The idea for this fic came to me a few days ago, even though I've listened to this song at least a few hundred times. I started working on the scenes to accompany the lyrics Friday night after Third Watch.

None of the characters included in this story belong to me. "Deliver Me" is copyrighted to the unbelievably gifted Sarah Brightman. If you have never heard any of her music, you don't know what you're missing.

This is a stand-alone fic. Alas, I missed the episode where Faith got promoted, so I don't know what happened and, alas, I've managed to forget the very beginning scenes of the season premiere, so I fudged it a bit. Also, I broke the paragraphs up between lyrics so that the story followed the actual song. I had it on repeat the whole time I wrote this. /blush/

This may not make sense until the end.

Oh, and GO RED SOX!

Deliver me,

out of my sadness…

She was the first to see them run into the hospital. The first to realise the danger that stopped in mid-stride and turned to look her in the eye. The first to see the gun in the man's hands, pointed her way. She swallowed the sudden seed of fear in her throat. This wasn't happening.

"Guys."

They followed her gaze to the window, seconds before the man pulled the trigger.

"Get down!" Someone shouted, then there was the ear-splitting noise of an automatic weapon firing round after round, non-stop. Glass shattering, people screaming, bodies hitting the floor. Constant, steady gunfire pouring into the nurses' lounge, perforating the far wall, kicking plaster chips into the air. Sharper pops that had to be someone returning fire.

…deliver me,

from all of the madness…

Silence. The click of a magazine being ejected and the clatter of the empty clip hitting the floor. Her blood ran cold. Please, not again. Let this just be over! She covered her head and waited for the next volley. It never came. There was a single pop, then the unmistakable thump of a body falling to the tile floor. It was over, thank God it was over.

"Bosco?" His arm was draped over her side, where he had grabbed her to knock her out of the way. She rolled over to make sure he was all right.

"Bosco?"

He wasn't moving. When she pulled away to get to her knees, his arm fell limply to the ground.

"Oh God, no, no. Bosco!"

…deliver me,

courage to guide me…

The doctor had said he would never go back to work. That was a lie, it had to be. How could he not go back? He was Bosco, tough, unstoppable Bosco. Of course he was going to go back to work. There was no question of that. As soon as he recovered, as soon as he was able, he would be back in uniform and it would be just like it was supposed to be. The two of them, out on the streets, in the cruiser that smelled like coffee, leather, and the faint pine scent of the air freshener that the guys from the day tour always hung on the cigarette lighter. That was their space, their home-away-from-home. Nobody was going to say that he couldn't make it back, let alone some doctor who didn't even know his patient. Nobody.

…deliver me,

strength from inside me…

Faith looked down at the heavy swath of bandages covering her partner's head and felt the vehemence slip out of her thoughts. He was in a bad way. It would be a real miracle if he recovered to half of he used to be. How was she supposed to get through this? There was no one left to turn to. Her lip trembled with the onset of more tears. Why did bad things always happen to the good guys?

"I took care of that for you," she told the motionless form lying on the bed. "You don't have to worry about it anymore, I took care of it for you."

Now you get better, okay? Just, just get better.

…all of my life, I've been in hiding,

wishing there was someone just like you,

now that you're here,

now that I've found you,

I know that you're the one to pull me through…

"…Congratulations, Detective Yokas." Swersky shook her hand after presenting her with her new gold shield. People clapped and some of her friends from the beat whistled. Faith plastered a smile on her face. This promotion was based on false pretences, but she would never admit to it. As long as no one knew, it didn't matter.

Detective. It had an unnerving ring to it. For so long, it had always been Officer Yokas. She looked down at the gleaming gold shield in her hand. The three numerals engraved on the badge would take some getting used to. She already missed her old shield, with its silver shine and familiar weight. This new badge felt heavy and cumbersome.

There were empty seats in the audience, as she saw yet again when she looked out over the crowd. Her family wasn't there. In a way, she had expected that. Fred was determined to keep the kids away from her. As much as it hurt, it made an odd sort of sense. After the shooting in the hospital, who could blame him for feeling that way?

Faith endured the praise and well-wishes from other detectives and beat cops long enough to make her way to the door. It felt strange to be promoted out of an RMP. The streets were almost like her life. She knew them, knew the people who lived and worked on the streets. Not being out there every day was going to be hard.

She lifted a hand into the air when she reached the curb, and a taxi was not long in pulling up. "Mercy Hospital," she said and the cabbie nodded. There was someone she had to share this with, even if he wasn't awake to hear.

…deliver me (deliver me)

loving and caring (loving and caring)…

The gold shield didn't feel quite so heavy anymore. She had grown used to having it clipped to her belt. Just another piece of equipment in her new uniform. The thought drew a short-lived smile to her face. She still missed the uniform but being able to choose what she wore to work each day was actually a blessing. It allowed her to dress to suit her mood, which tended to be brooding. Black was her new colour of choice.

…deliver me (deliver me)

giving and sharing (giving and sharing)…

She hadn't been to see Bosco in a few days and guilt was gnawing at her. It was her partner, her best friend, lying on that bed and clinging to life and she couldn't find the time to stop by for a few minutes just to say hello. The Job was taking up so much of her time. Too much of her time. She hadn't even been home in two days. How could she expect herself to find the time to go see him? Why did it matter anyway? He'd still be lying there, covered in bandages and completely unaware of what was going on around him. And then there were her kids. Fred was proving very good at keeping them away from her. All she needed was to see them, to be sure that not everything was going to hell in a gift-wrapped handbasket. She needed to know that somebody in this world still had heart enough to say "I love you" and mean it.

…deliver me (deliver me)

the cross that I'm bearing (the cross that I'm bearing)…

There had to be a way to make this better for everyone. Some way to lessen the pain of seeing him like this, anything to relieve at least some of the burden of knowledge that he would never really be Bosco again. The mental and emotional weight that had settled onto her shoulders was beginning to wear her down. This was all her fault. She felt responsible for everything that had happened, with Bosco and Fred and all the little things that always seemed to go wrong. All the madness going on in her life, the long nights, the lack of sleep. What was the point? Nothing was ever going to be the same again, no matter how hard she tried or prayed for that very thing. She looked at the gold shield on her belt and silently cursed it. It brought with it too much responsibility. Too much of a cross to bear when all she wanted to do was find a way to make her problems just disappear. Too much. Everything, everything was just too much.

…All of my life, I was in hiding,

wishing there was someone just like you,

now that you're here,

now that I've found you,

I know that you're the one to pull me through…

His condition was still the same. Still serious, still unconscious. But knowing he was still alive gave her hope. She sat by the bed, talking about anything that came to mind, knowing full well he couldn't hear her. Somehow, talking eased the pressure on her mind. It was a safety valve that she needed to open every now and then. He had almost always been there to listen and he was now, in a way. Somewhere under all those white bandages was her partner and that made all the difference.

She stopped in mid-sentence, a tear sliding down her left cheek. This wasn't how it would be from now on, was it? It was so wrong. He was like this because of her. He'd pushed her out of the line of fire, but hadn't been able to get down fast enough to save himself. All she wanted to do was run away, far away, and hide so that she could at least pretend that this reality wasn't real. It was all a lie. It was all a dream. Not real, not real. Just a very bad dream. A nightmare. Any second now, he would wake up and yell "Gotcha!"

Who was she kidding? As odd as he could sometimes be, he would never put so many people through so much pain. This was chillingly real, and even now, days after the shooting, she was still having a hard time accepting it. They had been through so much, too much. She couldn't give up on him now, but if he never woke up, what was the point? It didn't matter. With everything else going on in her life, she needed to be here to help herself pull through.

…deliver me (deliver me)…

"Let's get something to eat."

No matter what they were talking about, or where they were, Jelly always managed to slip that sentence into the conversation somehow. The man thought through his stomach and it showed. Faith did her best to keep his constant requests for food from getting on her nerves too much. He was just being himself. It was hard to fault someone for that.

…deliver me (deliver me)…

Ty and Finney the rookie were Five-Five David now. It was unnerving to hear the call-sign over the radio and have to resist the urge to answer. She and Bosco were Five-Five David. So much had changed in such a short time that going back to the old way was getting more and more impossible. Even if Bosco came back and they were somehow able to ride together again, it would never be the same.

…oh deliver me…

Faith looked across the desk at her new partner as he heaved his bulk out of the chair. He was on another mission to find "something to eat". With a sigh, she stood up as well. She wasn't hungry, but she knew she needed to eat too. If she wanted to be able to carry on, she needed to keep her strength up.

…all of my life, I was in hiding,

wishing there was someone just like you,

now that you're here,

now that I've found you,

I know that you're the one to pull me through…

In a small corner of his slumbering brain, he was aware of the world. He couldn't see or talk, but he could hear and sense everything going on around him. His whole body was numb, completely and utterly numb. He had no feeling anywhere except in that tiny place in the back of his mind that had somehow managed to stay unaffected by all the painkillers. Nurses came into his room at regular intervals to check his vitals and various other things. They never spoke because they didn't know he could hear them, albeit in a detached sort of way.

The lack of sensation made him feel like he was floating, weightless, through a pitch black night sky. Maybe it was because he couldn't see anything. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't like having his sight right then. There was something horribly wrong that he didn't want to see. He contented himself with his fantasy of aimless floating. It was much more soothing than believing in the reality of why he couldn't feel his body.

Somebody was in the doorway, looking in at him. He sensed the weight of the stare. Why didn't whoever it was just come in and sit down by the bed, like everyone else did? He loved visitors, even if he could only hear them. High-heeled shoes clicked rhythmically across the tile floor and he knew she was there. Where have you been the past couple of days? I haven't heard you come in here.

The chair next to his left arm creaked as she sat down. He could usually tell who was there just by how much noise the chair made. If it scraped back and groaned, it was probably Sully. If it barely made a sound, either Monroe or Cruz was there. He was getting good at interpreting the footsteps of his visitors too. They had no idea he could tell who was there before they ever opened their mouths to say hello.

What was she doing? There was nothing but silence after she'd sat down. Not even the slight creak of the chair as she shifted positions. He began to feel uneasy. Something was up. Clothing rustled, deflating his growing alarm. She was leaning forward, he guessed. Taking his hand and giving it a squeeze as she did every visit. She always told him what she was doing, always hoping he would hear her, never knowing that he could. Surprise!

…deliver me (deliver me)…

He was going to pull out of this, he'd already promised himself that a hundred times since becoming aware, however distantly, of his surroundings. And he would have help, lots of it. The cops from his shift would be there. His partner would be there too, to keep him trying. Her mother-like protectiveness, as aggravating as it could be, was going to be what he would rely on. He relied on it now. As long as someone was there to help him get back up when he fell.

…oh deliver me (deliver me)…

He listened to her speak, taking in everything. The sound of her voice was soothing, even though what she was saying was anything but. Over the years he had gotten to recognise her voice so well he could pick her out of a crowd of yammering people. He'd never imagined that he would have come to love hearing it. It was his only link to the outside world. He was grateful for any sort of news. Not much happened on the street that he didn't hear about. She made sure to tell him everything, no matter how insignificant. For her, it was probably an outlet for pent-up frustrations. She probably thought she was relying on him.

If you only knew, Faith. If you only knew.

… won't you deliver me?