Title: Wearing Me Down
Author: Shawn Carter
Email: wolfpackproductionscomcast.net
Rating: PG. A little bit of language.
Summary: An introspective first person piece that takes place during the season finale. Three characters get voices here and I don't outright identify them but I do hope it's clear of whom they are.
Notes: This is my first Third Watch piece so I'm not completely sure how it turned out. I usually lurk in genre.
Music: Title is Dashboard Prophets
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
I never meant for this to happen. I know you won't believe that. I know I'm at least partly at fault for this. I should have cared more. I should have paid more attention. I should have let him be the man more.
Or something equally idiotic like that.
I was never raised to suffer fools and I find that even now I lack the patience to do so. Which is not to suggest that I'm not trying but really, doesn't the one walking away bear more responsibility than the person left behind? Especially when he gave up first? Especially after all the chances I gave him? What the hell right does he have to cry uncle first?
He says he left me because of another woman. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it. At the sheer bitter irony of being left by a man that I stood behind even when he was little more than an obnoxious bastard.
I loved him. I'd like to say love but right the red fog is too think and I'm awfully close to the other side of the coin.
We have a family together.
Two beautiful kids, a nice apartment, some good times and more laughs than I can count.
It's never been easy for us.
Two growing kids eager to see the evil of the world, an expensive rent, some horrible times and more tears than I care to recall.
Let's be honest here. I can try that. Things have been wrong for a long while. I mean really wrong. Ever since those buildings fell, people like me have been different from people like him. We see things in different colors now.
He's never understood. How can you be married to someone for so long and be able to say as you're staring down at the burnt ruins of it that you never understood each other.
I'm a cop. It's who I am. It's what I leave behind.
My children yes, yes of course. I leave them as my legacy or something like that. Honestly when the lady in the parenting course I took in school started blathering on that, I stopped listening. I love my kids. I'd kill anyone who gave them a second look.
This is different though.
This is where I make my difference. This is what I'll be remembered for. This is where I can stand tall and mean something. It's more than a job. It's who I am.
He'll never understand that.
I don't understand him.
He acts like it would be easy for me to just walk away, to just lay down my gun. He acts like it makes some kind of sense. He acts like I could actually go back to just watching the world unfold and doing nothing to stop the bad guys. He acts like that's possible.
He thought we could survive if I quit my job.
I wonder who would pay the bills? We just barely survived on both of our checks and I make a lot more money than he does. Does he know something that I don't about our finances?
I doubt it. It's Fred we're talking about.
This is kind of where we are you see. This is where I am. I realize with each thought and passing moment that things are slipping away, atrophying on the spot.
I'm stung. I'm hurt. I'm pissed as hell. He cheated on me. He's lucky he can still breathe through the hell in his mouth. For a few seconds that wasn't looking likely to continue.
Truth is though, I'm relieved.
I don't think I should be but I know I am.
I hated who I was when I was in front of him, begging him to take me back. I was weak. I wasn't the woman who fought back from a bullet. I was something different. Something useless. I don't want to be that.
He never understood that struggle either. I never understood how he couldn't. Did he think I could just accept being in a chair for the rest of my life with him as my caretaker? Did he think that was something I could do?
Is that who he thought he married?
God who did we become?
A few years back I almost left him, almost walked away. Bosco talked me into staying, told me to do it for the kids. I took Fred back.
Not long ago Fred almost died of a heart attack. I thought I'd break under the weight of him dying if he had. I thanked everything I could that he pulled through.
Still a family.
Over now.
He could never understand.
He never will.
He hates my world. He hates my partner.
Some days I do too. Some days I go insane with Bosco at my side. Some days I wouldn't survive without him there. He gets me. We get each other. Even when we let each other drop.
We're partners. We'll pick each other up.
Fred and I, we were partners too. He doesn't want that anymore. I laugh at that. I'm not amused. I'm not much. Truth is that we haven't been a team in a very long while. We've been nothing more than two tenants sharing the same room.
He hated who I was. I couldn't be anyone else.
Some days I think it would be better if I'd chosen to be a teacher. I'd still be making a difference; I just wouldn't be dying to do so. I'd be safe behind a disk, wanting to beat the shit out of smug kids and heartbroken over the ones are doomed to fall through the cracks.
That's no me. I can't be so passive. I have nothing but respect for teachers but I need the cold air biting into my cheeks and the smell of sulfur in my nostrils. I need the strain of my lungs burning as I run.
I need to be responsible for my own destiny.
He'll never understand that. He thinks I can just walk away. He thinks I could become a housewife making banana nut muffins and smiling like a damn idiot.
He thinks I could be something I could never be.
He thinks I could stand by and let others die to make a difference.
I don't want to die but I can't live with my hands in my pockets either. It's not who I am.
I guess he never got that.
I guess it's really over then.
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
His blood is on my hands. Bright red or pale pink. Depends on the moment. Depends how hard I'm rubbing.
He's dead because of me.
I'd like to say that's the breaks of life and we all fall down but I knew what I was doing and I knew what could become of it.
And I know why Michael Boscorelli is gone. I know exactly why Bosco is feeling everything I felt when my sister died. I know why he hates me. I even know why I deserve it.
Because I couldn't stop. I had to push. I had to get results. If that meant bulldozing everyone in front of me to get them, so be it.
It's who I am. It's what I do.
It's how I've gotten so far.
It's how I've lost so much.
I don't want sympathy. People crying for me insults me and I couldn't handle pity. I wouldn't even ask for understanding because that would require me to be able to explain myself.
I can't.
This is just me.
I'm one of the good guys. I can tell by my badge.
I make a difference. I can tell by the blood on my hands.
I'm good at my job. I can tell by the stripes on my shirt.
Funny what a different story the mirror in my apartment tells.
Maybe that's why I broke it. A thousand sharp shards on the ground. More blood than you can imagine. Streaking down. Staining everything. It all falls apart. It all decays.
We do what we have to. I do too.
I can stop the bad guys. Only sometimes I don't. Sometimes I let the bad guys win and just shrug my shoulders. You know, like it happens. Like life is funny. Like shit happens.
Like I need more blood on my hands.
They're raw today. Too much water. I haven't stopped washing them since I found out about Bosco's brother. People keep asking me if something's wrong. They want to know why I keep heading towards the bathroom. They probably think I'm on the rag.
Every single time I look down at them, they're shaking and stained bright red.
They'd never understand. They'd never want to. I'm not sure I want them to.
Then they'd try to be sympathetic.
Then they'd try to get in. Try to be friends. Monroe still hasn't learned the lesson yet. Yokas doesn't even bother. Can't say as I blame her. Let's just call it mutual and move on. I don't like her but at least she doesn't pretend to have sympathy because it's the so-called right thing to do.
I don't want that. I couldn't deal.
I need to pull it together. I need to focus. I know the truth. I know I'm responsible. I know Michael Boscorelli's death is on my hands. I need to put it away. I need to bury it down deep with the rest.
I need to forget.
I need to make a difference no matter what. It's what I have to do.
I'm nothing if I don't. If some people have to be hurt to save the good guys, that's okay right? Collateral damage. I can deal with that.
I can.
I've dealt so far.
Just push it down.
Push it away.
Make it make sense.
Make it bleed if that's what I have to do but then lock it down.
I can handle the hatred. I can deal with the obvious disgust. I can cope with the looks. I don't need friends. I don't need a connection. I don't need to be grounded. I just need to fight.
And I can do that as long as I'm still making a difference. That's enough right?
You know those guys out there, the ones with the drugs, the ones killing everyone, the ones who killed Michael? They'll pay. Of course they will. Revenge is what I do best.
And I can stay focused. I can make it happen.
Oh God I never meant for this to happen. I know you won't believe that.
Oh God my hands hurt.
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
He was my brother. It was my job to protect him. I tried. I failed.
I keep failing.
I keep rushing back into the building, my lungs filling with smoke and my body aching and I keep tumbling back, my feet colliding with the wall. I keep collapsing. I keep watching people fall from the building, bleeding fire and screaming for their lives.
I keep fighting to get in.
The buildings still fall.
Mikey is still dead.
My mom is still in his arms.
I fight against men like him. I rage against them. My mom, I love her, she's the good people. The ones who care. The ones who still care. What does she see in him? There's no good there.
It'd drive me mad if I hadn't already been around that block a time or two. Now I just feel like I'm cracked and bleeding. I wonder if I should have hidden him, been a brother to him and kept him away from the cops. Would it have made a difference? Who the hell knows? Sure not me.
Some days I want to fall down but I sure as hell am not going to give anyone the satisfaction.
I fight because I won't be my father.
I fight because there are people worth fighting for. That little girl that Faith saved. She was worth it. Kids like that. They're worth everything.
Mikey? What did he deserve? I'm his brother. I can't see clearly. I can't think. I can't stop clenching my fists. I can't stop wondering what I'm supposed to do.
Be strong.
I can do that.
Draw it all back inside. Stand up and present.
He didn't have to die. He didn't have to. He was so stupid... I tried. He promised me that he was done with that and I believed him. I believed him and let me down and I'm so pissed off at him.
Oh God I have to bury Mikey and I'm angry at him. How screwed up is that?
Mom...
He's with her now. She wants to be with him.
I need to be anywhere else.
Why did Cruz have to push so hard? I warned her. She never stops.
I know that about her. For a while I liked that. For a while her rage let mine fly free. It let me play with a different set of rules. I couldn't do that for long though before I started seeing that gray line in the sand start coming into focus. I can't be the bad guy. I can't.
Cruz might not care but I do.
That line almost cost me my partner. I won't make that mistake again.
But oh God Mikey...
They killed him.
He got himself into this.
It's all so jumbled. It's so crazy.
I know how this works. They killed my brother as a sign. A warning to us. Message received loud and clear. I'll bring one too. That I promise. That I guarantee.
They took my baby brother.
I've just got to hang on. Just have to stand up and present.
This is who I am. I'm a cop. I'm the guy who fights for the people who can't. I'm the one who lays down their life for the ones who won't. I'm the one who puts it all on the line for people who don't deserve it because that's the line between them and me.
I'm the one who pays. I'm the one who sacrifices. I'm the one who bleeds.
I'm the guy who cares.
I'm the one who stands up and presents.
It's who I am.
I can't explain it. I won't.
I'm a cop.
I make a difference. Not always because I want to but because it's what I'm meant to do. It's what I had to do. I grew up ugly but I could never be him. I had to be more.
I hate the man. He destroyed my family. He left me with my rage and the coldness of my pain.
He made me better. He made me stand up.
Those buildings nearly cracked me in half. They almost made me fall. Yokas kept me together. I let her down. I let so many people down. I'm a mess. I know that. I'd be insane not to.
Some days it all spins too hard. Some days I stand on the line wondering what really makes the good guys and the bad guys. That's not me though. I could never be them. I could never be those dirtbags.
I could never be Cruz either. She doesn't know that line. It's all sand to her in her battle. She nearly toppled both Faith and I.
Faith is back. I think it's real. It's not like it was before. It could be again. I don't know. Right now my mind isn't even there. I can't focus. I can't think. I feel like I need something to hold onto but right now I have to be the one my mom can turn to because he won't always be there. He never stays for long.
I need to get dressed soon. Mikey's funeral isn't far off now. I have to put my brother in the ground. I need to focus on pine and dirt but all I see is his corpse. That's all I'll ever see. I don't know if I'll get past that.
Someone is going to pay for this.
Yeah you bet.
I might not cross that line but I will stand up. And I will make someone else feel my pain.
I will stand up. I will present.
-FIN
Author: Shawn Carter
Email: wolfpackproductionscomcast.net
Rating: PG. A little bit of language.
Summary: An introspective first person piece that takes place during the season finale. Three characters get voices here and I don't outright identify them but I do hope it's clear of whom they are.
Notes: This is my first Third Watch piece so I'm not completely sure how it turned out. I usually lurk in genre.
Music: Title is Dashboard Prophets
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
I never meant for this to happen. I know you won't believe that. I know I'm at least partly at fault for this. I should have cared more. I should have paid more attention. I should have let him be the man more.
Or something equally idiotic like that.
I was never raised to suffer fools and I find that even now I lack the patience to do so. Which is not to suggest that I'm not trying but really, doesn't the one walking away bear more responsibility than the person left behind? Especially when he gave up first? Especially after all the chances I gave him? What the hell right does he have to cry uncle first?
He says he left me because of another woman. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it. At the sheer bitter irony of being left by a man that I stood behind even when he was little more than an obnoxious bastard.
I loved him. I'd like to say love but right the red fog is too think and I'm awfully close to the other side of the coin.
We have a family together.
Two beautiful kids, a nice apartment, some good times and more laughs than I can count.
It's never been easy for us.
Two growing kids eager to see the evil of the world, an expensive rent, some horrible times and more tears than I care to recall.
Let's be honest here. I can try that. Things have been wrong for a long while. I mean really wrong. Ever since those buildings fell, people like me have been different from people like him. We see things in different colors now.
He's never understood. How can you be married to someone for so long and be able to say as you're staring down at the burnt ruins of it that you never understood each other.
I'm a cop. It's who I am. It's what I leave behind.
My children yes, yes of course. I leave them as my legacy or something like that. Honestly when the lady in the parenting course I took in school started blathering on that, I stopped listening. I love my kids. I'd kill anyone who gave them a second look.
This is different though.
This is where I make my difference. This is what I'll be remembered for. This is where I can stand tall and mean something. It's more than a job. It's who I am.
He'll never understand that.
I don't understand him.
He acts like it would be easy for me to just walk away, to just lay down my gun. He acts like it makes some kind of sense. He acts like I could actually go back to just watching the world unfold and doing nothing to stop the bad guys. He acts like that's possible.
He thought we could survive if I quit my job.
I wonder who would pay the bills? We just barely survived on both of our checks and I make a lot more money than he does. Does he know something that I don't about our finances?
I doubt it. It's Fred we're talking about.
This is kind of where we are you see. This is where I am. I realize with each thought and passing moment that things are slipping away, atrophying on the spot.
I'm stung. I'm hurt. I'm pissed as hell. He cheated on me. He's lucky he can still breathe through the hell in his mouth. For a few seconds that wasn't looking likely to continue.
Truth is though, I'm relieved.
I don't think I should be but I know I am.
I hated who I was when I was in front of him, begging him to take me back. I was weak. I wasn't the woman who fought back from a bullet. I was something different. Something useless. I don't want to be that.
He never understood that struggle either. I never understood how he couldn't. Did he think I could just accept being in a chair for the rest of my life with him as my caretaker? Did he think that was something I could do?
Is that who he thought he married?
God who did we become?
A few years back I almost left him, almost walked away. Bosco talked me into staying, told me to do it for the kids. I took Fred back.
Not long ago Fred almost died of a heart attack. I thought I'd break under the weight of him dying if he had. I thanked everything I could that he pulled through.
Still a family.
Over now.
He could never understand.
He never will.
He hates my world. He hates my partner.
Some days I do too. Some days I go insane with Bosco at my side. Some days I wouldn't survive without him there. He gets me. We get each other. Even when we let each other drop.
We're partners. We'll pick each other up.
Fred and I, we were partners too. He doesn't want that anymore. I laugh at that. I'm not amused. I'm not much. Truth is that we haven't been a team in a very long while. We've been nothing more than two tenants sharing the same room.
He hated who I was. I couldn't be anyone else.
Some days I think it would be better if I'd chosen to be a teacher. I'd still be making a difference; I just wouldn't be dying to do so. I'd be safe behind a disk, wanting to beat the shit out of smug kids and heartbroken over the ones are doomed to fall through the cracks.
That's no me. I can't be so passive. I have nothing but respect for teachers but I need the cold air biting into my cheeks and the smell of sulfur in my nostrils. I need the strain of my lungs burning as I run.
I need to be responsible for my own destiny.
He'll never understand that. He thinks I can just walk away. He thinks I could become a housewife making banana nut muffins and smiling like a damn idiot.
He thinks I could be something I could never be.
He thinks I could stand by and let others die to make a difference.
I don't want to die but I can't live with my hands in my pockets either. It's not who I am.
I guess he never got that.
I guess it's really over then.
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
His blood is on my hands. Bright red or pale pink. Depends on the moment. Depends how hard I'm rubbing.
He's dead because of me.
I'd like to say that's the breaks of life and we all fall down but I knew what I was doing and I knew what could become of it.
And I know why Michael Boscorelli is gone. I know exactly why Bosco is feeling everything I felt when my sister died. I know why he hates me. I even know why I deserve it.
Because I couldn't stop. I had to push. I had to get results. If that meant bulldozing everyone in front of me to get them, so be it.
It's who I am. It's what I do.
It's how I've gotten so far.
It's how I've lost so much.
I don't want sympathy. People crying for me insults me and I couldn't handle pity. I wouldn't even ask for understanding because that would require me to be able to explain myself.
I can't.
This is just me.
I'm one of the good guys. I can tell by my badge.
I make a difference. I can tell by the blood on my hands.
I'm good at my job. I can tell by the stripes on my shirt.
Funny what a different story the mirror in my apartment tells.
Maybe that's why I broke it. A thousand sharp shards on the ground. More blood than you can imagine. Streaking down. Staining everything. It all falls apart. It all decays.
We do what we have to. I do too.
I can stop the bad guys. Only sometimes I don't. Sometimes I let the bad guys win and just shrug my shoulders. You know, like it happens. Like life is funny. Like shit happens.
Like I need more blood on my hands.
They're raw today. Too much water. I haven't stopped washing them since I found out about Bosco's brother. People keep asking me if something's wrong. They want to know why I keep heading towards the bathroom. They probably think I'm on the rag.
Every single time I look down at them, they're shaking and stained bright red.
They'd never understand. They'd never want to. I'm not sure I want them to.
Then they'd try to be sympathetic.
Then they'd try to get in. Try to be friends. Monroe still hasn't learned the lesson yet. Yokas doesn't even bother. Can't say as I blame her. Let's just call it mutual and move on. I don't like her but at least she doesn't pretend to have sympathy because it's the so-called right thing to do.
I don't want that. I couldn't deal.
I need to pull it together. I need to focus. I know the truth. I know I'm responsible. I know Michael Boscorelli's death is on my hands. I need to put it away. I need to bury it down deep with the rest.
I need to forget.
I need to make a difference no matter what. It's what I have to do.
I'm nothing if I don't. If some people have to be hurt to save the good guys, that's okay right? Collateral damage. I can deal with that.
I can.
I've dealt so far.
Just push it down.
Push it away.
Make it make sense.
Make it bleed if that's what I have to do but then lock it down.
I can handle the hatred. I can deal with the obvious disgust. I can cope with the looks. I don't need friends. I don't need a connection. I don't need to be grounded. I just need to fight.
And I can do that as long as I'm still making a difference. That's enough right?
You know those guys out there, the ones with the drugs, the ones killing everyone, the ones who killed Michael? They'll pay. Of course they will. Revenge is what I do best.
And I can stay focused. I can make it happen.
Oh God I never meant for this to happen. I know you won't believe that.
Oh God my hands hurt.
If I thought I could explain it, don't you think I would?
He was my brother. It was my job to protect him. I tried. I failed.
I keep failing.
I keep rushing back into the building, my lungs filling with smoke and my body aching and I keep tumbling back, my feet colliding with the wall. I keep collapsing. I keep watching people fall from the building, bleeding fire and screaming for their lives.
I keep fighting to get in.
The buildings still fall.
Mikey is still dead.
My mom is still in his arms.
I fight against men like him. I rage against them. My mom, I love her, she's the good people. The ones who care. The ones who still care. What does she see in him? There's no good there.
It'd drive me mad if I hadn't already been around that block a time or two. Now I just feel like I'm cracked and bleeding. I wonder if I should have hidden him, been a brother to him and kept him away from the cops. Would it have made a difference? Who the hell knows? Sure not me.
Some days I want to fall down but I sure as hell am not going to give anyone the satisfaction.
I fight because I won't be my father.
I fight because there are people worth fighting for. That little girl that Faith saved. She was worth it. Kids like that. They're worth everything.
Mikey? What did he deserve? I'm his brother. I can't see clearly. I can't think. I can't stop clenching my fists. I can't stop wondering what I'm supposed to do.
Be strong.
I can do that.
Draw it all back inside. Stand up and present.
He didn't have to die. He didn't have to. He was so stupid... I tried. He promised me that he was done with that and I believed him. I believed him and let me down and I'm so pissed off at him.
Oh God I have to bury Mikey and I'm angry at him. How screwed up is that?
Mom...
He's with her now. She wants to be with him.
I need to be anywhere else.
Why did Cruz have to push so hard? I warned her. She never stops.
I know that about her. For a while I liked that. For a while her rage let mine fly free. It let me play with a different set of rules. I couldn't do that for long though before I started seeing that gray line in the sand start coming into focus. I can't be the bad guy. I can't.
Cruz might not care but I do.
That line almost cost me my partner. I won't make that mistake again.
But oh God Mikey...
They killed him.
He got himself into this.
It's all so jumbled. It's so crazy.
I know how this works. They killed my brother as a sign. A warning to us. Message received loud and clear. I'll bring one too. That I promise. That I guarantee.
They took my baby brother.
I've just got to hang on. Just have to stand up and present.
This is who I am. I'm a cop. I'm the guy who fights for the people who can't. I'm the one who lays down their life for the ones who won't. I'm the one who puts it all on the line for people who don't deserve it because that's the line between them and me.
I'm the one who pays. I'm the one who sacrifices. I'm the one who bleeds.
I'm the guy who cares.
I'm the one who stands up and presents.
It's who I am.
I can't explain it. I won't.
I'm a cop.
I make a difference. Not always because I want to but because it's what I'm meant to do. It's what I had to do. I grew up ugly but I could never be him. I had to be more.
I hate the man. He destroyed my family. He left me with my rage and the coldness of my pain.
He made me better. He made me stand up.
Those buildings nearly cracked me in half. They almost made me fall. Yokas kept me together. I let her down. I let so many people down. I'm a mess. I know that. I'd be insane not to.
Some days it all spins too hard. Some days I stand on the line wondering what really makes the good guys and the bad guys. That's not me though. I could never be them. I could never be those dirtbags.
I could never be Cruz either. She doesn't know that line. It's all sand to her in her battle. She nearly toppled both Faith and I.
Faith is back. I think it's real. It's not like it was before. It could be again. I don't know. Right now my mind isn't even there. I can't focus. I can't think. I feel like I need something to hold onto but right now I have to be the one my mom can turn to because he won't always be there. He never stays for long.
I need to get dressed soon. Mikey's funeral isn't far off now. I have to put my brother in the ground. I need to focus on pine and dirt but all I see is his corpse. That's all I'll ever see. I don't know if I'll get past that.
Someone is going to pay for this.
Yeah you bet.
I might not cross that line but I will stand up. And I will make someone else feel my pain.
I will stand up. I will present.
-FIN