TITLE: Do you really want me?

AUTHOR: faith-in- Faith

DISCLAIMER: I don't own this characters at all, just playing around....

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: Up to and including season five.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This time I have a lot of people to thank. First on my list is Joey, who has put in an awful lot of time to make me better. You're the best beta-reader a girl can have!

Then it's Sandy, who has been kind enough to look through all her tapes to give me the quotes I needed for this chapter, and Bee for helping me with the shipper POV on the words. : )

But also to Schmoo who's shipper video's are giving me inspiration to write and an opportunity to see the scenes, since we haven't seen that eppi over here yet.

And finally Mad4JnJ from 3rdwatch.net, who was kind enough to let me borrow her thoughts from the thread "To many looks on Jason." So as you see, if you like this chapter, it's not because of me – it's because of them. : )

CHAPTER TWELVE

I sit at the table in the restaurant I've chosen for our reunion, nervously playing with the straw in my soda. There're several reasons why I chose this restaurant. It's small and quiet, not many people we know come here, and finally; I know Bos loves it. I've longed for this moment for so long. To finally be able to see him...I can hardly believe it's true. I just wish I wasn't feeling so nervous. The thought of Bos, not to mention his presence, usually makes me feel safe and happy - but not today. Today I'm just nervous as hell. I'm afraid that he can't forgive me for trying to drive him away. I'm afraid he doesn't want me back.

I wonder how he's doing. He's been out from the hospital for almost two months now, and he's back at work and everything, but Emily says he still looks kind of sick. I never went to see him at the hospital. After that scary, early morning phone call, he slowly started to get better, and Emily didn't want me to go there and spoil everything by upsetting him again. She's very protective of him. She's really pissed with me - actually I think she hates me. That's OK, though, because right now she's one of Bosco's biggest fans. She thinks he's too good for me. She's convinced that I've messed with his head, because he thinks he needs to be with me. She keeps saying that if she didn't think that it would kill him, she'd tell him the truth about what a lying bitch I am. Such statements almost make me happy that he had a bleeding ulcer...but it's good that she cares about him, because that means I get to know how he's doing. That's about to change now, though. Soon I'll be back at work, and then I'll be able to see him every day. That's such a relief, because I'm going nuts without him.

Suddenly, he walks through the door, and I feel my whole body go weak. I'm having a hard time believing my eyes. I can't believe it's true, that after all these months, he's standing here in front of me. But the way he looks takes some of the happiness away. Emily is right; he looks ill. He's pale and looks very tired, and I can tell that he's lost weight since I last saw him. His cheek bones are more visible beneath his skin, and it makes me want to take him home to feed him, and care for him until he looks like he used to. I can't help but wondering if he really is OK, or if what he needs is to go back to the hospital.

He leans in over the table, looks inquiringly at me and says, "I'm kind of surprised you called."

And then I know I've lost him, probably for good, because there's nothing in his eyes - no anger, no sadness, and no affection – just plain nothing. I can't read him anymore. He has locked the door, like he always does in order to protect himself from getting hurt. It's nothing new. It's always been that way. The difference is that this time he's locking me out, and I have no idea where to find the key, because I've never needed one before. He has always trusted me enough to let me look into his soul - but not anymore. He's afraid that I'm going to hurt him. I realize that the wound I caused him when I tried to drive him away probably won't heal. I have lost him. I feel like crying. I can't believe that he's afraid of me - that he actually thinks I'm going to hurt him. I want to tell him that everything's OK, and that I'll never hurt him - or leave him alone - again. I want to touch his face and tell him that I love him, but I can't.

So instead, I take a deep breath and say causally, "I'm coming back tomorrow."

He slides down in the both across from me, and answers, "Really?"

His voice doesn't hold any emotion whatsoever, but still I have some hope, because I saw something in his eyes when I said I was coming back. I'm not sure what it was, but it looked like a glimmer of hope. Maybe he actually misses me, even if he's afraid of me.

"Yeah, the department doctors said there's no medical reason why I couldn't," I answer calmly, and continue to fiddle with my straw to hide the fact that my hands are shaking.

"So, you're all right?" he asks, gazing intensely at me. I wish, more than anything, that I could read him like I used to, but he's not letting me in.

"According to the doctors," I answer, and I can't hide my insecurity.

I'm not so sure I'm all right. I still have this pain in my neck, but what bothers me the most, is that I feel like I could suffer a mental breakdown at any given time. Sometimes I just feel like crying for no reason at all, and the thought of getting back on the streets scares the shit out of me. But I'm hoping that being back with Bos will return my sanity and confidence. He's my strength, my rock. He's the one who chases all the ghosts away. He's the one who makes me feel safe and cared for, and that hasn't changed. He still has that power. I know that for sure when he speaks again. Because, although his eyes still hold no emotions, there's genuine concern and worry in his voice, and it makes me feel like I'm finally home.

"So, you're not all right?"

I shrug, and try to sound as confident as possible when I speak. "The city wants me to go for counseling, but I don't want to have that in my file. So if they say I'm ready to come back...I'm ready to come back."

He doesn't buy it, instead he sounds even more worried, as he replies, "But if you're not really better...."

"Bosco," I quickly cut him off, "I want you to ask Swersky to put us back together."

I fight hard not to show him how badly I want this. I try to sound like it was a completely normal thing to ask for, although I know it probably was the last thing he expected me to say.

"Oh, you do," he answers, and blinks his eyes the way he only does when he gets nervous. He continues to stare at me, and I can tell that he's trying to read me. The same way I've been trying to read him through the whole conversation.

I do my best to remain unreadable, by quickly pushing my love for him back to a corner of my soul, where he can't see it. I can't help but feel sorry for him. Because, although he sounds like he doesn't care, I saw a glimpse of terror I his eyes when I told him.

I don't know why he's so scared, but I wish he wasn't. I'm doing this for him, and there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just him and I – together. The way it always has been. The way it always should be. But deep inside, I know exactly what he's afraid of, because I share the same fear. The fear that what has happened between us has ruined everything, the fear that things are never going to be the same again.

I try to sooth both our pain and fears as I softly reply, "If I'm coming back, I'm coming back all the way."

"I thought you wanted me out of your life."

Hearing him saying those words makes it hard to breathe, and although I knew all along that what I said and did hurt him, I never really understood just how much - until now. Sitting here, looking into his eyes, emptied from all emotions, hearing his monotonous voice, kills me. Knowing him as well as I do - in spite of everything - makes me realize just how hard it is for him to act like this.

I know, that deep down inside, all sorts of feelings are eating him up. I know it because those feelings put him in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. I know it because someone with such a total lack of emotions that he seems to be now, are dead inside, and if he was dead inside he would never have made it out from the hospital.

So I know he's suffering, and once again, I try to sooth the pain I can't see - but still know is there - by speaking softly, "All the way."

He doesn't answer, just keeps staring at me with emotionless eyes. Not being able to read him like I used to, is starting to get on my nerves. Suddenly, his cell phone rings, and I almost feel relieved. He takes it out of his pocket, checks it, and says, "I need to."

"We're almost done here," I reply, and take a sip of my drink. For the first time in my life, I feel really uncomfortable around him.

I watch him as he speaks in his phone, thinking about how much I love him and how tired he looks. I can't help but feel a twinge of worry. Maybe he still isn't well. Maybe he needs to see a doctor.

I'm debating with myself whether or not I should bring up the issue when he hangs up the phone, looks over at me and says tiredly, "It's the occb detectives...."

"Go," I answer shortly, desperately trying to hide how much this distance between us is hurting me.

He looks inquiring at me, and there's worry in his voice as he asks once more, "You sure you're OK?"

I nod and motion with my hand toward the door, as I repeat, "Go."

I watch him walk away, and swallow hard in an attempt to stop myself from crying. I suddenly realize that I never asked him if he's all right. I swallow hard again and quickly stand up, softly calling his name, "Bos...."

"Yeah?" he turns around to face me, and a ghost of a smile traces his lips when he realizes that I'm standing.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he asks shortly.

Once again, I swallow hard before replying, "I'm just making sure. You were pretty sick not long ago, and you still look..." my voice trails off, because I can't seem to be able to find the right word to describe how he looks.

He raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Tired," I answer for lack of a better description.

Once again, something that almost looks like a smile appears on his lips, and then he replies, "I'm OK, don't worry about it. I said I won't do it again, and I usually keep my promises." And with that, he turns around and walks through the door.

I stare after him with tears in my eyes, wondering if he really is all right, and if things are ever going to be the same between us again.

I'm standing behind the desk, trying to concentrate on my work. I'm having a hard time keeping my focus, though. My mind constantly drifts back to the events in the locker room earlier today. Except for running into Cruz, coming back was great. Everyone seemed happy to have me back, and I felt loved and cared for. It felt like home.

I'm very worried about Bosco, though. He really doesn't look well. Today he even looked worse than he did yesterday. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink all night, and he was uncharacteristically quiet, but no one seemed to notice. So maybe that's how he acts nowadays.

I wonder if he's happy to have me around again. He said it was good to see me, but the way he looked at me told me otherwise. He looked plain scared. I file some more paper work and try again to concentrate on what I'm supposed to do, but it's impossibly. I can't get the image of Bos' tired and pale face out of my mind. Bosco looking like that, is not a good sign. I know that, and now he's off for today with some personal time because of a family crisis. I'm wondering what Mikey has gotten himself into this time. I'm sure, though, that whatever it is, it's just going to add to Bosco's stress, and I'm happy I'm around to take care of him this time, 'If he let's you' a little mean voice in the back of my head says, 'He's afraid of you, remember?'

Swersky comes out of his office, hands me some more paper work, and for the millionth time tonight, asks how I'm doing

"Still good," I answer, and after a short silence I continue, "Hey, Lieu, you know what would make me feel better, since you're asking?"

"What?" he answers kindly.

"No offence...but you know working the desk is like watching dry paint get dryer, and you know I was reassigned for full duty, not clerical duty...."

I can't keep myself from asking. I need to be with Bos, and if he can't convince Swersky that we need to ride together, maybe I can.

"Well, who do you want to ride with?" he asks calmly.

The question really catches me off guard. What does he mean? He ought to know I want to ride with Bosco. He was the one who said no. Wait a minute...he should know, if Bosco had told him...but obviously he hasn't. I decide to ask, just to be sure when I confront Bosco about it.

"What do you mean? Bosco didn't talk to you about us partnering up together again?"

"No," he answers shortly and walks away.

My first reaction to Bosco's behavior is anger. I can't believe that after just a few hours, he's back to lying to me again, but when I calm down, I realize that something is going on with him. The only question is what? Bosco always has an excuse for lying to me. Most of the time it's a very lousy excuse but in that messed up head of his, it always makes sense. It's obvious to me that, for some reason, he is tired and stressed out, and obviously something is going on with Mikey. Maybe that's the reason. Maybe he doesn't want me to get involved. I sigh tiredly, wondering when he's going to learn that he can't fix things on his own. We all need help – even Maurice Boscorelli.

Then there's Cruz. It didn't go undetected by me that they once again seem to be best buddies, and the mere thought of it makes me shudder. I feel the jealousy surge through my veins, but I fight back the feeling. This time I'm going to think with my head – not with my heart, because that was what led to disaster the last time, and I'm not going to repeat that mistake. Bosco is mine, and I'm not going to let her have him one more time. This time I'm going to keep my cool.

I decide that this game is going to stop right now. As soon as he shows up again, I'm going to confront him about it, and not stop bugging him until he lets me ride with him again. I can hear Sully's voice in the back of my head, 'For some reason he manages to keep it together as long as he's with you,' and 'Every time you two mess up your partnership, he ends up with a nervous breakdown.' Well, he's not going to have any more nervous breakdowns if I can help it, and he's not the only one who keeps it together better when we're together. I need him too, if I'm going to be able to do what Bosco usually calls 'real police work.'

The shift is almost over, and I had started to fear that he wasn't going to come back today, when he brushes past the desk so quickly that I almost miss him. Although I can't see his face I can tell by his body language that he's very upset. I drop the report I was about to file and hurry after him. I wonder what's wrong. Monroe told me that it was his mother that was in some kind of trouble, and I really hope she isn't seriously hurt or something. It turned out that Monroe is worried about Bosco's health too, but that she's totally powerless when it comes to him. He never talks to her, so she was hoping I could get through to him. Yeah, right, I think it's obvious that chances aren't good that that's going to happen anytime soon; especially when taking into consideration the fact that he appears to be scared of me. But this time, nothing and no one can stop me from trying. I find him rummaging through his locker. He looks really upset - on the verge of tears, - and my worries increase. If something has happened to his mother he's going to break for sure.

Then he turns his head towards me, and I can see that he's just really, really tired.

"Hi."

"Is your Mom OK?" I ask softly to let him know that I really care, and really want to know.

"Not for the lack of me trying," he answers wearily.

"Monroe says your mother was already involved with those people," I reply in an attempt to sooth him, and show him that everything isn't always his fault.

"It was a Joker Poker machine in her bar. I wouldn't call that involved," he answers tiredly.

"But she's all right?" I ask again, to make sure I've got it right, and to show him that whatever went wrong, it's over now.

"Yeah, she's OK, thanks for asking."

For the first time since I saw him at the restaurant, he lets me in, because his eyes tell me how grateful he is that I care.

"Look, I gotta go and talk to the detectives," he says and tries to walk out on me, but there's no way that's going to happen.

I take a step forward to block his path and state calmly, "I talked to Swersky about partnering us back up...."

"Yeah..." he answers defensively, because he knows I have him, and he hates it, and he thinks I'm going to get on his case for lying to me again.

"He says you never mentioned it," I reply sternly, to show him that he's not going to get out of this by ducking my questions.

He slowly turns away from me, and I can see in the mirror that he's rubbing his eyes with his hand like he's having a bad headache, or trying to get ride of some horrible images. Then he turns around to face me, and says softly, "You don't wanna be with me, Faith."

He couldn't be more wrong. Right now, there's nothing I want more in the world than to be with him, but I can't tell him that. Instead, I'm just standing here, watching his walls crumbling down. He can't hide his emotions from me anymore, but I almost wish he could, because what I see in his eyes makes me want to cry. There's so much pain, loneliness, sadness, regret, hurt and despair, that I almost can't stand it. If this is how he feels everyday, then it's a small miracle that he managed to survive that ulcer. It's a miracle that he even makes it out of bed everyday.

"It's not a matter of want," I reply, and I can't keep my voice from trembling slightly as I answer.

I know he's going to think that I'm mad, but the truth is that it takes all I have not to cry. It's true, though, this isn't a matter of want. This is a matter of need. Now I'm sure that he needs me, and I need him - I really do. And if he thinks for one moment, that I'm going to let him out of my sight for very long in the condition he's in right now – then he's dead wrong.

"I can't do it. I can't handle the responsibility anymore," he replies in a tired, defeated voice.

"What responsibility?" I ask slightly confused, both by the statement and by his lame attempt to put up a fight. This is so unlike him, and I'm really starting to get worried.

"You know, for weather you get hurt or not," he answers quietly, and the pain and fear in his voice and eyes almost takes my breath away.

Suddenly, I realize what this is all about. Why he's so afraid. Why he tried so hard to avoid riding with me. Why the thought of me being back at work scares him so much. He's afraid that something is going to happen to me. He's afraid I'm going to get hurt again. But most of all, he's afraid, that he wouldn't be able to protect me – or that he's going to get me hurt.

"You don't have that kind of responsibility for me," I answer calmly, in an attempt to show him that he doesn't have to be afraid, that I can take care of myself. But I know he isn't going to buy it. It doesn't work that way, and we both know that.

Just as I thought, he replies, "If we're partners, yes I am."

He looks miserable when he says it, and my heart breaks for him. Although, I'm touch that I mean so much to him, it kills me to see how scared he is. I can't believe I didn't see it right away. I don't know what to say to him to show him it's going to be all right, but I try to sooth him by reminding him about how it used to be. "Look...I'm gonna do my job exactly the way I did it before that day. That means with you...in 55-David."

I know that isn't exactly the truth, because the day Cruz shot me, there was no 55-David anymore, but that's not important right now. The important thing is to show him that everything is going to be OK.

"I just...I just don't think that such a good idea," he replies tiredly, looking like I just gave him his death sentence.

Once again, my heart breaks for him, and I feel a lump forming in my throat, making it almost impossible to speak, but I can't break down now - I just cant. I need to be strong for both of us, but mostly for him. I have never seen him this fragile before, and it scares me. If I'm going to be able to help him, I need to keep myself together, so that he feels that he can lean on me. Otherwise I'm going to be unable to stop him from breaking down again, and he can't break down, because I need him to keep myself from breaking down.

I know that my struggle to hold back my tears, once again, is going to make him think that I'm angry with him, but maybe that's for the best. He usually obeys my wishes when he thinks I'm mad at him.

I lock my eyes with his to show him that I mean business, and then, as calmly as I can manage, I state, "I'm not asking you. That's my car, and I going to be with you in it, tomorrow."

Then I give him a nod that we both know means,'end of discussion,' and quickly turn around, and walk out from the room as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I don't dare to turn around because I'm afraid that the devastated, pain- filled look in his eyes, is going to make me break down and confess my love for him in an attempt to make all of his hurt go away.