?"
"I'd rather you come down here."
Another nasty sensation swept over Bosco for the second time that evening. When people preferred to give news in person, it generally wasn't good news.
"Ma, tell me now."
"I want you come down here."
"I need to know now," he said, more insistent. He couldn't take another, uncertain journey to the hospital. "Ma, please tell me what's going on, and I'll be right there."
"I have cancer, honey."
Bosco sat down hard on his couch. He never let go of the phone receiver, but the rest of the phone was dragged off his coffee table and clattered on the floor.
"Can you come to the hospital?" she said, and he could tell she was crying.
"Are you gonna die?"
"We're all dying."
"Are you gonna die from this, Ma?"
"I want you to come down to the hospital," she was insistent. "Please just hang up and come down here.Visiting hours."
"I can get in past visiting hours--are you gonna be all right?" Bosco restructured his question. There was a long pause from the other end of the phone. The longer it got, the worse Bosco knew things were.
"Oh, my God, Ma."
- -
OK, this is going to be a series and will feature MAJOR Bosco angst. Let me know what you think! Thanks again for reading. Allison
Please R & R!!! Thanks--Allison
Descent
- -
Though he never admitted it to anyone, Maurice Boscorelli spent the first five years of his police career learning his job. He preferred people to believe he was a natural, but in reality he had to work harder than anyone else did. Bosco preferred the School of Hard Knocks in the real world, because somehow justice was subjective on the street.
His Academy days were laced with less than exemplary marks, mostly due to his poor study habits, and predilection for arriving hung over for various lectures. The academy classmate who was to become his partner had bailed him out of that mess by letting him borrow her copious notes.
He and Faith Yokas had been partnered for years, only recently split by different goals and realities, and a series of pointless arguments that solved nothing. Now he regretted everything, especially the low-blow, personal stuff he'd spat in her face just to see her reaction. He recalled standing in the locker room after that shift, wanting nothing more than to make her cry so he could needle her some more. But she only stormed out of the locker room, leaving Bosco alone with his conscience.
Now as he walked numbly down the too-bright hospital corridors, his conscience began killing him.
She'd bailed him out over and over again throughout their careers. A few nights ago, he'd apologized, begged, talked her into bailing him out once again in the wake of his Anti-Crime nightmare. His ego had joined that unit, and then he wound up being dick-dragged through false reports and less-than-legal dealings by his Anti-Crime girlfriend, posed to be on desk duty that night, but he'd talked her into trying to help him one last time, but she got caught. A three-way gunfight erupted, and now Faith lay paralyzed in the hospital.
Bosco didn't know much about physiology, or about whether the paralysis was temporary, or not. He'd stopped to tell her that she was cleared by NYPD's investigation of the incident thanks to the copious notes she always took during her shifts. He used to tease her about that, and now he was at the same time thankful and deeply ashamed.
It had taken working with someone else for him to realize what a good partner she was.
He knew an apology was way too little, far too late. He tried anyway, and was repaid for his effort with a right hook from Faith's infuriated husband. He threatened to kill Bosco, and at that point Bosco didn't care whether he lived or died, anyway. So long as Faith was all right, he'd said.
Tonight he'd stopped by the hospital and had told them both that Faith was cleared, she'd said that was fine. And then she told him to go away, and turned away.
Something in Bosco's heart broke as he left the hospital room. He walked numbly toward the elevators and had run briefly into Faith's kids-Emily already was so grown up, and taking the motherly role toward her younger brother.
"Hey, I want you both to take good care of your Mom and Dad," he'd said. Charlie nodded solemnly, but Emily stared impassively back at him. He wasn't sure how much Emily knew about everything, but he guessed she probably knew most of it. She'd seen her dad punch him, and even had tried to defend Bosco in the face of her father's rage. Now she was doing her best to appear neutral.
"I'll. . . see you around," Bosco finally said. Charlie gave him another hug, but Emily didn't move. "Come on, Charlie," she said. "Goodbye, Bosco."
And then they were gone, around the corner, headed anywhere but near Bosco.
- -
Bosco thought about stopping at a bar on the way home, but walked past it, delirious and numb with everything that had happened. He staggered into his apartment and noticed his answering machine light, flickering like a beacon in the dark room.
He hadn't been home in two days. But there was only one message on the machine, from his mother.
"Maurice, it's your mother," she said. "I'm at St. Vincent's and I'm real sick. The doctors don't know what's wrong, yet, but they're gonna admit me. I need you go come down here."
He didn't wait that long. He picked up the phone and dialed from memory the number to St. Vincent's. He knew it well enough-he'd spent the last two days sequestered in its waiting rooms and pacing the floors. The operator connected him to her room.
"Hello?" his mother's voice was weak. Maybe she just woke up, Bosco hoped. But he knew better. No one gets put into the hospital for simply being asleep.
"Oh, Maurice."
"Ma, what's wrong?"
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he replied. "I was just there at St. Vincent's-I didn't know you were there. Ma, Faith got shot yesterday--," he felt his voice catching. "I didn't know you were in there. If I'd known you were."
"Maurice."
"Ma, I'm coming back down there, all right?"
"Is Faith all right?"
"Uh, she will be," Bosco lied, and then had a horrible realization. "Did that asshole beat you up again?!?"
"No, no he had nothing to do with this," she answered.
"What happened?"
"I'd rather you come down here."
Another nasty sensation swept over Bosco for the second time that evening. When people preferred to give news in person, it generally wasn't good news.
"Ma, tell me now."
"I want you come down here."
"I need to know now," he said, more insistent. He couldn't take another, uncertain journey to the hospital. "Ma, please tell me what's going on, and I'll be right there."
"I have cancer, honey."
Bosco sat down hard on his couch. He never let go of the phone receiver, but the rest of the phone was dragged off his coffee table and clattered on the floor.
"Can you come to the hospital?" she said, and he could tell she was crying.
"Are you gonna die?"
"We're all dying."
"Are you gonna die from this, Ma?"
"I want you to come down to the hospital," she was insistent. "Please just hang up and come down here.Visiting hours."
"I can get in past visiting hours--are you gonna be all right?" Bosco restructured his question. There was a long pause from the other end of the phone. The longer it got, the worse Bosco knew things were.
"Oh, my God, Ma."
- -
OK, this is going to be a series and will feature MAJOR Bosco angst. Let me know what you think! Thanks again for reading. Allison