A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one. Reviews are appreciated! Also, I will get back to Out of the Blue, but I don't know when. Temporary writers block in that area. Anywho, enjoy!

Off-duty NYPD officer Maurice Boscorelli laid his hand on the horn of his '67 Mustang, a long string of curses bursting from his mouth in accompaniment. He swerved the classic car around a slow moving sedan, and received a chorus of protesting honks from nearby drivers. Bosco, as he was almost exclusively known as, momentarily considered flashing his badge, but opted instead for the one fingered salute to convey his feelings. Glancing at the clock set into the dash of his car, he swore again. Bosco was late. After the never ending chain of promises and pledges he had made in anticipation of this event, Fate seemed to be against him in the form of lightning fast green lights and drivers unwilling to break the speed limit. He was dressed up; that is, according to the standards of a bachelor police officer whose only social activities include a string of one night stands. His mahogany brown hair was gelled slightly, lifting the velvety spikes off his head just noticeably. He was dressed in loose black pants, and a navy blue fleece pullover that was vastly becoming too much for the increasing heat of the New York City spring day. Bosco tried not to think about what would become of his sorry butt if he didn't reach his destination on time. To say his ass would be in a sling was a gross understatement.

'Damn fools.' He applied the horn again in a short burst, hoping to motivate the SOB riding the brake in front of him. With a shout of triumph, Bosco pulled off the busy city street with an angry squealing of the tires, and threw the mustang into the first available parking spot. 'Thank God,' he thought to himself as he shifted into park and engaged the parking brake. But his maniacal journey through the city was not over yet. Locking the car door behind him, he craned his neck to study the eighteen floored red brick building in front of him. Ordinarily, the prospect of running up fifteen flights of stairs was enough to boil his blood in anticipation. But this time, knowing what was waiting for him fifteen floors up...His stomach twisted at the very thought. But nonetheless, as a man of his word, he knew he had to face it. With a heavy heart, he started forward. Sweat had begun to dampen his hands; he blotted them hastily on his pants before swinging the door open and entering the cool lobby. The stairs could be found at the far right side of the tackily decorated first floor; he hastened to seek them out in order to avoid having to acknowledge the old woman coming off the elevator. Bosco closed the heavy steel door softly behind him, and as he looked up the stairwell that seemed to stretch on forever, the thought of a last minute ditch flitted across his mind. But he knew such ideas were pointless; the consequences for avoiding this meeting would be even more severe, despite the presence of a well-thought excuse. Besides, the odds that he had already been seen were certainly stacked against him. So, he began his ascent.

Once the young man had reached the fifteenth floor, his cheeks were flushed, but he needed only a moment to regain his breath and composure. Again, he wiped his damps palms on his pants before stepping out onto the spotted turquoise carpet. His feet moved on autopilot, carrying him down the hall to the last door on the right. He stared hard the beige door, 15G, and once again considered making a break for it. But before his body could respond to his brain's impulses, he raised his hand and knocked lightly. There was a quiet commotion from inside, during which Bosco could feel his nervous heartbeat pounding in his ears. The door swung open, and he immediately smiled sheepishly.

"Hi, ma. Sorry I'm late."

The dark haired woman, still surprisingly youthful despite being in her early fifties, reached out and grabbed her eldest son in a bear hug. "Oh, Maurice,"she gushed, grabbing his face in her hands and layering his cheeks with kisses. "Thank God you're alright!" She pulled him inside the tiny apartment, and slammed the door shut. "When I saw that article...Well, you know how my imagination runs away with me."

Again he smiled, simultaneously distressed and pleased by her worry. "I'm alright, ma. It's not that big a deal."

She pulled away from him, face twisted in an expression of disquiet. "Maurice, that was huge deal. I saw the article. Don't try and sugar-coat it. It was a shoot-out. Those things are always big deals."

Bosco sighed. This was not the first time something like this had happened. He and his partner, Faith Yokas, had been involved in a high profile case, a stand-off between rival drug dealers. Some jag-off had gotten his picture, sold it to a newspaper. As a result to this series of events, his mother lost sleep worrying about him, and he had to spend an hour of his day convincing her that he was unhurt.

"Ma, really, I'm alright. I always wear my vest. The chances of me getting hurt are pretty slim." 'Great job, Boscorelli,' he thought bitterly to himself. 'If you weren't going to hell already for not calling all of those women, then you're damn sure going for lying to your mother.'

She took his hands then, both of his clasped between hers. "You listen to me, Maurice. You'd better remember your promise. You hear me? I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

He opened his mouth to reassure her, the same line he used every time something like this came up, with script like precision, but was startled into silence by the tears filling her brown eyes. 'Okay, so this is new.' She had never before cried during their little exchange. "You won't, ma,"he said, finally having recovered his voice. "I'm not going anywhere." He pulled her into a tight hug, as much to assuage his own guilt at wanting to ditch her as it was reassurance for her. It was then, with his chin rested against her shoulder, that he noticed several things for the first time, all at once. The most prominent thing that came to mind was the way his mother looked. She had obviously paid a recent visit to the hairdresser, her dark locks were curled into neat ringlets that fell about her face. She was dressed differently as well, an ankle length black skirt with a white button up shirt. His eyes continued to study the area around them; he immediately noticed the spotlessness of the small apartments foyer, and living room beyond. He pulled away from his mother as his face fell onto the strange jacket and dress shoes by the coat rack. He favoured his mother with a curious look.

"Who's here, Ma?"

He already hated himself for not noticing these things right away. For her part, his mother looked guilty. She took her son's hand again, and led him through the small living room to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. But Bosco wasn't willing to go further without an explanation. His whole body tensed, and he dug his heels into the carpet. "Ma,"he said, pulling on her hand gently so she would turn and look at him. "Who's here?"he repeated slowly.

She smiled tightly. "Maurice, his name is Charles. He's a good man. A stockbroker."

But her son was no longer listening. He had pulled out of her grasp, and was heading back towards the door, intent on pulling on his shoes and getting the hell out of there. She followed, stepping in front of the door and effectively blocking his escape.

"Maury, please, I really would like you to meet him. He's a good man."

"Just 'cause you keep repeating that doesn't mean its true." Bosco bent forward at the waist, shoving his foot angrily into his sneaker. He straightened slowly, and looked his mother square in the eye. "I can't watch you go through this again, ma. I just can't. It was hard enough when I was ten."

Rose grabbed hold of her son's wrist and kept it there in a vice like grip. "It's not like that, Maurice. Look at me. Would I look like this if he wasn't worth it?"

Bosco chewed the inside of his cheek as he studied his mother. She was right. He hadn't seen her look that proud, or downright good in a long time. Come to think of it, he didn't think he had ever seen her look like that. He sighed.

"You do look beautiful, ma. I'm sorry I didn't say so before."

Her smile was wide, and well-received. She threw her arms around her son, and kissed his cheek forcefully. "Thank you, baby. And I promise you. You'll never have to see that again."

This time, he was willing to follow her as she once again led him into the dining room. Much to his surprise, Bosco saw a middle aged man with greying hair sitting at the table, with his hands folded neatly in front of him. The startling part for the NYPD officer was the fact that he was wearing a suit. Bosco didn't think his mother had ever seen anyone who owned a suit, let alone wore one. The man looked up through thick lensed glasses, and smiled.

"Charles, this is my son, Maurice. Maury, this is Charles."

The stockbroker stood, and extended his hand in greeting. Bosco shook it reluctantly, all the while making a show of measuring the older man with his eyes. The resounding thought in his head was, 'I can take him.'

"Nice to meet you,"the older man said, pumping Bosco's arm enthusiastically. He released his hand, and with a smile at Rose, sat back down. Bosco noticed the instant he began speaking that Charles didn't have even a hint of a New York accent. To Bosco, that meant one of two things; either he really was from somewhere else, or he was pretending to be someone he wasn't. To a born and bred New Yorker like Bosco, neither one was worse than the other. Much to his mother's disappointment, he sat down without another word.

"Well, you boys get to know each other. I'm going to go finish the lasagna." Rose smiled warmly at Charles, then disappeared into the kitchen, all the while praying her hard headed son would play nice.

Silence fell over the two men. Bosco sat back in his chair, absently tracing scars on the knuckles of his right hand with the pointer finger of his left. Every few seconds, he would glance up at the man across the table from him, as if he was afraid he would start hitting his mother right there. He had also become increasingly aware of the older man's nose whistle.

"So,"Charles said after some time. "Rose said earlier that you're a police officer. That must be interesting."

Bosco shrugged his shoulders disinterested. "It keeps me entertained. What about stockbroking? That must be a hoot."

Confusion flashed across Charles' face, as if he couldn't figure out whether Bosco was being sarcastic or not. Eventually, he simply nodded, and the room was blanketed in quietness. Bosco now took to following the long scar that ran up his right forearm with his finger. What his mother saw in this man was beyond him. Of course, that was the case with any of the men she had brought home over the years. Each time she gushed and bragged about one aspect of them or another. But it always ended the same way; Bosco hunting the boyfriend down at his workplace, or the unemployment office, or wherever the hell else those scum go, and beating them until they cried like little girls.

"I know what you're afraid of,"Charles spoke up quietly. Bosco's head shot up, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "But I have nothing but the best intentions with Rose."

If at all possible, Bosco's gaze narrowed even further, and grew more menacing until Charles swore to himself that he would never to anything to cross this man.

"And how would you know a thing like that?"he asked, leaning slightly forward in his chair.

A nervous smile pasted itself on the older man's face. "Well, it's a commonly known fact that no one messes with Angela Rose Boscorelli without facing the wrath of her less than placid eldest son."

Learning this did nothing for Bosco's piece of mind. He didn't enjoy running around the city, chasing abusive jag-off's and beating them just enough to let them fear death by his hand. Every time he found himself in a similar situation, he wished with his whole being that he didn't have to be there. But if the world was really like that, all peaches and cream and sunshine, he would be out of a job.

Bosco smiled coldly. "In that case I shouldn't feel the need to tell you that if you hurt her, one way or another, I'll beat you to within an inch of your sorry life."

Charles didn't get a chance to respond. Thankfully, Rose chose that moment to come through the kitchen door, holding a casserole dish of lasagna in her oven mitt covered hands. Both men stood to help her, but she required no assistance and set the dish down on the table. She glanced across the table to her son, gauging his features, and hoping against hope that he managed to rein himself in for the five minutes she had been gone.

"So, what did you boys talk about?"she asked casually as she started to slice up the pasta. Bosco knew his mother too well to fall for her sneaky tactics; she was checking up on him.

"Just work,"Charles replied with a warm smile. "I never realized all that being an officer of the law entailed."

Bosco's eyes widened just noticeably. 'Better mark that date on a calender,' he thought to himself. 'First time in all history one of ma's guys covered for me.' He made a mental note of the date, and turned to his mother.

"Ma, I saw Mikey the other day. He looked alright."

If he had not been watching his mother closely, he would've missed the slight tightening of the skin around her lips, and the way the colour left her cheeks. He frowned in concern, at the same time Charles asked, "who's Mikey? Is he a relative?"

Blue eyes agape in astonishment, Bosco stared up at his mother, his mouth hanging open in a look of pure shock. Rose shook her head slowly, and her hand went limp, sending the knife clattering to the floor. Charles stood quickly, followed soon by Bosco.

"Rose? Are you alright?"

"This is it?"Bosco asked, having recovered from his initial shock. "This is the guy that's worth it, and you didn't even tell him about your crack using son? What, did you think if you don't talk about him, he's not really out there, sticking a needle into his arm? What the hell, ma?"

The colour had returned to Rose's cheeks in abundance. Before Bosco had realized what was happening, and had a chance to respond, his head knocked back with the vicious blow to his face. Police instincts took over his body, and he reached for his nightstick attached to his gun belt. When his hand encountered nothing but the fabric of his pants, his mouth slowly fell open. He looked up to his mother, the stinging sensation bringing automatic tears to his eyes.

"How dare you talk to me like that!"she whispered fiercely. "I have done nothing but think of your brother since he got started on the dope. Don't you dare accuse me of otherwise!"

His hand came up this face, and his fingers gently probed the tender area her hand had connected with. Never in all his twenty seven years of life had his mother laid a hand on him in this way. She was always the comfort, always the kind voice and soft touch when his father was anything but. To have her role reversed like this didn't sit well with Bosco. He straightened, his eyes still wide in shock. She stood staring at him, anger written all over her face and her hands opening and closing in a manner that reminded him too much of his father. He glanced over at Charles, who remained motionless on the other side of the table. 'Get used to it, pal,'Bosco thought to himself. 'There's a lot of that going on around here.' Shaking his head slightly, he turned and left the apartment as quickly as he could without looking like he was running.

Rose Boscorelli winced with the slamming of her front door. For a long minute, she didn't move, simply staring down at her hand as if she couldn't believe what she had done. Then the reality of the situation sunk in, and she began to cry softly. Charles was there, bringing her into a strong hug as her sobs shook her body violently.