Title: Forgiveness 10

Disclaimers: I don't own any part of TW.

Spoilers: Cruz does not exist in this universe. Takes place after the start of season 4.

Summary: Bosco blames himself for Mikey's death. Can Faith help him?

This time I don't wake gently, I'm jolted out of unconsciousness when I feel cold water all around me. I'm in the ocean and I frantically search for something to hang on to, a boat, a life vest, anything. I look all around and find nothing, not even the shore.

The sky above is grey and threatening, the water dark and foreboding. I feel the panic rise in my chest until it hurts to breathe.

I hear a scream for help. Its desperation so raw it scares me because it is my own voice calling out. I tread water in a hopeless attempt to save myself and I wonder why I feel myself drowning even before I've swallowed any water.

I awake with a start.

Something in my sleep scared me but I don't remember what. My heart beats wildly within my chest and I can only wait while it calms. I look around in the darkness and find a few familiar items close by. They remind that I am sitting in Bosco's room.

The last thing I recall is a nurse administering another dose of antibiotics. Bosco was awake for a short period until the fever and drugs left his mind unable to think or respond to any of my questions.

I rise quickly and check on him. I notice the restraints still tethered to his limbs and reach out to remove them. They serve no purpose now in his weakened state.

I grab hold of his wrists and feel the ever-present fever. My fingers fumble as I try to release him when the sound of his breathing makes me stop.

I don't need to lean in any closer to recognize the sound and my dream comes back in a rush of fear. I remember the water and I hear him struggling to breathe and I know he's drowning.

"HELP." My arms and legs push and pull as I struggle to keep my head above the water. My throat is on fire from the saltiness of the sea and my fruitless cries.

My pleas are swallowed by the vastness of the ocean, and soon so will my body. This thought alone causes me to redouble my efforts.

"HELLLLP – SOMEONE HELP!" I cry out shrilly.

"Bro, take it easy."

"Mikey – Mikey, help," I sob out weakly. My body too tired to swim to the boat that has appeared a mere 10 feet from me.

"Mikey, please." I beg, all my bravado and cockiness having been stripped away. "Mikey, I can't do this…"

He sits and stares at me, sadness etched into his features. "Mo, I can't help you."

"Mikey, I'm sorry…please…don't do this…" My body feels like lead except for the fear coursing through my veins. I let the panic take hold and scream once again only to choke on a mouthful of water.

Water fills his lungs. The doctor explained it is not unusual due to the fever and prolonged bed rest. They've drained his lungs once by inserting a needle into his chest and drawing out the fluid. The relief is only temporary as more liquid forms and the whole process begins again.

He is breathing with the aid of an oxygen mask and a nurse comes to turn him to relieve the pressure on his chest.

She is here now, moving him onto his right side. I watch in fascination as she expertly places his arms and legs in a position to facilitate turning him.

The hospital gown has been removed for the sake of convenience and a blanket covers him up to his waist.

His body seems withered, and fragile. His features gaunt to emaciation, ribs protruding, his abdomen expanding and falling as he struggles to draw the next wheezing breath.

The nurse turns him gently, and I watch as his arm flops limply over the edge of the bed. Fingers slightly curved, hand upturned in a pleading pose. I wait to see if he will bleed from the hole I expect to appear in the middle of his palm. The sight of his lifeless arm, incapable of saving itself cuts my breath and I remember a long ago conversation.

We never discussed death except for one time during an endless shift, when we talked about how we would like to die. We laughed until we cried, each of us trying to better the other with ludicrous scenarios. Eventually the conversation turned sombre and we both revealed our worst fears.

Bosco said it happened while he was with the Rangers. He never spoke about his tour, not even to brag. All I ever knew was that he spent 3 years in the Rangers and served in Somalia for an extended period. Something happened to him while he was in Africa and he admitted he was afraid of drowning.

I feel a sense of foreboding darkness come over me. Knowing this, I can't sit back and let this happen.

I suddenly snap out of my reverie. "Let me," I bark at the nurse just as she is about to lift his lifeless arm and place it on the bed.

She turns, slightly surprised by the tone of my voice, but doesn't question my request.

I wait until she exits before approaching Bosco. I wouldn't want to betray his confidence in me by letting her in on his secrets.

I reach out for his hand and hover over it ever so lightly before taking it.

I feel it now. He knows. He knows he's drowning and I need him to believe that I won't let this happen.

TBC…