Bosco laid on the floor, feeling slightly disconnected from reality. Probably from shock and blood loss, he decided. But he had found out the name of the now deceased man who had tried to kill them, Stephen Foster.

Who, after getting fired from his construction job, had gotten drunk, and beat up his wife, Valerie, for accidentally tipping over his beer bottle. And his nine-year-old son, Andy, fearing for his mother, had called the police. But not before Stephen had tired of beating on Valerie, so he turned to Andy and seven-year-old Dillon.

Bosco was distracted by a clattering of footsteps in the hallway, and he saw that the medics had arrived.

It was two paramedics he knew, Kim Zambrano and Carlos Nieto. Bosco waved from his position on the floor.

"Hey Bosco. What kind of dumb situation have you gotten yourself into now?" Kim asked as she knelt beside him and took over for Sasha, while Carlos administered to her.

"Ah you know. Hadn't been shot for awhile, thought I was due."

"Well, it looks like you've earned yourself a nice room at Mercy. Carlos, help me get him on a stretcher."

As they loaded him, Bosco caught a glance of the closet, and muttered, "Seems like I always have bad luck with closets."

******************************************************************************

(Sasha):

She stared after the paramedics as they took Bosco down to the ambulance. She had heard his last cryptic remark, and wondered what it meant.

Seems like I always have bad luck with closets...

She sat there, and was startled when she heard her name.

Kim stood in front of her, "Come on. You're coming too, that arm needs stitches."

"Okay," she got to her feet, and turned to Ty, "Could you tell Faith that I probably won't be by tonight? Tell her maybe tomorrow."

He nodded, "Sure."

That taken care of, she followed Kim down to the waiting ambulance.

******************************************************************************

(Faith):

Sitting in her overstuffed recliner, watching yet another soap opera, Faith was bored to tears. She wanted to pull her hair out. She was grateful when the phone rang, hoping it was for her.

Fred answered it, "Hello?"

"What? Is she alright?"

Faith felt a moment of panic, was it Emily?

"Well thank god it was only minor. I'll be sure to give Faith the message. Yes, thank you, Officer Davis."

Ty? What would he be calling about?

Fred appeared in the doorway.

"Honey, what did Ty want?" Faith asked.

Fred sat next to her, "Honey, don't get upset, but Sasha Monroe got shot today."

A wave of shock swept over her, "Oh god, is she..."

"She's fine. Just a minor shoulder wound. Officer Davis said she was fine, just wanted you to know that she wouldn't be by tonight."

"Hell, she's thinking of me, when she was shot? Is she still at the hospital?"

"Yeah. That Davis guy said they were holding her overnight."

"Let's go visit her, I'm bored outta my skull anyway."

He looked at her with trepidation, "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, so soon?"

"I'm fine Fred. Look, Sasha's my friend." Faith was insistent.

He finally smiled, "Okay. Let's go."

******************************************************************************

They reached the hospital in ten minutes, but it took that long for Fred to get Faith back in her wheelchair. She hated how everyone that passed looked at her with pity, but she ignored them.

They went inside, going to the front desk, "Excuse me," Faith asked, "What room is Sasha Monroe in?"

The nurse as the desk, young, but capable looking, glanced at a register, "Hmm, Sasha Monroe. Oh yeah, she's the cop. She's in number 114."

Faith thanked the nurse, and they headed for the elevator, bypassing it only for a second to stop at the gift shop for balloons and flowers.

They reached the room, and knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar. Faith was relieved to her Sasha's voice say, "Come in."

Fred opened the door, and pushed Faith inside.

Sasha was sitting up in bed, her left shoulder heavily bandaged, staring glumly at the television. Her face lit up at the sight of Faith.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to see you. Ty called and said you were here. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. The docs just wanted to make sure there wasn't any chance of infection. I get out tomorrow." Sasha said. She looked at Faith, and appeared to want to say something else, but her eyes flicked nervously to Fred.

Faith understood, "Fred honey, would you go get me a drink? A diet coke?"

Fred smiled at her, "Sure baby."

He left the room.

Faith looked at Sasha, "Spill."

Sasha hesitated, "I don't know if you wanted to know, or not, since things have been bad between you. But Bosco got shot too."

Faith felt a ripple of shock, "What?"

"Yeah. He was in surgery, but I think he's out now. The bullet hit him in the side, and wasn't a through and through."

Faith was terrified, even though she had been angry at Bosco, "What room?"

"Davis said he was in room 17 in the ICU."

Faith glanced out in the hallway after her husband.

Sasha smiled, "Don't worry. I'll cover for you."

Faith nodded, "Thanks." She started to wheel herself out of the room.

"Faith..."

Faith stopped, "Huh?"

"Bosco's been acting funny lately. And when they were wheeling him out to the ambulance, he said the strangest thing."

"What?"

"Well the guy, it was a domestic case, a man was beating on his wife and two little boys? We got there, we had to break down the door 'cause we could hear him hitting his wife. We couldn't see him or the kids though, just the wife when we got in. I stayed with the wife, and radioed for backup, but Bosco wouldn't wait. Anyway, the guy was hiding in a closet, that's how he shot us, through the damn closet. But like I said, when Kim and Carlos were taking Bosco down, he looked at the closet and said something like I've always got bad luck with closets, or something like that," Sasha looked expectantly at Faith, "What did he mean by that?"

Faith felt horrible, "Um, well, maybe you'd better ask him."

Sasha looked at her, "You know what he meant?"

Faith nodded, "Yeah, but I don't know if he wants it known. You'll have to ask him."

Sasha sighed, "Okay. Go see him really fast...I'll tell Fred you had to pee, and have him play nursemaid for me."

Faith smiled, "Kay'."

******************************************************************************

(Bosco):

"Did I say you could open that fuckin' window? Huh Maurice, did I?" His father, thirty-seven year old Michael Boscorelli had his young son's arm in a death grip, bruising the fragile flesh. The boy's nose was already broken, streaming blood, and a black eye was beginning to make itself known. But Maurice didn't cry, his father didn't approve of 'goddamn sniveling', so if you did slip up and cry, it would only make things worse.

In the meantime, his father was expecting an answer.

He took a breath, "No."

His father yanked harder on his arm, bringing the boy closer until Maurice could smell his sour sweat, mixed with booze. His eyes were bloodshot and angry.

Maurice felt his shoulder dislocate, and had to bite back a scream.

He closed his eyes.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" his father bellowed.

Suddenly, he was being dragged down their apartment hallway.

To the closet.

His father opened the door, and shoved him in so hard his head connected with the back wall.

The door slammed closed.

It was the next day before someone remembered to let him out.

******************************************************************************

(Faith)

She wheeled herself into Bosco's ICU room, where nurse Mary Procter was standing over him, taking his vitals.

"Hey Mary." Faith said, not taking her eyes off Bosco, who was still unconscious, still sleeping off the aesthetic from his surgery.

"Hey Faith, how are you feeling?"

"Good. How is he?"

Procter picked up Bosco's chart, a large thick file, and studied it, "Looks like the bullet grazed his right lung, and broke four ribs, where it got lodged. Lost a fair amount of blood, but he'll be okay."

"I'm going to sit with him for a second. Would you tell me if you see Fred coming?"

Procter nodded, no doubt remembering the Fred/Bosco fiasco in the ER, "Will do."

She left the room, leaving Faith alone with Bosco, who, despite the fact that he was asleep, was not peaceful. His eyes were scrunched tightly, his forehead wrinkled. Faith noted the dark circles under his eyes, and guessed that he hadn't been sleeping well lately.

That gave her a little guilt. It wasn't hard to guess why he hadn't been able to sleep.

Hesitantly, she reached out, and pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He gave a small moan, "No."

Faith jumped.

"It's so dark in here." he muttered, still asleep, but obviously dreaming. Faith didn't have to be psychic to know what about.

"Mom! Leave her alone Dad!"

Faith winced at the terror she heard in her partner's voice. She remembered that Sasha said the arrest was a domestic dispute. A drunken father beating on his wife, and two little boys to be exact. No wonder bad memories were shattering Bosco's defenses.

She rubbed his shoulder gently, and slowly, he calmed enough to where she could stand to leave him.

As she turned around, the arm of her wheelchair hit the front of his bed, knocking his chart to the floor.

Sighing, she bent over carefully as to not dislodge herself, and picked up his file. Some of the papers had slid halfway out, and she pulled them the rest of the way, intent of fixing them. Her hands stilled as her eyes glanced over the text.

September 17th, 1976

History of Present Illness/Injury: Six-year-old male Caucasian brought in with compound fracture of the ulna and forehead laceration requiring fifteen stitches. Boy says that he fell off the jungle gym at local park.

May 29th, 1977

History of Present Illness/Injury: Seven-year-old male Caucasian with dislocated shoulder, and a contusion of the orbital ridge. Says it occurred during a schoolyard fight.

That was only two of many in Bosco's medical file. Faith lifted a hand to her mouth, sickened. She knew that both of those stories were lies, and what had really happened to her partner all those years ago. Bosco had never fully told her about the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father, only hinted at it.

But here it was, it Technicolor, much too clear for Faith.

She was about to close it when a familiar name leaped out from one of the pages.

January 4th, 1982

History of Present Illness/Injury: Two police officers, Detective Thomas Cale, and Glen Hobart brought in a twelve-year-old male Caucasian after discovering the boy unconscious on a sidewalk. Child shows serious head and chest trauma as well as a fractured ankle, and numerous contusions and lacerations. Also is suffering from exposure and pneumonia, but it is unknown how long the child was left outside.

So there Faith had an answer to a long asked question. What was Bosco's connection to Glen Hobart?

Glen Hobart, it seemed, had saved Bosco's life as a child. Obviously to Bosco, Glen was not only a cop, but a father-figure, and savior.

So imagine the damage inflicted on Bosco when his guardian took him hostage on an apartment rooftop years later in order to commit suicide? To have his blood splatter all over you?

That was the only time Faith had seen Bosco cry.

Faith closed the folder, and sat it back in it's rightful place, feeling a mixture of terrible sadness and fury. Fury at Bosco's father, a waste of space and air, an insult to the human race. Sadness for Bosco, she couldn't imagine the pain and terror he had suffered. Her hands clenched tightly into fists, and she wished that Michael Boscorelli Sr. was in front of her so she could kill him. Yeah, she knew from Bosco that his father. The scumbag, was still alive, living somewhere in New York.

Faith sat for a moment, thinking about the damage that the man had caused.

Bosco's mother was an alcoholic who dated men just like Bosco's father. Something had been broken inside Rose Boscorelli which made her turn to abusive men.

Bosco's younger brother, Mikey, was a drug addict, a crack-head who was heading into a early grave.

Bosco had turned out pretty much okay, except for his hunger for justice which often ended him up here in the hospital, or in trouble with their superiors.

Faith felt her anger at Bosco totally dissolve. Looking at things now, knowing the things she now knew, she understood why Bosco always called on her for help.

She was the only one he had. The only one who had never let him down.

She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she cursed herself for being such a pig-headed fool.

She wheeled closer to him, "Bosco, I'm so sorry. I realize now I was wrong to be angry with you… It's okay, I don't blame you."

With that said, and her conscience somewhat soothed, she said softly, "I gotta go, but I'll be back…partner."