TITLE: Do you really want me?
AUTHOR: faith_in_Faith
E-MAIL: faith_in_Faith@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Don't own these characters...aren't it sad?
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up to, and including season five, and my story "All that glitters is not gold."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm very sorry...I know it was a VERY long time since I updated, but I got an ugly author's block, and –for some reason I can't really understand- my employer thinks it's more important to work than write fan fic. : )
CHAPTER SIX.
So it's finally Monday. This past weekend was one of the worst in my entire life. I thought I would go nuts out of worry for Bosco. I was very happy that I had physiotherapy today, because I had something else to occupy my mind with, at least for most part of the day. But now I'm just sitting here - waiting for Emily to come home - trying not to go insane out of worry. Finally, I hear her key in the lock, and a moment later, she walks through the door.
"So was he there?" I ask, before she even gets a chance to take off her jacket. I realize I'm acting like I am a lovesick teenager, which I guess is true - at least the first part.
She smiles broadly at me, and says as she shrugs off her jacket, "Calm down, Mom. He was there, OK?"
I can feel myself relax. At least he feels well enough to get in to work, and then it can't be that bad, right? I mean he felt sick enough to stay at home for a whole week. This just has to be a good sign, hasn't it?
Emily walks over to the couch and sits down next me. I look expectantly at her, "Did he talk to you?"
She rolls her eyes, "Well, if you can call giving someone a telling-off like talking, then he did."
I have to smile, "So he gave you a hard time, did he?"
She makes a face, "You bet he did! He went on, and on about how nice and caring you and Dad are, and that I should be happy to have such great parents. Then he told me you had enough shit going on in your life as it was, and that there was no need for me to make it all worse by screwing up my own life. Oh, and then he called me an ungrateful, spoiled child too."
I can see the annoyed expression on his face, and hear his angry voice, and I have to admit it amuses me. "Yeah, he really has a way with words, doesn't he?" I reply, and try to suppress my laughter.
Emily's only answer is a snort, before she rolls her eyes again.
"I'm sorry," I say softly, "you didn't deserve that. Thanks for taking a blow-off just to keep me informed."
"It's OK, I'm as innocent as an angel, but there's no way for him to know that. And don't worry. I've been through worse," she says mischievously, and winks at me.
I raise my eyebrows, "Yeah? Like what?"
"Like you! Your telling-offs are much worse than his."
I try to look stern, "You better watch it Emily! I'm still your mother."
I know she can see the laughter in my eyes, because her own eyes look fondly at me, when she answers, "I know, and I like that."
There's a short period of comfortable silence before I ask, "So, how did he look? Did he seem OK?"
Her eyes flickers briefly, and she takes a deep breath before answering, "Yeah, Mom, he looked just fine."
I can tell she's lying. "Please, Emily, don't lie to me," I'm begging quietly.
She sighs heavily, "I'm sorry, Mom, but he really didn't look so great."
"No?"
"No, he was pale and looked haggard."
I bite my bottom lip, feeling anxiety forming inside. I'm really worried now. Something has to be seriously wrong, but what? I hate this. I hate that I can't see him, or talk to him. I'm sure that if I could just get a good look at him, I would be able to figure out what's wrong – but I can't. I know I have made my choice, but I'm not so sure anymore that it was the right one. He's obviously not doing as well without me as I thought he would. All sorts of thoughts whirl around in my head, but I don't seem to be able to sort them out.
I feel Emily's hand on my arm, and force myself back to reality. "Mom," her voice is gentle, "try not to worry, OK? Don't forget that he's been throwing up for a week. No one would look good after that."
I nod, and force a smile on my lips, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sure he'll look better pretty soon."
She smiles back, as she says, "Yeah, me too, and since he thinks I'm about to get myself in trouble again I'm sure he'll show up at my school pretty regularly, and then I'll report back to you."
"Thanks."
"No big deal. I gotta go and do my homework now. Are you gonna be OK?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I answer, and try to suppress the feelings of dread and fear rising inside.
*******************
The next day, in Bosco and Sasha's RMP,
I close my eyes, and lean back against the headrest, trying to relax a bit, which isn't easy since I have a lot on my mind. Yeah, well, maybe not a lot. I only have one thing, one person on my mind, and that's Faith. I can't stop thinking of her. I should though, because she told me to go away, and Fred threatened to kill me if I came anywhere near his family again. So it's pretty obvious that I'm not wanted there. I know now that the thing I've always feared the most over the years has happened. Faith finally got sick of my screw-ups and me, and left me. I should been over it by now I guess – it happened months ago, but I don't seem to be able to let go. I don't know why.
Maybe it's because when she said she forgave me, the first time I saw her at the hospital. I really thought we were OK, that the damage wasn't irreparably. She seemed to be able to see a never-ending parade of good marks, marks that seemed to make her love me enough to forgive me for anything. I was wrong. The line for her forgiveness was drawn with me being responsibly for her being paralyzed. It's not that I blame her for it. Actually, I think it's very understandable. She's a hell of a lot better of a person than I am, and I know now - when I can see them - that she has left a whole bunch of good marks on me. They should probably make me worship her for the rest of my life, or something like that, but I'm still not sure I would be able to forgive her either, if it was the other way around.
This thing with the good marks is another reason that I can't let her go. I promised myself that day, at the hospital, that I'd never fail to see the good marks she made on me. I'm intending to keep that promise, even though she doesn't want to see me again. I absently rub my fingers against each other, and look at them, trying to see the good mark she hopefully left there when I squeezed her hand that night all these months ago. I sigh and shake my head. I'm definitely starting to lose it – that's for sure.
I wince slightly when a wave of pain radiates through my stomach. Damn that hurts! I have no idea why it hurts so badly, but it does. Most of the time it's just a dull ache, but sometimes it feels like someone is stabbing me with a knife. I feel sick most of the time too. It's been going on for over a month now, ever since I started to work with Cruz again, and - as if that wasn't enough - last week, I caught a nasty stomach flu. I thought I was going to puke forever. It's better now though. I haven't puked in four days, not that I've eaten much either, but anyway...
Ma says I look stressed out, that I should try to relax and take better care of myself. Yeah, right, that's a really good piece of advice! What she doesn't know is, that if you're stupid enough to relax when you're working with Cruz, you can easily end up dead. She's right though; I am probably stressed out. I have a lot of things to get stressed about.
To begin with: the guilt is eating me up inside. I wish more than anything that I could make this whole mess go away. I know it's entirely my fault. Everybody thinks so, and even though they're right; it's hard to deal with everyday. Swersky acts strange too. He keeps looking at me like he thought I'd kill someone, or something like that. He even told me to stay away from Faith. He said he thought I'd done enough damaged as it is. I know he's right, but it's still strange. It's like he thinks I wanted Faith to get hurt.
And I'm afraid when I'm at work. Yeah, that's right, Maurice Boscorelli is afraid. Actually, I'm scared to death every day. I'm terrified that today's shift is going to be my last. It's a very unnerving feeling. I'm not used to feeling fear at work. I never did before. I knew Faith always had my back, and that she would never abandon me - or let me down. Now it's different. I can't learn to trust Sasha that way, and I definitely cannot trust Cruz that way. I'd be an idiot if I did. I've heard Sully and Davis talk about how it seems like I've finally calmed down a bit. It isn't true – I'm only trying to survive.
I now know that this, along with getting back with Cruz was a stupid thing to do, but I actually have a purpose to do so. I'm trying to protect Faith. I know Cruz hates Faith, but if I'm not totally on the wrong track here, one of the reasons for her hate, was because Faith had me. Because she cared about me, and because that – in the end – I listened more to Faith, trusted her more. So, I figure that if I let Cruz have me, she will leave Faith alone, and then Faith will be safe.
I don't need to worry about hurting Faith because I'm with Cruz instead of her either, because she doesn't want to have anything to do with me anyway. That's good, because she's much safer when she's not with me. I can't stand to see her get hurt again, ever – especially not because of me.... Now the plan doesn't seem so great anymore because I can't handle Cruz. I never have, and now I'm getting so nervous when I'm around her that I feel sick. That's probably one of the reasons to that I feel so stressed out, but if it keeps Faith safe, then it's all worth it.
Just to add to it, I got a new thing to worry about a few days ago. Emily called me when I was home sick. She wanted me to drive her to some party, which she didn't want Fred to know about. She said it wasn't anything bad or illegal, but I can't say I believe her. Stupid kid! I told her off good yesterday though. I really hope she pulls her shit together. She, getting in trouble again, is the last thing Faith need right now. I know she's getting better - that she can walk again, Sasha told me so, and that was one of the best things I've ever heard. It almost made me cry out of pure happiness and relief, and I don't want her to have a set back because that stupid kid can't stay out of trouble.
"Bosco!"
Sasha's voice startles me, and of course that's pissing me off. I turn my head, glare at her, and ask rudely, "What?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your nap, but I was about to ask you if you wanna eat."
"I didn't take a nap, I was just thinking!" I answer defensively.
She shrugs, "Whatever. Do you wanna eat or not?"
It's my turn to shrug. "I don't care. I'm not hungry anyway," it's true. I'm not, actually. Just the fact that Sasha mentioned food makes me feel queasy.
She turns her head and takes a quick look at me before turning her gaze back to the street. There is worry and concern in her voice when she asks, "You sure you OK? I haven't seen you eat a proper meal in days."
"And that's your business how?" I reply angrily.
"Gee, Bosco, why do you have to act so defensively? I'm just worried about you. You look like crap, you know."
Her voice is low, and she almost sounds hurt. If I didn't know better I'd think she actually cares about me, but I know she doesn't. No one - except Ma - does that anymore, and she's only doing it because she thinks it's a mother's job to do so.
"Thanks a lot," I say sarcastically, "you look great too."
Sasha snorts angrily, "Why do I bother? You're such a jerk you know!"
For every angry word we utter against each other, both the nausea and the pain increases, and I can feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I feel like I'm going to puke any second. I close my eyes, and take a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to ease the pain and stop myself from puking in the car.
"Bosco, you OK?"
There's worry in Sasha's voice, and it annoys the hell out of me. I don't like when she's trying to mother me. There's only one person in the whole world who's allowed to do that, and she doesn't care anymore. I open my mouth to yell at her to stop nagging me, and mind her own business, but when I do, I realize it isn't just a feeling anymore – it's real. I'm going to puke within seconds, and the only thing I mange to get out is a moaning sound meant to read, "Pull over."
Sasha – by some miracle – must have understood what I was trying to say, because she hits the breaks, and when the car stops moving I toss my door open and try to get out. There isn't enough time though; as soon as my legs are out of car I throw up. The pain in my stomach is still bad, but a hell of a lot better than before I puked. Great! I've managed to catch the stomach flu twice in two weeks. I really am a lucky guy, aren't I? The taste in my mouth is awful, and I wonder what the hell I ate last that could taste this awful. Almost like iron.
"Bosco?" Sasha says worriedly, and put her hand on my back.
I take a deep breath to clear my throat, and prevent myself from puke again, but the pain hit me, and all I manage to get out is a moan. Damn it hurts! It feels like someone just stabbed me with a knife. The moan must have frightened Sasha, because I can hear her get out of the car, and walking around it so she's standing in front of me.
I hear here gasp as she crouches down, and carefully touches my shoulder, "Bosco? Bosco, please look at me," there's horror and fear in her voice, and it's wavering slightly.
I wonder how bad I have to look to make her this frightened, but one thing I know for sure; no matter how crappy I feel, or how much she annoys me, I don't want her to be afraid. I carefully open my eyes and stare at the ground. The pavement is red. There's blood on it. How the hell can there be blood on it? Who's bleeding? Has Sasha been shot? Is that why she sounds so afraid? Have I missed noticing that my partner has been shot, because I was busy puking? I quickly jerk my head up to check her out. I feel dizzy, and my vision is slightly blurred, but I can see Sasha clear enough to determine that she looks OK, except for the terrified look on her face.
"Bosco," she says softly, "Bosco, how long have you been vomiting blood?"
I stare at her in confusion. What does she mean? I'm not puking blood. Then it hits me – the blood on the ground. She thinks it's mine. I drop my head to look at it, and realize she's probably right. It has to be mine. There's no other explanation. It also explains the awful taste in my mouth. It tastes like blood. The thought make me feel sick all over again.
"Bosco? Bosco, are you with me?" Sasha asks, with a hint of panic in her voice, while shaking my shoulder.
"Yeah, of course I am. Have you gone blind?" I mutter angrily, as I try to fight off another wave of pain and nausea.
She chuckles nervously, and says, "Now I recognize you. Put your legs back in the car. I'll drive you to Mercy."
I want to protest, but I'm afraid I'll puke again if I try to speak, and besides, no matter how much I hate to admit it – she's right. If you're vomiting blood, you need to go to the hospital. When I try to do what I've been told, I'm overtaken with nausea again, and I can't fight the urge to puke. It happens so fast I don't even have time to lean forward, and I can feel the vomit all over me. I know by the smell, and by Sasha's reaction, that it's more blood.
She's panicking now. I can tell by the way she's desperately yelling in her radio, "55-David to central, I need a bus to this location. I have an officer down. I repeat I have an officer down!"
"Copy that 55-David. Do you need back up?"
"No, no, just that bus, but hurry!"
Great! Now I'm not just vomiting blood, and scaring the hell out of Sasha, but I have also puke all over myself, like a three year old, and everyone in the whole precinct is going to know about it. I can feel Sasha kneel down beside me. She shakes my shoulders, and yells my name. Gee, that woman has to love the sound of her voice calling my name.
"Stop.... it...you...make me.... sick," I manage to choke out.
"Thank God! You're awake," she says, and her voice is filled with relief.
"How...could I sleep when you're yelling my name all the time?" I whisper with annoyance in my voice.
"Sorry," she replies softly, "come on, I'll help you to lie down."
I really want to, because I feel like I could fall over any second, but I know it's the wrong move to make right now. "No, if I move I'm gonna puke," I whisper in response, and gasp for air when a new wave of pain hits me.
"Bosco?"
Here we go again. What is it with that woman and my name?
"Hurts," I manage to get out before the stabbing pain is there again.
"I know, I know. Just hang in there, the bus will be here soon," she says in a way that I figure is meant to be soothing, but it isn't.
I'm starting to miss Faith even more. She knows how to sooth people. Like when I had my panic attacks. Suddenly the air is filled with the sound of sirens. Thank God, the cavalry is here. I really need them now, because the pain is almost more than I can take, and I'm starting to feel pretty out of it. I can hear running footsteps, and then Kim's voice, "What has happened here? Has he been shot?"
"No, but he hasn't been feeling well lately, even been home sick, but he seemed alright today, but suddenly he asked me to stop, and then he just started to vomit blood," Monroe rants nervously. It's more than a hint of panic in her voice now.
In the mean time, Kim has kneeled down beside me, and is checking my pulse. "Bosco?" she asks gently. Her voice is soft and soothing – almost like Faith's, and it's a nice change to Sasha's hysterical behavior. I try to answer, but the stabbing knife is there again, and all I manage is another moan.
"Carlos! Get the stretcher!" she demands, and turns to me again, "Bosco, we're gonna move you to the stretcher, OK?"
"Gonna puke if I move," I whisper painfully.
"It's OK, don't worry about it," she says reassuringly.
Actually I'm starting to reach a point where I don't care. I feel dizzy and disconnected to the world. I know Davis and Sully have arrived, because I can hear their voices as they talk to Sasha.
"Davis, can you give us a hand here?" It's Carlos voice. Then I feel hands all over me, moving me to the side and lowering me to the ground. I'm more than a little surprised that I didn't puke when they moved me. I'm really starting to feel like crap now. It hurts so badly, and Kim and Carlos's voices mix together with Sasha and Davis's, as the feeling of disconnection increases.
"Bosco, are you still with us?" It's Kim's voice, but when I open my eyes to look at her, the only one there is Faith.
I wonder how she got here. Maybe she's been here all the time, "Faith,"I whisper her name, and reach out to touch her.
"No, Bos, it's me. Kim," she says softly with worry in her voice. The picture of Faith's face is fading away, and I can see for myself that Kim is right. She's the one hovering over me.
"Bosco, I'm gonna put in an IV now. It's gonna make you feel better, OK?"
I know that should probably concern me. I hate needles, but I don't have enough energy neither to fight it, nor to answer her. I can feel myself slip away, but Davis' voice jerks me back to reality, "God, Sul. There's blood everywhere, all over him."
The dread in his voice scares me. Blood everywhere? Whose blood is on me? It can't be mine. I haven't been shot. It has to be Faith's. Deep inside I know there's something wrong with that conclusion, but I can't sort things out anymore, and I'm over taken with fear. I try to sit up as I ask, "Faith, is Faith alright?"
"HEY, don't move, Bosco! You need to lie down!" Carlos says sharply, and pushes me back down, but I immediately try to get up again. I need to know.
Suddenly I feel a big paw on my shoulder. It's gently pressing me back down again, and I know without any doubt it's Sully, "Easy, Bosco, stay still. Faith is all right. She isn't even here. She's at home, remember?" he states calmly.
I can't say I do, so I ask again, "Faith's at home? She's OK?"
"Yeah, Bosco, she's alright. You're the one who's sick, and you need to lie down and relax, so they can help you, OK?"
"OK. Hurts," I whisper, and close my eyes again.
"I know it does, but they'll take you to the hospital and make it better, OK?" he answers soothingly.
Then, suddenly, pictures of Faith, lying shot and bloody on the floor appear in front of my eyes. I shoot them open, and choke out, "Shot, Sully, she got shot!"
Sully shakes his head, and takes my hand between his, "No, Bosco, not today. It was long ago. She's at home safe. I promise," his voice is calm and sincere, and I believe him. He was never one to lie.
I try to thank him, but when I open my mouth, nausea overtakes me, and I throw up. Someone is quickly turning me on my side, and I can hear Carlos annoyed voice, "Damn it, Kim, what a mess! We need to put down a G-tube!"
Someone turns me over on my back again, and rudely jerks something through my nose. I gag on it, and I hear Kim's begging voice, "Please, Bos, just swallow!"
I can feel that someone is trying to hold my head still, and I try to get away. Then I realize it's Sully, because he's talking calmly in my ear, "Don't fight it, Bosco, just swallow. They're trying to help you, you know."
I try to do as he tells me, and suddenly the urge to vomit is gone, and the pain is slightly better too. I open my eyes, and look at Sully for confirmation, as I ask one more time, "Faith...OK...at...home, right?" he nods firmly, and answer, "Yes, Bosco, she's at home, and she is just fine."
Convinced that she's OK, and at home with Fred, where no one can hurt her, I allow myself to slip into darkness, because as long as Faith is alright, I don't care what happens to me.
AUTHOR: faith_in_Faith
E-MAIL: faith_in_Faith@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Don't own these characters...aren't it sad?
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up to, and including season five, and my story "All that glitters is not gold."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm very sorry...I know it was a VERY long time since I updated, but I got an ugly author's block, and –for some reason I can't really understand- my employer thinks it's more important to work than write fan fic. : )
CHAPTER SIX.
So it's finally Monday. This past weekend was one of the worst in my entire life. I thought I would go nuts out of worry for Bosco. I was very happy that I had physiotherapy today, because I had something else to occupy my mind with, at least for most part of the day. But now I'm just sitting here - waiting for Emily to come home - trying not to go insane out of worry. Finally, I hear her key in the lock, and a moment later, she walks through the door.
"So was he there?" I ask, before she even gets a chance to take off her jacket. I realize I'm acting like I am a lovesick teenager, which I guess is true - at least the first part.
She smiles broadly at me, and says as she shrugs off her jacket, "Calm down, Mom. He was there, OK?"
I can feel myself relax. At least he feels well enough to get in to work, and then it can't be that bad, right? I mean he felt sick enough to stay at home for a whole week. This just has to be a good sign, hasn't it?
Emily walks over to the couch and sits down next me. I look expectantly at her, "Did he talk to you?"
She rolls her eyes, "Well, if you can call giving someone a telling-off like talking, then he did."
I have to smile, "So he gave you a hard time, did he?"
She makes a face, "You bet he did! He went on, and on about how nice and caring you and Dad are, and that I should be happy to have such great parents. Then he told me you had enough shit going on in your life as it was, and that there was no need for me to make it all worse by screwing up my own life. Oh, and then he called me an ungrateful, spoiled child too."
I can see the annoyed expression on his face, and hear his angry voice, and I have to admit it amuses me. "Yeah, he really has a way with words, doesn't he?" I reply, and try to suppress my laughter.
Emily's only answer is a snort, before she rolls her eyes again.
"I'm sorry," I say softly, "you didn't deserve that. Thanks for taking a blow-off just to keep me informed."
"It's OK, I'm as innocent as an angel, but there's no way for him to know that. And don't worry. I've been through worse," she says mischievously, and winks at me.
I raise my eyebrows, "Yeah? Like what?"
"Like you! Your telling-offs are much worse than his."
I try to look stern, "You better watch it Emily! I'm still your mother."
I know she can see the laughter in my eyes, because her own eyes look fondly at me, when she answers, "I know, and I like that."
There's a short period of comfortable silence before I ask, "So, how did he look? Did he seem OK?"
Her eyes flickers briefly, and she takes a deep breath before answering, "Yeah, Mom, he looked just fine."
I can tell she's lying. "Please, Emily, don't lie to me," I'm begging quietly.
She sighs heavily, "I'm sorry, Mom, but he really didn't look so great."
"No?"
"No, he was pale and looked haggard."
I bite my bottom lip, feeling anxiety forming inside. I'm really worried now. Something has to be seriously wrong, but what? I hate this. I hate that I can't see him, or talk to him. I'm sure that if I could just get a good look at him, I would be able to figure out what's wrong – but I can't. I know I have made my choice, but I'm not so sure anymore that it was the right one. He's obviously not doing as well without me as I thought he would. All sorts of thoughts whirl around in my head, but I don't seem to be able to sort them out.
I feel Emily's hand on my arm, and force myself back to reality. "Mom," her voice is gentle, "try not to worry, OK? Don't forget that he's been throwing up for a week. No one would look good after that."
I nod, and force a smile on my lips, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sure he'll look better pretty soon."
She smiles back, as she says, "Yeah, me too, and since he thinks I'm about to get myself in trouble again I'm sure he'll show up at my school pretty regularly, and then I'll report back to you."
"Thanks."
"No big deal. I gotta go and do my homework now. Are you gonna be OK?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I answer, and try to suppress the feelings of dread and fear rising inside.
*******************
The next day, in Bosco and Sasha's RMP,
I close my eyes, and lean back against the headrest, trying to relax a bit, which isn't easy since I have a lot on my mind. Yeah, well, maybe not a lot. I only have one thing, one person on my mind, and that's Faith. I can't stop thinking of her. I should though, because she told me to go away, and Fred threatened to kill me if I came anywhere near his family again. So it's pretty obvious that I'm not wanted there. I know now that the thing I've always feared the most over the years has happened. Faith finally got sick of my screw-ups and me, and left me. I should been over it by now I guess – it happened months ago, but I don't seem to be able to let go. I don't know why.
Maybe it's because when she said she forgave me, the first time I saw her at the hospital. I really thought we were OK, that the damage wasn't irreparably. She seemed to be able to see a never-ending parade of good marks, marks that seemed to make her love me enough to forgive me for anything. I was wrong. The line for her forgiveness was drawn with me being responsibly for her being paralyzed. It's not that I blame her for it. Actually, I think it's very understandable. She's a hell of a lot better of a person than I am, and I know now - when I can see them - that she has left a whole bunch of good marks on me. They should probably make me worship her for the rest of my life, or something like that, but I'm still not sure I would be able to forgive her either, if it was the other way around.
This thing with the good marks is another reason that I can't let her go. I promised myself that day, at the hospital, that I'd never fail to see the good marks she made on me. I'm intending to keep that promise, even though she doesn't want to see me again. I absently rub my fingers against each other, and look at them, trying to see the good mark she hopefully left there when I squeezed her hand that night all these months ago. I sigh and shake my head. I'm definitely starting to lose it – that's for sure.
I wince slightly when a wave of pain radiates through my stomach. Damn that hurts! I have no idea why it hurts so badly, but it does. Most of the time it's just a dull ache, but sometimes it feels like someone is stabbing me with a knife. I feel sick most of the time too. It's been going on for over a month now, ever since I started to work with Cruz again, and - as if that wasn't enough - last week, I caught a nasty stomach flu. I thought I was going to puke forever. It's better now though. I haven't puked in four days, not that I've eaten much either, but anyway...
Ma says I look stressed out, that I should try to relax and take better care of myself. Yeah, right, that's a really good piece of advice! What she doesn't know is, that if you're stupid enough to relax when you're working with Cruz, you can easily end up dead. She's right though; I am probably stressed out. I have a lot of things to get stressed about.
To begin with: the guilt is eating me up inside. I wish more than anything that I could make this whole mess go away. I know it's entirely my fault. Everybody thinks so, and even though they're right; it's hard to deal with everyday. Swersky acts strange too. He keeps looking at me like he thought I'd kill someone, or something like that. He even told me to stay away from Faith. He said he thought I'd done enough damaged as it is. I know he's right, but it's still strange. It's like he thinks I wanted Faith to get hurt.
And I'm afraid when I'm at work. Yeah, that's right, Maurice Boscorelli is afraid. Actually, I'm scared to death every day. I'm terrified that today's shift is going to be my last. It's a very unnerving feeling. I'm not used to feeling fear at work. I never did before. I knew Faith always had my back, and that she would never abandon me - or let me down. Now it's different. I can't learn to trust Sasha that way, and I definitely cannot trust Cruz that way. I'd be an idiot if I did. I've heard Sully and Davis talk about how it seems like I've finally calmed down a bit. It isn't true – I'm only trying to survive.
I now know that this, along with getting back with Cruz was a stupid thing to do, but I actually have a purpose to do so. I'm trying to protect Faith. I know Cruz hates Faith, but if I'm not totally on the wrong track here, one of the reasons for her hate, was because Faith had me. Because she cared about me, and because that – in the end – I listened more to Faith, trusted her more. So, I figure that if I let Cruz have me, she will leave Faith alone, and then Faith will be safe.
I don't need to worry about hurting Faith because I'm with Cruz instead of her either, because she doesn't want to have anything to do with me anyway. That's good, because she's much safer when she's not with me. I can't stand to see her get hurt again, ever – especially not because of me.... Now the plan doesn't seem so great anymore because I can't handle Cruz. I never have, and now I'm getting so nervous when I'm around her that I feel sick. That's probably one of the reasons to that I feel so stressed out, but if it keeps Faith safe, then it's all worth it.
Just to add to it, I got a new thing to worry about a few days ago. Emily called me when I was home sick. She wanted me to drive her to some party, which she didn't want Fred to know about. She said it wasn't anything bad or illegal, but I can't say I believe her. Stupid kid! I told her off good yesterday though. I really hope she pulls her shit together. She, getting in trouble again, is the last thing Faith need right now. I know she's getting better - that she can walk again, Sasha told me so, and that was one of the best things I've ever heard. It almost made me cry out of pure happiness and relief, and I don't want her to have a set back because that stupid kid can't stay out of trouble.
"Bosco!"
Sasha's voice startles me, and of course that's pissing me off. I turn my head, glare at her, and ask rudely, "What?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your nap, but I was about to ask you if you wanna eat."
"I didn't take a nap, I was just thinking!" I answer defensively.
She shrugs, "Whatever. Do you wanna eat or not?"
It's my turn to shrug. "I don't care. I'm not hungry anyway," it's true. I'm not, actually. Just the fact that Sasha mentioned food makes me feel queasy.
She turns her head and takes a quick look at me before turning her gaze back to the street. There is worry and concern in her voice when she asks, "You sure you OK? I haven't seen you eat a proper meal in days."
"And that's your business how?" I reply angrily.
"Gee, Bosco, why do you have to act so defensively? I'm just worried about you. You look like crap, you know."
Her voice is low, and she almost sounds hurt. If I didn't know better I'd think she actually cares about me, but I know she doesn't. No one - except Ma - does that anymore, and she's only doing it because she thinks it's a mother's job to do so.
"Thanks a lot," I say sarcastically, "you look great too."
Sasha snorts angrily, "Why do I bother? You're such a jerk you know!"
For every angry word we utter against each other, both the nausea and the pain increases, and I can feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I feel like I'm going to puke any second. I close my eyes, and take a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to ease the pain and stop myself from puking in the car.
"Bosco, you OK?"
There's worry in Sasha's voice, and it annoys the hell out of me. I don't like when she's trying to mother me. There's only one person in the whole world who's allowed to do that, and she doesn't care anymore. I open my mouth to yell at her to stop nagging me, and mind her own business, but when I do, I realize it isn't just a feeling anymore – it's real. I'm going to puke within seconds, and the only thing I mange to get out is a moaning sound meant to read, "Pull over."
Sasha – by some miracle – must have understood what I was trying to say, because she hits the breaks, and when the car stops moving I toss my door open and try to get out. There isn't enough time though; as soon as my legs are out of car I throw up. The pain in my stomach is still bad, but a hell of a lot better than before I puked. Great! I've managed to catch the stomach flu twice in two weeks. I really am a lucky guy, aren't I? The taste in my mouth is awful, and I wonder what the hell I ate last that could taste this awful. Almost like iron.
"Bosco?" Sasha says worriedly, and put her hand on my back.
I take a deep breath to clear my throat, and prevent myself from puke again, but the pain hit me, and all I manage to get out is a moan. Damn it hurts! It feels like someone just stabbed me with a knife. The moan must have frightened Sasha, because I can hear her get out of the car, and walking around it so she's standing in front of me.
I hear here gasp as she crouches down, and carefully touches my shoulder, "Bosco? Bosco, please look at me," there's horror and fear in her voice, and it's wavering slightly.
I wonder how bad I have to look to make her this frightened, but one thing I know for sure; no matter how crappy I feel, or how much she annoys me, I don't want her to be afraid. I carefully open my eyes and stare at the ground. The pavement is red. There's blood on it. How the hell can there be blood on it? Who's bleeding? Has Sasha been shot? Is that why she sounds so afraid? Have I missed noticing that my partner has been shot, because I was busy puking? I quickly jerk my head up to check her out. I feel dizzy, and my vision is slightly blurred, but I can see Sasha clear enough to determine that she looks OK, except for the terrified look on her face.
"Bosco," she says softly, "Bosco, how long have you been vomiting blood?"
I stare at her in confusion. What does she mean? I'm not puking blood. Then it hits me – the blood on the ground. She thinks it's mine. I drop my head to look at it, and realize she's probably right. It has to be mine. There's no other explanation. It also explains the awful taste in my mouth. It tastes like blood. The thought make me feel sick all over again.
"Bosco? Bosco, are you with me?" Sasha asks, with a hint of panic in her voice, while shaking my shoulder.
"Yeah, of course I am. Have you gone blind?" I mutter angrily, as I try to fight off another wave of pain and nausea.
She chuckles nervously, and says, "Now I recognize you. Put your legs back in the car. I'll drive you to Mercy."
I want to protest, but I'm afraid I'll puke again if I try to speak, and besides, no matter how much I hate to admit it – she's right. If you're vomiting blood, you need to go to the hospital. When I try to do what I've been told, I'm overtaken with nausea again, and I can't fight the urge to puke. It happens so fast I don't even have time to lean forward, and I can feel the vomit all over me. I know by the smell, and by Sasha's reaction, that it's more blood.
She's panicking now. I can tell by the way she's desperately yelling in her radio, "55-David to central, I need a bus to this location. I have an officer down. I repeat I have an officer down!"
"Copy that 55-David. Do you need back up?"
"No, no, just that bus, but hurry!"
Great! Now I'm not just vomiting blood, and scaring the hell out of Sasha, but I have also puke all over myself, like a three year old, and everyone in the whole precinct is going to know about it. I can feel Sasha kneel down beside me. She shakes my shoulders, and yells my name. Gee, that woman has to love the sound of her voice calling my name.
"Stop.... it...you...make me.... sick," I manage to choke out.
"Thank God! You're awake," she says, and her voice is filled with relief.
"How...could I sleep when you're yelling my name all the time?" I whisper with annoyance in my voice.
"Sorry," she replies softly, "come on, I'll help you to lie down."
I really want to, because I feel like I could fall over any second, but I know it's the wrong move to make right now. "No, if I move I'm gonna puke," I whisper in response, and gasp for air when a new wave of pain hits me.
"Bosco?"
Here we go again. What is it with that woman and my name?
"Hurts," I manage to get out before the stabbing pain is there again.
"I know, I know. Just hang in there, the bus will be here soon," she says in a way that I figure is meant to be soothing, but it isn't.
I'm starting to miss Faith even more. She knows how to sooth people. Like when I had my panic attacks. Suddenly the air is filled with the sound of sirens. Thank God, the cavalry is here. I really need them now, because the pain is almost more than I can take, and I'm starting to feel pretty out of it. I can hear running footsteps, and then Kim's voice, "What has happened here? Has he been shot?"
"No, but he hasn't been feeling well lately, even been home sick, but he seemed alright today, but suddenly he asked me to stop, and then he just started to vomit blood," Monroe rants nervously. It's more than a hint of panic in her voice now.
In the mean time, Kim has kneeled down beside me, and is checking my pulse. "Bosco?" she asks gently. Her voice is soft and soothing – almost like Faith's, and it's a nice change to Sasha's hysterical behavior. I try to answer, but the stabbing knife is there again, and all I manage is another moan.
"Carlos! Get the stretcher!" she demands, and turns to me again, "Bosco, we're gonna move you to the stretcher, OK?"
"Gonna puke if I move," I whisper painfully.
"It's OK, don't worry about it," she says reassuringly.
Actually I'm starting to reach a point where I don't care. I feel dizzy and disconnected to the world. I know Davis and Sully have arrived, because I can hear their voices as they talk to Sasha.
"Davis, can you give us a hand here?" It's Carlos voice. Then I feel hands all over me, moving me to the side and lowering me to the ground. I'm more than a little surprised that I didn't puke when they moved me. I'm really starting to feel like crap now. It hurts so badly, and Kim and Carlos's voices mix together with Sasha and Davis's, as the feeling of disconnection increases.
"Bosco, are you still with us?" It's Kim's voice, but when I open my eyes to look at her, the only one there is Faith.
I wonder how she got here. Maybe she's been here all the time, "Faith,"I whisper her name, and reach out to touch her.
"No, Bos, it's me. Kim," she says softly with worry in her voice. The picture of Faith's face is fading away, and I can see for myself that Kim is right. She's the one hovering over me.
"Bosco, I'm gonna put in an IV now. It's gonna make you feel better, OK?"
I know that should probably concern me. I hate needles, but I don't have enough energy neither to fight it, nor to answer her. I can feel myself slip away, but Davis' voice jerks me back to reality, "God, Sul. There's blood everywhere, all over him."
The dread in his voice scares me. Blood everywhere? Whose blood is on me? It can't be mine. I haven't been shot. It has to be Faith's. Deep inside I know there's something wrong with that conclusion, but I can't sort things out anymore, and I'm over taken with fear. I try to sit up as I ask, "Faith, is Faith alright?"
"HEY, don't move, Bosco! You need to lie down!" Carlos says sharply, and pushes me back down, but I immediately try to get up again. I need to know.
Suddenly I feel a big paw on my shoulder. It's gently pressing me back down again, and I know without any doubt it's Sully, "Easy, Bosco, stay still. Faith is all right. She isn't even here. She's at home, remember?" he states calmly.
I can't say I do, so I ask again, "Faith's at home? She's OK?"
"Yeah, Bosco, she's alright. You're the one who's sick, and you need to lie down and relax, so they can help you, OK?"
"OK. Hurts," I whisper, and close my eyes again.
"I know it does, but they'll take you to the hospital and make it better, OK?" he answers soothingly.
Then, suddenly, pictures of Faith, lying shot and bloody on the floor appear in front of my eyes. I shoot them open, and choke out, "Shot, Sully, she got shot!"
Sully shakes his head, and takes my hand between his, "No, Bosco, not today. It was long ago. She's at home safe. I promise," his voice is calm and sincere, and I believe him. He was never one to lie.
I try to thank him, but when I open my mouth, nausea overtakes me, and I throw up. Someone is quickly turning me on my side, and I can hear Carlos annoyed voice, "Damn it, Kim, what a mess! We need to put down a G-tube!"
Someone turns me over on my back again, and rudely jerks something through my nose. I gag on it, and I hear Kim's begging voice, "Please, Bos, just swallow!"
I can feel that someone is trying to hold my head still, and I try to get away. Then I realize it's Sully, because he's talking calmly in my ear, "Don't fight it, Bosco, just swallow. They're trying to help you, you know."
I try to do as he tells me, and suddenly the urge to vomit is gone, and the pain is slightly better too. I open my eyes, and look at Sully for confirmation, as I ask one more time, "Faith...OK...at...home, right?" he nods firmly, and answer, "Yes, Bosco, she's at home, and she is just fine."
Convinced that she's OK, and at home with Fred, where no one can hurt her, I allow myself to slip into darkness, because as long as Faith is alright, I don't care what happens to me.