A Hopeless Wound (6/?)
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Author's note: Hey there, missed me? ;) Sorry about the delay, but real life kinda got in the way... Hope I can make up with this chapter. It's been sitting in my desktop since Saturday, but I've been too focused on getting as many details as I could on "Blessed and Bewildered" that I actually forgot about it! Btw, I hate you all, 'cause from what I've heard that was a GREAT one and I have no idea when I'll be able to watch it! *lol*
Oh, and we found out that Rose doesn't own the bar as I'd originally thought, but let's just pretend she does, okay? It would bee too complicated to change it in this story.
Anyway, enough of my ramblings, enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think! :)
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Chapter six
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Bosco watched Swersky's lips move, but his brain didn't register any sound.
He'd been sitting in his superior's office for what seemed like an hour, and was beginning to think that Davis' idea of going to the House instead of his place wasn't so smart after all.
Despite taking a shower and putting on clean clothes, he still felt as miserable as before.
A small chuckle escaped his lips as he remembered being in the same room, sitting in the same chair after he'd punched a suspect in front of the FBI. This time it wasn't for something he'd done, although his overwhelming sense of guilt told him he was responsible as if he'd pulled the trigger.
He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react or what the correct emotion was, the only thing he was aware of was a big, black void where his heart used to be.
Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the man's words as once again, his eyes tried to fight back tears.
"I'm serious, Bosco." The Lieutenant continued. "I don't need to remind you that the shot that killed your mother was more than likely meant for you. This man's still out there and probably trying to finish the job so you need to be extremely careful. I don't want to attend another funeral."
Bosco nodded his head though the man's words did nothing to scare or upset him.
He wanted to tell him that he didn't care, that he could die for all that mattered, but Swersky seemed genuinely worried and he didn't want him to notice how little he was concerned about his well-being right now.
"You have a place where you can spend the night?"
Another nod.
"Good. Call me as soon as you're settled."
Moving on auto-pilot, Bosco stood up, grabbed the door handle and left the office.
Swersky let out a breath and stared after him, worry etched on his face. "Sullivan, Davis." he called as he spotted the two officers in the main hall. "Make sure he gets wherever it is that he wants to go." He ordered, pointing to Bosco who was heading out of the building.
"You got it, boss." Davis replied, his tone firm.
***
"He's coming out." Leonard nudged his brother's arm as he spotted Bosco coming out of the 55th precinct.
"It's about damn time."
The man's trained eye followed its target as he crossed the street. "Pretty easy shot."
"What, you wanna take him down in front of the whole station?"
Jermaine's lips curved into a grin but he didn't reply.
"Think they'll ever leave him alone?" Leonard asked, directing his finger at the two cops that were trailing after him.
A dangerous glint lit his brother's eyes. "If they don't, there's gonna be two more funerals." he answered darkly as his hand clutched the Remington 700.
***
The first thing that struck him was the smell.
He'd never noticed it before, but standing in the doorway of his mother's house he realized for the first time just how much the place reminded him of her.
Then emptiness, and a feeling of raw desperation as reality set in and the stress of the day finally started to hit him.
Shivering, Bosco walked up to the window and watched Sully and Davis as they got inside their squad. Ty glanced at him over the roof of the car and shook his head slightly before sliding into the driver's seat. No doubt he was telling his partner that they shouldn't leave him alone, and Sullivan with his typical roll of the eyes was probably replying that that was exactly what he needed.
Some things never change.
It's not that he didn't appreciate their concern, but he was glad they'd finally left. He was barely holding onto his composure and needed some time to get himself together. This was the first place he'd thought about when they'd asked him where he wanted to go.
Facing away from the window, he looked around the room, almost expecting his mother to come out of the kitchen and tell him that dinner was ready, or to hurry up or he would be late for school.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories still hovered around him. Memories strong enough to rip him apart.
I can't stay in here.
He took a couple steps forward, then stopped as his eyes fixed on her favourite silk scarf that was draped over a chair. He held it up to his face and inhaled her essence. The faintest whiff of lavender sent him reeling. Another minute in this place and he'd break into pieces.
As soon as he heard the RMP pull out onto the road and away from the house, he headed out the door and sat on the front steps where he called for a cab.
Ten minutes later, the driver asked him the same question. "Where to?"
He thought about it for a second before giving him the address. It wouldn't help much, but at least he'd find something to drown his pain.
***
Faith sat down on the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest.
The kids were doing their homework, Fred was taking a shower and she'd just finished washing dishes.
As the TV screen flashed with the latest report of the events that had led to the brutal murder of the mother of one of the NYPD's finest, her thoughts went back to Bosco. She wondered if he was sitting in a darkened room somewhere, with a bottle in his hand. If he'd skipped dinner, the way he'd probably skipped lunch and breakfast before that, and how many hours of restless sleep he'd be able to get tonight.
Dealing with grief is a very personal matter. Some people get depressed, and end up showing a lack of interest in life and its many aspects. Bosco, he went to the other extreme.
When he was stressed or had been emotionally hurt, any thought of remaining calm went out the window. The pressure would build up inside him until no amount of running, weight lifting or heavy drinking would do any good.
He could break all the bones in his hand without feeling it, or go without sleep for days and still feel hyped-up. Then five, six days later, his body would simply give out.
She just hoped to get through him before that happened.
Slowly pushing herself off the couch, Faith made her way out of the living room. "Fred?"
"What is it, honey?" came his voice from the bathroom.
She drew in a breath and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I... I'm going out for a little while."
He opened the door slightly and looked through the crack. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. We just ran out of milk."
Fred came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Give me a minute. I'll go get it."
Her body tensed. "No. ...I mean, it's okay. It's a beautiful night, I'd like to walk."
He smiled. "Okay."
Faith leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too."
***
The room was spinning. Furiously and out of control.
The sensation sent a wave of nausea coursing through his body and he grabbed the counter to keep himself from falling flat on his back.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Bosco clenched his eyes shut and waited for the sickness to pass.
He felt exhausted and light-headed, no doubt courtesy of the bourbon he'd downed. How much he'd actually drank was a mystery to him, but he suspected it was definitely more than his empty stomach could handle.
His head was throbbing, and he was having a hard time focusing on where he was or what had happened. The last image his half-coherent brain could conjure up was entering his mother's bar and locking the door behind him.
Then nothing.
He tried to open his eyes again and blinked a few times to clear away the fog that clouded his vision.
His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked around and took in his surroundings. The place looked like it'd been ravaged by a storm. Chairs toppled, tables overturned, shot glasses scattered everywhere.
What the hell?
Rubbing his face with one hand, he staggered to the door, finding it still locked.
That only left one option.
God, I'm sorry, Ma...
His knees threatened to give way and he leaned against the wall, then let his body slowly sag to the floor.
Images of what had been the worst day of his entire life started to replay themselves in his mind, along with the realization that he'd really lost her forever. He felt a burning pain in his chest, as if all the air had suddenly been forced out of his lungs, and struggled to keep his breathing under control.
Sorry... What was he sorry for?
That she was dead, that he'd more than likely caused it, or that he'd not loved her more when she was still alive? How many times had he changed his mind and decided not to stop by and visit her, or had not returned her calls? Too many. And nothing he could do or say now was going to make up for that.
Strong, independent Maurice who'd never had a serious relationship and apparently knew so little about what was important in life, had screwed up again.
Resting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, Bosco finally allowed himself to cry.
***
Faith stood outside Rose's bar, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.
Leaving her apartment ten minutes ago, she'd tried to convince herself that this was the right thing to do, that he'd have undoubtedly done the same, and that it takes more than a few harsh words to keep a true friend from helping out.
Yet she couldn't help but wonder if after months of barely acknowledging each other, she still had something to offer to him.
An eerie silence haunted the place, and she frowned as she remembered how loud and full of life it used to be.
The chances that Bosco would be able to keep it were pretty slim in her opinion, at least as long as he kept working the third watch, but she just couldn't picture him giving up a part of his mother's life.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and looked through the glass, but the blackness of the night hindered her sight.
She reached for the front door, but found it locked.
Maybe he's not here.
The thought that she'd gone to the wrong place crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. There was no way the detectives would let him go back to his place, and she figured the house in Fresh Meadows held too many memories right now.
The bar was the most logical option, but then again, Bosco rarely reasoned over things. For all she knew, he could be driving aimlessly around the city, or getting thrashed inside one of the many other joints located all over Manhattan.
Still, she found herself trying for the back door.
She had a powerful gut feeling that this was exactly where he was, so when the knob started to turn under her touch and the door slid open she didn't think twice before stepping inside.
The place was dark, but there was enough moonlight streaming through the windows for her to make out the shape of the counter and an open space in front her.
Swallowing hard, she carefully inched forward until she felt something block her path. A chair, lying on its side on the floor.
She instinctively picked it and moved it aside, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized there wasn't a piece of furniture in the whole room that was standing on its feet. Everything had been turned upside down as if...
Fear immediately knotted her stomach.
"Bosco?"
Forcing down the guilt that had risen at the realization of the true extent of his pain, Faith's eyes frantically darted back and forth, scanning the room for any sign of her friend.
"Bosco?"
A noise drew her attention to the left and she moved towards the front door. "Bos?"
"Get out."
Turning her head, she finally spotted him sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. She stepped forward and came right up to him, where she could see that his hands were shaking, his eyes were closed and his jaw was set too tight.
"Bosco, please look at me."
He opened his eyes and glared at her, but underneath his rage she could see the pain, and it gave her enough courage to kneel down in front of him and cover his hand with her own.
Bosco's gaze softened as he felt Faith's grip on his hand, comfort immediately flowing through him at that silent support. He needed her more than anything, but he also didn't want to show her how truly vulnerable he was, afraid that she'd disappear again as soon as she believed he was alright.
"Please. Go away."
Faith's heart nearly broke as she watched him trying to be strong in front of her. He was obviously afraid to open up to her, to trust her after the way she'd treated him, but she wouldn't back down, couldn't back down.
"Bos..."
He looked away. "Please, Faith. It's.. it's a private thing." And I think I'm going to cry again now.
She gazed down at him. "Don't push me away. I can help..."
"You can't." He stated, his voice sad. "You didn't love her the way I did."
Faith sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, Bos. I'm here for you."
His walls slowly started to crumble.
"It hurts, Faith. ... I don't want to hurt like this..."
"I'm sorry." Her voice was gentle as she rubbed her back. "I wish I could make it all go away."
Bosco covered his face with his hands. "I just can't do it alone..." he whispered as tears ran down his cheeks.
"You're not alone." Faith said softly. "It's going to be okay."
Then, as it had happened two years before, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight as he started to sob.
TBC...