TITLE: The One Constant
AUTHOR: Minn
DISCLAIMER: Wells/Chulack/Bernero et al are the rightful owners of Third Watch - God Bless You! I am merely borrowing and intend no disrespect or harm. None of us do. This is fun. No character was actually harmed in the typing of this nonsense. Nothing I say or do will probably ever make a blind bit of difference to what happens on the screen - dammit!
I'M FOREIGN! If you don't understand anything, it'll be 'cos I'm using a uniquely Kiwi expression, something I do try to avoid, but hell, t'ain't easy!
A SQUILLION THANX:
Maartje: Paranoia is a good thing, precious...and I'm gonna keep ya guessing...
Winterwolf: Body armour - good call! As for Emily...I have plans...
Helena: The people who make tissues should give me a big juicy share portfolio!
Angie: Ah, all in a days work my sweet, all in a days work...
Nyna Boscorelli: Don't speak too soon babe!
Lauren Metal: Woohoo! Get me on the writing team and I'll give you a gold watch the size of Texas!
Phpa: Awww, thank ya precious!
Anna: How's the foot? And Dr Jagoff? We shall speak again...
Juls: Hee hee! Does your boyfriend know you're a TOC addict? Hmm, have Bos and Faith been through enough?...Nah...
SarBear: Welcome! Strap yourself in!
Jazz: *jumping* You'll be thrilled to know part 29 is progressing well as we speak, and you MAY get that quicker than this one...maybe...
Junglegirl: See! I haven't forgotten you! I want a copy of that photo too!
Courtnee: Threaten me all you like dear, it'll happen when it happens! And thank you!
Kim1989: Definitely savour all the warm fuzzies you come across precious...
Kerrip43: Phenomenal? *blushes* Aww shucks, t'aint nuthin...
Jesssss!: It's coming babe, it's coming! Actually no, it's HERE!
Martina: Wondermars! Hoy! The lady said phenomenal, and I'm quite content to go with that, thank you very much my Italian twin...
ACNutz13: Et voila, more as requested! And welcome!
Jen: It's the best kept secret on the site babe! And welcome!
CHEERS ALL!
---
THE ONE CONSTANT
PART 28
They could hear hysterical screaming the moment they entered the building.
A group of residents stood gathered in a tight bunch at the foot of the stairs, nervously casting glances upwards.
"Oh thank God!" exclaimed one of them as she turned and saw Faith and Bosco approach.
"We received a call about..."
"Third floor!" the woman cried, her eyes wide with panic. "It's McConnell - he's gonna kill them for sure this time."
They made for the lift but the woman grabbed Faith's arm and propelled her towards the stairs. "It's broken," she said, gesturing for them to go ahead of her. "Apartment 308. He's really lost it this time."
Bosco was taking the stairs 3 at a time. The screaming intensified as they climbed and as they drew closer they could both clearly discern three different voices.
Outside the apartment a bruised and bloodied woman threw herself bodily at the door, her frantic screams rending the air and bouncing disturbing echoes around the deserted hallway.
As Bosco approached, gun drawn, he noted the door was ajar and appeared to be obstructed from inside.
"David!" she woman screamed, the terror in her voice sending chills through them both. "Don't you hurt him!"
From inside the apartment the panic-stricken voice of a young boy responded briefly only to be drowned out by the senseless ranting of a much louder voice.
"Who's in the apartment ma'am?" Bosco demanded of the woman.
"My husband and my son, Kyle," the woman sobbed, futilely pounding at the door with cut and bleeding hands. "He's gonna kill him! Do something!"
Once more she launched herself at the unyielding door. It barely moved and the woman crumpled helplessly to her knees before it. Faith stepped forward and helped her to her feet, propelling her in the direction of the seriously out of breath neighbour who had followed them up the stairs. Together she and Bosco began to push against the barricaded door.
"Police, McConnell!" Bosco hollered.
"He doesn't care!" the man's wife wailed.
"Does he have a weapon?" Faith demanded as she strained against the door.
As the woman shook her head, the boy cried out in pain and McConnell's ranting intensified.
"Kyle!" the mother shrieked, launching herself forward.
"How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff?" they heard the man bellow, seemingly unmoved by the woeful pleading of his son.
"Son of a bitch!" Bosco hissed, redoubling his efforts.
"What about the fire escape?" Faith said quickly.
"It's barred!" the woman sobbed.
"McConnell!" Bosco shouted, his efforts intensifying as the door began to show signs of surrender. "One more!" he called to Faith.
As they gave it their all enough of a gap appeared to accommodate one person at a time. Bosco ripped away his belt in order to get through, as did Faith. But just as Bosco began to slither through the gap, all went suddenly, disturbingly quiet.
"Kyle?" the mother wailed.
"Oh my god," Faith murmured.
Bosco surged through the gap and found the husband standing in the centre of the trashed apartment. He was staring down at something lying just out of Bosco's line of vision beyond the upturned couch, his face ashen. As Bosco approached, gun trained on the man, McConnell stumbled backwards and sank to his knees.
Outside Kyle's distraught mother kept calling to her son. With every unanswered call her panic intensified. Bosco heard Faith instruct the neighbour, in no uncertain terms, to prevent the mother from entering the apartment.
"I kept telling him, don't touch my stuff," McConnell mumbled wanly.
Bosco edged closer. There on the floor beside the remains of a glass-topped coffee table lay a boy of about seven, his head lying at an improbable angle to the rest of his body.
"Son of a bitch..."
Faith knew the tone in Bosco's voice only too well and could clearly see the hand that held the gun levelled at the husband was trembling.
"Bos?" she called softly, approaching cautiously. "Bosco?"
She recoiled at the sight of the boy's limp body.
"Bos," Faith said gently, laying her hand quietly upon her partner's arm.
"Son of a bitch..." Bosco mumbled, his voice trembling as intensely as his hand.
"Bos, look at me," Faith pleaded softly. "Look at me."
She saw him gulp back a deep breath but his eyes never left the desolate figure before him.
"Bos, I need you to look at me," Faith said, her voice wavering. "I need you to focus on me." She let her hand travel slowly but surely towards the hand that held the gun.
From the hallway came the sound of two familiar voices.
"Bos?" she murmured softly. "Listen to me, Bosco. Me and Gracie - we need you with us."
Slowly, so slowly, Bosco's eyes travelled to hers. After a moment Faith felt his arm begin to relax slightly beneath her touch.
"We need you with us," she murmured.
Bosco lowered his arm slowly.
"Yokas!" she heard Ty call.
"Get in here Davis," Faith responded, gently loosing the grip Bosco had on his gun.
Ty summed up the situation at a glance.
"You alright?" Ty asked her as he approached McConnell, flinching at the sight of the son lying there.
"We'll be OK," Faith replied, her eyes never leaving her partner's. "Just cuff that bastard and get him outta here."
---
The images were disjointed and made little sense.
Like pieces of a crazy jigsaw cast across a dark canvas the images swirled about with no recognisable form, no logical order at first. But slowly, as the tape replayed itself over and over again, a pattern began to emerge.
The first image was the sight of Kyle's mother crouching by her dead son, beside herself with grief and horror. Then familiar rooms began to stream past. The sound of laboured breathing and heavy footsteps in pursuit echoed crazily in the hallway. Somewhere in the distance came the panicked cries of a mother who could do nothing to avert the coming storm.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" raged the voice. "How many times have you been told?"
"I'm sorry Daddy, I didn't mean to..."
That first blow. The incredible sense of betrayal and disbelief that accompanied the pain. The hysterical shrieking of the mother. The look of pure hatred in the father's eyes. The second blow. The sensation of being gripped by the shoulders and thrown to the floor. The heavy foot pushing against a young spine...
"I'm sorry daddy, I'm sorry..."
Faith woke with a violent start and sat bolt upright in bed. She took a moment to get her bearings as beside her Bosco stirred.
"Faith?" he murmured sleepily.
Even the warm touch of his hand on her back made her jump.
"Faith?" he said again, his voice this time drenched with concern.
She felt his arms slip tenderly about her, felt the warmth of him against her body as he gathered her to him. Appalled by the memories that haunted her, she leaned into him and rested her head upon his shoulder, one hand curled in a fist against his chest.
"Hey," he murmured gently, running his hands softly over her skin.
He didn't push her to reveal the problem. Faith had noticed it was his way, just to wait and let the moment flow in whatever direction it took. Somewhere, she realised, in all their years of working together, Bosco had figured out that was the way to handle such moments between them.
"I'd forgotten," she said softly after a while, a clear note of disbelief evident in her tone.
"Forgotten?" he responded quietly.
"Yeah. I had a dream about something that happened when I was just a kid...I think I must have been about nine..." Faith's voice trailed away as she felt tears begin to well in her eyes.
The scene replayed itself once more, and again the sense of disbelief and betrayal clutched at her.
"I did something," Faith murmured. "I can't remember what it was. Dad was drunk and he chased me..." She paused and scanned the memory again. After a moment she sat back a little way and stared into Bosco's eyes. "He hit me."
"He what?" Bosco said softly. "Your father hit you?"
"He got me on the floor and stomped on my back." The note of utter disbelief in her voice intensified. "I was just a kid..."
Bosco gathered her to him once more, closer this time.
"How can a person just forget somethin' like that?" she asked, bewildered.
"Why would you wanna remember Faith?" Bosco murmured. "Sometimes forgetting is the only thing that gets you through. Otherwise..." He left the rest unsaid.
Faith pushed back from him and, gazing into his eyes touched her hand softly to his cheek. "What happened to that little boy must've been tough for you to see," she murmured quietly.
"Wasn't exactly a day at the beach for anyone Faith," Bosco muttered, shrugging. "You know, maybe Kyle's the lucky one. He doesn't have to spend the rest of his life relivin' it all over and over again in his head..."
He felt Faith entwine the fingers of her right hand in his.
They sat in thoughtful, companionable silence for some time before Bosco spoke once more.
"It all just reminded me of why I'm doin' the stuff I'm doin'," he mumbled, letting his eyes drift in the direction of Gracie's crib. "So she'll have what I...what we didn't."
Bosco felt Faith's grip on his hand tighten. After a while he began to fidget.
"I'm..." he began awkwardly, then stopped and shrugged.
"What?" Faith urged him softly.
With clear reluctance Bosco continued, his voice quiet, his tone unsure. "You know that evening thing I go to on Sundays?"
"The "you know, guy stuff" thing you don't wanna discuss with me?"
Bosco nodded, his discomfort palpable. "It's a fathering class," he mumbled. He looked up at her then, his expression one of embarrassed anticipation.
Faith smiled and let her hand trace his cheek once more. "Why would you wanna hide somethin' like that?"
He shrugged. "It's embarrassing."
Faith frowned. "What's so embarrassing about wanting to be a better person for your daughter?"
Bosco lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. "The worst thing?" he muttered eventually. "Having to admit that you're not as all right as you thought you were. Having to face the idea that all those people who told me I was crap were right all along."
Faith felt her tears gathering in greater volume. "You're not crap, Bosco," she said firmly. "You never were."
"Sometimes I don't know who the hell I am," he muttered.
Faith nodded guiltily and gazed down at an indeterminate spot in front of her.
"I guess I don't help sometimes," she murmured softly.
"You gotta admit Faith," he mumbled quietly, "you ride my ass sometimes. And not in a good way."
There was silence between them for a moment.
"You OK?" Bosco asked finally, reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair from Faith's tear-filled eyes.
She shrugged and silence enveloped them once more.
"Apparently," Bosco said after some thought, "90% of bein' a good dad to your kids is WANTING to be a good dad - the rest is learning the skills." He paused and gazed at her earnestly. "I wanna be a good dad, Faith."
Faith lifted his hand to her lips. "You're doin' great so far, Bos." After a moment she eased herself back on the bed and beckoned him to her.
"You wanna talk some more about...stuff?" he asked, enfolding her in his arms.
"We'll talk about stuff tomorrow," Faith murmured.
---
Bosco ventured cautiously amongst the bright array of pots and planters that was the rooftop garden.
"This was my Uncle's happy place," Isabelle smiled as she looked up to see him approach. "My Aunt hated the outdoors so he was pretty much guaranteed hours of quietude up here."
"Faith mentioned I might find you here," he said quietly.
"You have your 'I need to talk' face on, Maurice," Isabelle observed. "Is everything OK?"
"Everything's great," he shrugged.
Isabelle watched him knowingly. "But...?"
She noted how Bosco's gaze travelled self-consciously away from her to glance disinterestedly at the pots.
Isabelle dusted off her hands, rose stiffly from where she crouched and headed for the brightly painted garden seat that sat against the wall. Bosco followed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees when he sat.
"Guess I'm just not used to...great," he murmured.
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Isabelle mused. "You're waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think any minute now it's all going to fall to pieces.
Bosco nodded, clearly uncomfortable.
"What are you most afraid of, Maurice?" Isabelle asked after a moment. She watched her companion flick a pained glance her way.
"You're hard work, you know that?" she smiled, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "Now come on. What's bothering you that you feel you can't share with the lovely mother of your child or that perfectly good and no doubt well paid therapist of yours?"
Bosco didn't look at her but a small smirk played on his lips, if only briefly.
"What if..." he murmured before lapsing back into uncomfortable silence.
"What if...things change?" Isabelle ventured.
He nodded. "Faith and me...we woke up this morning and started talkin' about stuff...personal stuff, you know?"
"The kinds of things you've never shared with anyone else," Isabelle murmured.
"I'm lyin' there one moment thinkin' I've never felt this close to anyone, ever - the next thing I know I'm freakin' out." He shook his head in disbelief.
"Ah," Isabelle murmured knowingly. "What if. What if one morning you wake up and find you don't feel that close any more."
She watched him nod and noted the clear look of panic that shone in his eyes.
"You know Maurice," Isabelle mused, a faraway quality in her voice, "as a society we've not been well served when it comes to relationship role models. We seem to be obsessed with the notion that all we have to do to find happiness is pick the mythical 'right one' and everything will work out just fine. Well, I hate to have to tell you this Maurice, but it's crap."
Bosco looked at her, a mild expression of worry and bewilderment clouding his face.
Isabelle continued, unfazed. "There will come a morning, maybe even many of them, when you will wake up, look at Faith and think: 'what the hell am I doing with this person?' And she's going to look at you sometimes and think exactly the same."
A look of doubt displaced the bewilderment.
"No-one's ever told you it's a perfectly normal thing for couples to fall in and out of love on a regular basis, have they?"
Bosco shook his head.
"That's what commitment is all about, Maurice, why it's so essential. It's what carries a couple through when the crystals and rainbows lose their shine. You know, as a culture we're hung up on the notion we can have things 'good' ALL the time when in fact it just isn't possible. Life goes in cycles, Maurice. The pendulum is constantly swinging between the good and the not so good and back again. We seem to imagine or expect it's possible to freeze the pendulum on 'good' and worry ourselves to the point of insanity that maybe one day it won't be quite so good."
Isabelle paused and offered up a comforting smile. "It's worse for those of us whose childhoods weren't that grand. Life's ebb and flow frightens the hell out of us. We hit the panic button way too quickly because the 'not so good' times in our lives really damaged us and we're scared they will again. So we defend against the possibility, overreact to the smallest things - and end up creating the very mayhem we wanted so desperately to avoid."
Bosco looked at her watchfully.
"Maurice, the truth of it is there are going to be times when you won't feel close or even vaguely loving towards Faith. Sometimes you may feel you even hate her - not because there is anything fundamentally wrong with your relationship or because you've 'picked the wrong one'. But because it's just not possible for flawed human beings to love unconditionally 100% of the time."
Bosco shifted around uncomfortably. Isabelle couldn't help chuckling at the perplexed expression on his face.
"The most important thing for you to remember is not to panic when it happens, Maurice. Just step back and say to yourself: "OK, it's not good at the moment, but this will pass.'"
"You're gonna give me another one of those books of yours to read, aren't you?" he grumbled.
"Mm Hmm," Isabelle nodded brightly.
Bosco winced. Out of respect for Isabelle he and Faith had agreed to read the books she suggested, even though it was in both their natures to run a mile from anything with the words 'self-help' appearing on the cover.
His mind travelled to the day they sat reading the last books Isabelle had given them. Having thrown his book repeatedly across the dashboard of the RMP, Faith had finally snapped: "You do that again and you know where I'm gonna shove that?"
"Let me guess," Isabelle grinned. "You had a bit of trouble when you came across the part about the need for sons to sort things out with their father."
As Bosco nodded, Isabelle noticed Faith approaching them with Gracie. "We'll discuss it another time," she murmured as she noted the vague look of concern brushing Faith's face.
"Everything OK?" Faith asked, her gaze fixed intently upon her partner.
Bosco stood and relieved her of Gracie. "They're fine Faith," he murmured.
Faith's eyes travelled to Isabelle for confirmation but received a slightly bemused look in return.
"Did I say something to upset you this morning?" Faith asked cautiously. "Cos, you know, you went a bit quiet on me when we were talkin'."
Bosco gazed at her, surprised by the troubled look he could see in her eyes. But before he could say anything, Faith began to speak again.
"I'm sorry if I mighta said somethin'," she said quickly. "I know sometimes I do, I say things without thinkin'. And I know I criticise you sometimes, but I don't do it to hurt you, Bos, honestly. It's just, I'm always thinking it's up to me to fix stuff in my life 'cos that's the way it's always been and I guess I'm not used to workin' it out together. I mean, even with me and Fred, you know, if there was a problem I always thought..." She paused, noting the soft smile gracing Bosco's face. "What?"
Isabelle watched, intrigued, as Bosco reached out one arm and drew his partner to him, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead.
"It wasn't you Faith," he murmured softly.
Faith gazed at him, a rare vulnerability evident about her. "You sure?"
"Positive," he replied.
Faith watched him carefully. "I wanna know if I do say something, OK?"
"I'll make sure you hear all about it Faith," he grinned.
As an intense expression of relief washed across Faith's face, Isabelle couldn't help smiling quietly to herself.
----
TBC
AUTHOR: Minn
DISCLAIMER: Wells/Chulack/Bernero et al are the rightful owners of Third Watch - God Bless You! I am merely borrowing and intend no disrespect or harm. None of us do. This is fun. No character was actually harmed in the typing of this nonsense. Nothing I say or do will probably ever make a blind bit of difference to what happens on the screen - dammit!
I'M FOREIGN! If you don't understand anything, it'll be 'cos I'm using a uniquely Kiwi expression, something I do try to avoid, but hell, t'ain't easy!
A SQUILLION THANX:
Maartje: Paranoia is a good thing, precious...and I'm gonna keep ya guessing...
Winterwolf: Body armour - good call! As for Emily...I have plans...
Helena: The people who make tissues should give me a big juicy share portfolio!
Angie: Ah, all in a days work my sweet, all in a days work...
Nyna Boscorelli: Don't speak too soon babe!
Lauren Metal: Woohoo! Get me on the writing team and I'll give you a gold watch the size of Texas!
Phpa: Awww, thank ya precious!
Anna: How's the foot? And Dr Jagoff? We shall speak again...
Juls: Hee hee! Does your boyfriend know you're a TOC addict? Hmm, have Bos and Faith been through enough?...Nah...
SarBear: Welcome! Strap yourself in!
Jazz: *jumping* You'll be thrilled to know part 29 is progressing well as we speak, and you MAY get that quicker than this one...maybe...
Junglegirl: See! I haven't forgotten you! I want a copy of that photo too!
Courtnee: Threaten me all you like dear, it'll happen when it happens! And thank you!
Kim1989: Definitely savour all the warm fuzzies you come across precious...
Kerrip43: Phenomenal? *blushes* Aww shucks, t'aint nuthin...
Jesssss!: It's coming babe, it's coming! Actually no, it's HERE!
Martina: Wondermars! Hoy! The lady said phenomenal, and I'm quite content to go with that, thank you very much my Italian twin...
ACNutz13: Et voila, more as requested! And welcome!
Jen: It's the best kept secret on the site babe! And welcome!
CHEERS ALL!
---
THE ONE CONSTANT
PART 28
They could hear hysterical screaming the moment they entered the building.
A group of residents stood gathered in a tight bunch at the foot of the stairs, nervously casting glances upwards.
"Oh thank God!" exclaimed one of them as she turned and saw Faith and Bosco approach.
"We received a call about..."
"Third floor!" the woman cried, her eyes wide with panic. "It's McConnell - he's gonna kill them for sure this time."
They made for the lift but the woman grabbed Faith's arm and propelled her towards the stairs. "It's broken," she said, gesturing for them to go ahead of her. "Apartment 308. He's really lost it this time."
Bosco was taking the stairs 3 at a time. The screaming intensified as they climbed and as they drew closer they could both clearly discern three different voices.
Outside the apartment a bruised and bloodied woman threw herself bodily at the door, her frantic screams rending the air and bouncing disturbing echoes around the deserted hallway.
As Bosco approached, gun drawn, he noted the door was ajar and appeared to be obstructed from inside.
"David!" she woman screamed, the terror in her voice sending chills through them both. "Don't you hurt him!"
From inside the apartment the panic-stricken voice of a young boy responded briefly only to be drowned out by the senseless ranting of a much louder voice.
"Who's in the apartment ma'am?" Bosco demanded of the woman.
"My husband and my son, Kyle," the woman sobbed, futilely pounding at the door with cut and bleeding hands. "He's gonna kill him! Do something!"
Once more she launched herself at the unyielding door. It barely moved and the woman crumpled helplessly to her knees before it. Faith stepped forward and helped her to her feet, propelling her in the direction of the seriously out of breath neighbour who had followed them up the stairs. Together she and Bosco began to push against the barricaded door.
"Police, McConnell!" Bosco hollered.
"He doesn't care!" the man's wife wailed.
"Does he have a weapon?" Faith demanded as she strained against the door.
As the woman shook her head, the boy cried out in pain and McConnell's ranting intensified.
"Kyle!" the mother shrieked, launching herself forward.
"How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff?" they heard the man bellow, seemingly unmoved by the woeful pleading of his son.
"Son of a bitch!" Bosco hissed, redoubling his efforts.
"What about the fire escape?" Faith said quickly.
"It's barred!" the woman sobbed.
"McConnell!" Bosco shouted, his efforts intensifying as the door began to show signs of surrender. "One more!" he called to Faith.
As they gave it their all enough of a gap appeared to accommodate one person at a time. Bosco ripped away his belt in order to get through, as did Faith. But just as Bosco began to slither through the gap, all went suddenly, disturbingly quiet.
"Kyle?" the mother wailed.
"Oh my god," Faith murmured.
Bosco surged through the gap and found the husband standing in the centre of the trashed apartment. He was staring down at something lying just out of Bosco's line of vision beyond the upturned couch, his face ashen. As Bosco approached, gun trained on the man, McConnell stumbled backwards and sank to his knees.
Outside Kyle's distraught mother kept calling to her son. With every unanswered call her panic intensified. Bosco heard Faith instruct the neighbour, in no uncertain terms, to prevent the mother from entering the apartment.
"I kept telling him, don't touch my stuff," McConnell mumbled wanly.
Bosco edged closer. There on the floor beside the remains of a glass-topped coffee table lay a boy of about seven, his head lying at an improbable angle to the rest of his body.
"Son of a bitch..."
Faith knew the tone in Bosco's voice only too well and could clearly see the hand that held the gun levelled at the husband was trembling.
"Bos?" she called softly, approaching cautiously. "Bosco?"
She recoiled at the sight of the boy's limp body.
"Bos," Faith said gently, laying her hand quietly upon her partner's arm.
"Son of a bitch..." Bosco mumbled, his voice trembling as intensely as his hand.
"Bos, look at me," Faith pleaded softly. "Look at me."
She saw him gulp back a deep breath but his eyes never left the desolate figure before him.
"Bos, I need you to look at me," Faith said, her voice wavering. "I need you to focus on me." She let her hand travel slowly but surely towards the hand that held the gun.
From the hallway came the sound of two familiar voices.
"Bos?" she murmured softly. "Listen to me, Bosco. Me and Gracie - we need you with us."
Slowly, so slowly, Bosco's eyes travelled to hers. After a moment Faith felt his arm begin to relax slightly beneath her touch.
"We need you with us," she murmured.
Bosco lowered his arm slowly.
"Yokas!" she heard Ty call.
"Get in here Davis," Faith responded, gently loosing the grip Bosco had on his gun.
Ty summed up the situation at a glance.
"You alright?" Ty asked her as he approached McConnell, flinching at the sight of the son lying there.
"We'll be OK," Faith replied, her eyes never leaving her partner's. "Just cuff that bastard and get him outta here."
---
The images were disjointed and made little sense.
Like pieces of a crazy jigsaw cast across a dark canvas the images swirled about with no recognisable form, no logical order at first. But slowly, as the tape replayed itself over and over again, a pattern began to emerge.
The first image was the sight of Kyle's mother crouching by her dead son, beside herself with grief and horror. Then familiar rooms began to stream past. The sound of laboured breathing and heavy footsteps in pursuit echoed crazily in the hallway. Somewhere in the distance came the panicked cries of a mother who could do nothing to avert the coming storm.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" raged the voice. "How many times have you been told?"
"I'm sorry Daddy, I didn't mean to..."
That first blow. The incredible sense of betrayal and disbelief that accompanied the pain. The hysterical shrieking of the mother. The look of pure hatred in the father's eyes. The second blow. The sensation of being gripped by the shoulders and thrown to the floor. The heavy foot pushing against a young spine...
"I'm sorry daddy, I'm sorry..."
Faith woke with a violent start and sat bolt upright in bed. She took a moment to get her bearings as beside her Bosco stirred.
"Faith?" he murmured sleepily.
Even the warm touch of his hand on her back made her jump.
"Faith?" he said again, his voice this time drenched with concern.
She felt his arms slip tenderly about her, felt the warmth of him against her body as he gathered her to him. Appalled by the memories that haunted her, she leaned into him and rested her head upon his shoulder, one hand curled in a fist against his chest.
"Hey," he murmured gently, running his hands softly over her skin.
He didn't push her to reveal the problem. Faith had noticed it was his way, just to wait and let the moment flow in whatever direction it took. Somewhere, she realised, in all their years of working together, Bosco had figured out that was the way to handle such moments between them.
"I'd forgotten," she said softly after a while, a clear note of disbelief evident in her tone.
"Forgotten?" he responded quietly.
"Yeah. I had a dream about something that happened when I was just a kid...I think I must have been about nine..." Faith's voice trailed away as she felt tears begin to well in her eyes.
The scene replayed itself once more, and again the sense of disbelief and betrayal clutched at her.
"I did something," Faith murmured. "I can't remember what it was. Dad was drunk and he chased me..." She paused and scanned the memory again. After a moment she sat back a little way and stared into Bosco's eyes. "He hit me."
"He what?" Bosco said softly. "Your father hit you?"
"He got me on the floor and stomped on my back." The note of utter disbelief in her voice intensified. "I was just a kid..."
Bosco gathered her to him once more, closer this time.
"How can a person just forget somethin' like that?" she asked, bewildered.
"Why would you wanna remember Faith?" Bosco murmured. "Sometimes forgetting is the only thing that gets you through. Otherwise..." He left the rest unsaid.
Faith pushed back from him and, gazing into his eyes touched her hand softly to his cheek. "What happened to that little boy must've been tough for you to see," she murmured quietly.
"Wasn't exactly a day at the beach for anyone Faith," Bosco muttered, shrugging. "You know, maybe Kyle's the lucky one. He doesn't have to spend the rest of his life relivin' it all over and over again in his head..."
He felt Faith entwine the fingers of her right hand in his.
They sat in thoughtful, companionable silence for some time before Bosco spoke once more.
"It all just reminded me of why I'm doin' the stuff I'm doin'," he mumbled, letting his eyes drift in the direction of Gracie's crib. "So she'll have what I...what we didn't."
Bosco felt Faith's grip on his hand tighten. After a while he began to fidget.
"I'm..." he began awkwardly, then stopped and shrugged.
"What?" Faith urged him softly.
With clear reluctance Bosco continued, his voice quiet, his tone unsure. "You know that evening thing I go to on Sundays?"
"The "you know, guy stuff" thing you don't wanna discuss with me?"
Bosco nodded, his discomfort palpable. "It's a fathering class," he mumbled. He looked up at her then, his expression one of embarrassed anticipation.
Faith smiled and let her hand trace his cheek once more. "Why would you wanna hide somethin' like that?"
He shrugged. "It's embarrassing."
Faith frowned. "What's so embarrassing about wanting to be a better person for your daughter?"
Bosco lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. "The worst thing?" he muttered eventually. "Having to admit that you're not as all right as you thought you were. Having to face the idea that all those people who told me I was crap were right all along."
Faith felt her tears gathering in greater volume. "You're not crap, Bosco," she said firmly. "You never were."
"Sometimes I don't know who the hell I am," he muttered.
Faith nodded guiltily and gazed down at an indeterminate spot in front of her.
"I guess I don't help sometimes," she murmured softly.
"You gotta admit Faith," he mumbled quietly, "you ride my ass sometimes. And not in a good way."
There was silence between them for a moment.
"You OK?" Bosco asked finally, reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair from Faith's tear-filled eyes.
She shrugged and silence enveloped them once more.
"Apparently," Bosco said after some thought, "90% of bein' a good dad to your kids is WANTING to be a good dad - the rest is learning the skills." He paused and gazed at her earnestly. "I wanna be a good dad, Faith."
Faith lifted his hand to her lips. "You're doin' great so far, Bos." After a moment she eased herself back on the bed and beckoned him to her.
"You wanna talk some more about...stuff?" he asked, enfolding her in his arms.
"We'll talk about stuff tomorrow," Faith murmured.
---
Bosco ventured cautiously amongst the bright array of pots and planters that was the rooftop garden.
"This was my Uncle's happy place," Isabelle smiled as she looked up to see him approach. "My Aunt hated the outdoors so he was pretty much guaranteed hours of quietude up here."
"Faith mentioned I might find you here," he said quietly.
"You have your 'I need to talk' face on, Maurice," Isabelle observed. "Is everything OK?"
"Everything's great," he shrugged.
Isabelle watched him knowingly. "But...?"
She noted how Bosco's gaze travelled self-consciously away from her to glance disinterestedly at the pots.
Isabelle dusted off her hands, rose stiffly from where she crouched and headed for the brightly painted garden seat that sat against the wall. Bosco followed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees when he sat.
"Guess I'm just not used to...great," he murmured.
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Isabelle mused. "You're waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think any minute now it's all going to fall to pieces.
Bosco nodded, clearly uncomfortable.
"What are you most afraid of, Maurice?" Isabelle asked after a moment. She watched her companion flick a pained glance her way.
"You're hard work, you know that?" she smiled, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "Now come on. What's bothering you that you feel you can't share with the lovely mother of your child or that perfectly good and no doubt well paid therapist of yours?"
Bosco didn't look at her but a small smirk played on his lips, if only briefly.
"What if..." he murmured before lapsing back into uncomfortable silence.
"What if...things change?" Isabelle ventured.
He nodded. "Faith and me...we woke up this morning and started talkin' about stuff...personal stuff, you know?"
"The kinds of things you've never shared with anyone else," Isabelle murmured.
"I'm lyin' there one moment thinkin' I've never felt this close to anyone, ever - the next thing I know I'm freakin' out." He shook his head in disbelief.
"Ah," Isabelle murmured knowingly. "What if. What if one morning you wake up and find you don't feel that close any more."
She watched him nod and noted the clear look of panic that shone in his eyes.
"You know Maurice," Isabelle mused, a faraway quality in her voice, "as a society we've not been well served when it comes to relationship role models. We seem to be obsessed with the notion that all we have to do to find happiness is pick the mythical 'right one' and everything will work out just fine. Well, I hate to have to tell you this Maurice, but it's crap."
Bosco looked at her, a mild expression of worry and bewilderment clouding his face.
Isabelle continued, unfazed. "There will come a morning, maybe even many of them, when you will wake up, look at Faith and think: 'what the hell am I doing with this person?' And she's going to look at you sometimes and think exactly the same."
A look of doubt displaced the bewilderment.
"No-one's ever told you it's a perfectly normal thing for couples to fall in and out of love on a regular basis, have they?"
Bosco shook his head.
"That's what commitment is all about, Maurice, why it's so essential. It's what carries a couple through when the crystals and rainbows lose their shine. You know, as a culture we're hung up on the notion we can have things 'good' ALL the time when in fact it just isn't possible. Life goes in cycles, Maurice. The pendulum is constantly swinging between the good and the not so good and back again. We seem to imagine or expect it's possible to freeze the pendulum on 'good' and worry ourselves to the point of insanity that maybe one day it won't be quite so good."
Isabelle paused and offered up a comforting smile. "It's worse for those of us whose childhoods weren't that grand. Life's ebb and flow frightens the hell out of us. We hit the panic button way too quickly because the 'not so good' times in our lives really damaged us and we're scared they will again. So we defend against the possibility, overreact to the smallest things - and end up creating the very mayhem we wanted so desperately to avoid."
Bosco looked at her watchfully.
"Maurice, the truth of it is there are going to be times when you won't feel close or even vaguely loving towards Faith. Sometimes you may feel you even hate her - not because there is anything fundamentally wrong with your relationship or because you've 'picked the wrong one'. But because it's just not possible for flawed human beings to love unconditionally 100% of the time."
Bosco shifted around uncomfortably. Isabelle couldn't help chuckling at the perplexed expression on his face.
"The most important thing for you to remember is not to panic when it happens, Maurice. Just step back and say to yourself: "OK, it's not good at the moment, but this will pass.'"
"You're gonna give me another one of those books of yours to read, aren't you?" he grumbled.
"Mm Hmm," Isabelle nodded brightly.
Bosco winced. Out of respect for Isabelle he and Faith had agreed to read the books she suggested, even though it was in both their natures to run a mile from anything with the words 'self-help' appearing on the cover.
His mind travelled to the day they sat reading the last books Isabelle had given them. Having thrown his book repeatedly across the dashboard of the RMP, Faith had finally snapped: "You do that again and you know where I'm gonna shove that?"
"Let me guess," Isabelle grinned. "You had a bit of trouble when you came across the part about the need for sons to sort things out with their father."
As Bosco nodded, Isabelle noticed Faith approaching them with Gracie. "We'll discuss it another time," she murmured as she noted the vague look of concern brushing Faith's face.
"Everything OK?" Faith asked, her gaze fixed intently upon her partner.
Bosco stood and relieved her of Gracie. "They're fine Faith," he murmured.
Faith's eyes travelled to Isabelle for confirmation but received a slightly bemused look in return.
"Did I say something to upset you this morning?" Faith asked cautiously. "Cos, you know, you went a bit quiet on me when we were talkin'."
Bosco gazed at her, surprised by the troubled look he could see in her eyes. But before he could say anything, Faith began to speak again.
"I'm sorry if I mighta said somethin'," she said quickly. "I know sometimes I do, I say things without thinkin'. And I know I criticise you sometimes, but I don't do it to hurt you, Bos, honestly. It's just, I'm always thinking it's up to me to fix stuff in my life 'cos that's the way it's always been and I guess I'm not used to workin' it out together. I mean, even with me and Fred, you know, if there was a problem I always thought..." She paused, noting the soft smile gracing Bosco's face. "What?"
Isabelle watched, intrigued, as Bosco reached out one arm and drew his partner to him, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead.
"It wasn't you Faith," he murmured softly.
Faith gazed at him, a rare vulnerability evident about her. "You sure?"
"Positive," he replied.
Faith watched him carefully. "I wanna know if I do say something, OK?"
"I'll make sure you hear all about it Faith," he grinned.
As an intense expression of relief washed across Faith's face, Isabelle couldn't help smiling quietly to herself.
----
TBC