TITLE: Do you really want me?

AUTHOR: faith-in-Faith

DISCLAIMER: Don't own any characters here, just the plot.

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: Up to and including season five and my story "All that glitters is not gold."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I just wanna say thank you, Joey, for everything. I'm happy to have you as a beta. To all my reviewers: Thank you all for telling me what you think about this, and I care a great deal about what you think. If anyone wants to discuss the story with me feel free to mail me anytime : ) I know some of you wanted to have this before school started and, although I'm not sure when that is I butI fear that I'm too late...sorry... hope you like it anyway : )

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"So where're we gonna start looking?" Sully takes his eyes off the road for a brief moment to glance over at me.

"Under the bridge," I answer quietly, trying to keep my imagination from coming up with more horrible pictures of what could be the reason for Bosco's absence.

"What bridge?" The confusion in his voice tells me that he really doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about.

"The bridge where we used to hide when Bos wanted to duck calls...." I trail off when I realize what I'm saying. That is not something that Sully is supposed to know.

He glances over at me again. "Ducking calls, huh?" His tone of voice is somewhere between annoyed and amused and I can feel myself blush.

"Please, Sully, don't be mad. He didn't mean any harm and I didn't let him do it for long, I promise."

"Don't worry, Faith. I don't harm kids," he answers with a sarcastic smirk. "So which of all the bridges in New York is your hiding spot?"

I describe the way and soon we're there.

Sully stops the car and turns to look at me. "I don't see his car. You wanna get out and look around?"

I nod

"OK." He opens the glove department and hands me a torchlight. "I'll wait here."

I nod again and get out of the car. I hear the water hitting the shore. As I get closer, I call his name. I walk around for about five minutes, but I realize almost immediately that he's not here. If he was, he'd be at his favourite spot, on the stones closest to the water. I get back to the car and climb inside.

"Found him?" Sully asks kindly.

I shake my head. "No, he wasn't here." I can hear my voice wavering slightly, and realize in horror that I'm close to tears.

I know Sully has noticed it, too, because he puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently. "Don't worry, Faith. We'll find him."

"I know, but in what state?" I whisper in a small, pathetic voice.

Sully doesn't answer the question. Instead he starts the car. "Where to?" And then I know he's just as scared and worried as I am. He's just better at hiding his emotions.

We drive around for almost two hours, checking every spot and bar I can come to think of – but no Bosco. When the sun starts to rise, I'm starting to feel desperate and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Once again, Sully asks, "Where to?"

I just look unhappily at him. "I don't know, Sul. I can't think of any other place where he could possibly be."

"Have you looked at his apartment?"

"No, but why would I do that? I've called him over and over again in the last five hours. He isn't there!" I'm both annoyed and disappointed that he's so stupid he doesn't even get something as simple as that.

"Maybe he is but doesn't feel like answering the phone," Sully states calmly.

I realize that the only one stupid around here is me. I can't believe I didn't think of that myself. How could something as simple as that be so hard to get?

Sully stops the car outside Bos' place. "You want me to come?"

I swallow hard and try to keep both my fears and tears at bay.

"Yeah, please. I don't know what I'm gonna find. I might need your help."

He nods in acknowledgement and then we both get out of the car. We climb the stairs to the fourth floor. Halfway down the hall, I stop outside number 45 and look over at Sully.

I know he can read the fear in my eyes because he gives me a small smile. "Just knock."

I raise my hand and knock carefully at the door. No answer. I try again, harder this time - still nothing.

I put an ear to the door, but there's not a sound to be heard from the apartment. "Bos," I call softly, "if you're there, please open the door. It's just me, Faith."

Still nothing.

"Do you have a key?"

I look up at Sully. I do have a key. Bosco gave it to me when we'd been partners for two years, when he realized that the bartender in his favourite bar had my number on his list of people to call if his regular costumers got too drunk to make it home on their own. I guess he wanted to spare us both the embarrassment of having to wake up his landlord in the middle of the night.... Over the years I've only used it twice, once when I helped him home from the hospital when he had been shot and fallen out of the window at the same day, and once when I hauled his drunken ass home from the bar the night we arrested Mikey. But both those times he was there with me when I opened the door. Using the key without him knowing I'm doing so, makes me feel uneasy – like I'm violating his space, and space is important for him; I know that all too well.

"Well, do you?" Sully asks, slightly annoyed when I fail to answer him right away.

I nod, and as if he could sense my uneasiness and hesitation, he holds out his hand. "Then give it to me."

I have the key in a little pocket - with a zip - inside my purse to keep me from losing it, but at the same time always having it if I should ever need it. I take it out and hand it over to Sully. He takes it out of my hand and unlocks the door, pushing it open for me to enter.

There's no light on in the apartment - at least none that reaches the dark hallway. It's not completely dark, though, because it's already morning and the early light of dawning allows me to make out the lines of the furniture against the walls.

"Bos," I call softly, as I carefully make my way through the apartment.

There's no answer but when I'm getting closer to the living room, I can hear the sound of someone breathing. I don't like it. I know I should be happy that he's breathing, since I've spent the whole night worrying that he wasn't, but I don't like the sound of it. It's the sound of someone that has to fight for each breath; it's the sound of someone on the verge of choking. I quickly run into the room and spot Bosco on the couch. His elbows are on his knees, his head is down and his whole body is shaking from the effort of trying to get enough air into his lungs. I stand paralysed in front of him. I'm terrified. What's wrong with him? Why is he breathing like this?

I turn to look at Sully, who's been following me closely the whole time, for support and I have a feeling I look just as terrified as I feel.

"Calm down, Faith, it's only a panic attack."

The way he says it makes it sounds like it's no big deal at all - and maybe it's no big deal to him, but from the look of it, it is to Bosco. And it sure is a big deal to me - very big. The last time I saw him like this we all thought that he was having a heart attack, and I have never been able to shake the feeling that the doctors were missing something when they said it was only a panic attack.

I'm just about to tell Sully that when he walks up to Bos and squats down in front of him. He puts his hand on Bosco's shoulder and starts talking to him in a calm, soothing voice, that I can't recall ever hearing before - at least not when he's talking to Bosco.

"Calm down, Bosco. It's OK. You're OK. You're not alone anymore, and everything is gonna be just fine."

I look in amazement how Bosco snaps out of his trancelike state, looks up at Sully and says shakily, between struggled breaths, "Sul..ly?"

It's not only the fact that he managed to get through to Bosco that amazes me, but more the fact that I've never seen him show this kind of confidence in anyone but me before. He trusts Sully, he really does, and for me that's kind of a miracle.

"Yeah, Bosco, it's me. Just concentrate on breathing, OK?"

Bosco nods and I can see how he tries to take deep, calming breaths.

"That's it, just breathe." Sully's tone of voice is the same, although now there's a hint of satisfaction in there, too.

After a minute or so, Bosco looks up at Sully again and asks in a small, shaky, almost pleading voice, "Fai...i...th?"

Sully smiles slightly. "She's right here."

And then he stands up, grabs me by the arm and pushes me toward Bosco. He looks up at me, and the heartbroken look on his face almost takes my breath away. I kneel down in front of him and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, Bos, you should have called me," I whisper affectionately.

He doesn't answer. Instead he slides his arms around me, burying his face into my shoulder and starts crying, his whole body shaking with sobs. His actions catch me off guard. Considering the state of our relationship lately, I didn't expect him to show me such a heartbreaking trust and affection. I guess he's down to the bottom of all bottoms. My heart breaks for him and, although I don't want to, I start crying as well.

"Faith," Sully whispers.

I turn my head slightly to look at him, not caring that he's going to be able to see my tears.

"I'm leaving now."

"No," I whisper, slightly panicked. "Don't. I might need you."

"No, nervous breakdowns are your department." And with a small, almost mocking smile on his lips, he turns around and leaves.

I stare after him for a few seconds but then I turn my attention back to Bosco. Just like three years ago, I rub his back and whisper soothingly, "It's OK. It's all right. Everything is gonna be just fine."

But this time it doesn't seem to help because his sobs even increase. I tighten my embrace and move my hand up to his head, gently running it through his hair.

"Shhh, it's OK, Bos. Just let it out."

He clings into me like Charlie used to do when he was little and had had a bad dream, but I guess Bos' life is pretty much like a bad dream right now.

I hold him as tightly as physicals possibly and continue to speak soothingly in his ear. Eventually his sobs even out and finally - after what seems like hours – he stops crying and becomes perfectly still in my arms. I loosen my grip slightly, afraid that I'm cutting off his air supply. I expect him to pull away but he keeps clinging to me like I'm his lifeline. I pull away a little bit further, trying to get a look at him.

"Bos?"

He lets go of me and buries his face in his hands instead. I carefully run my hand over his hair and down the side of his face. I need to touch him, because I want him to know, without any doubt, that I'm here for him and that I love him. I need to touch him to soothe myself, because I love him beyond reason and his pain is my pain - and it huts like hell.

He takes his hands away from his face and wipes away the tears with angry movements, but I know he isn't angry. He's just embarrassed and wants to cover for it. He keeps his eyes downcast and that, and the way he speaks his reply in an almost inaudibly murmur, tells me I'm right.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Bos. You're allowed to cry." I say it as a fact, making sure to keep the pity out of my voice. He hates pity.

He finally looks up and our eyes meet, his eyes are filled with gratitude. "Thank you – for coming."

I smile warmly at him. "Of course I'd come. Anything else was never an option."

"Why?" He asks the question quietly, and once again he's afraid to look me in the eyes.

"I'm your partner. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you," I reply softly.

He jerks his head up and looks at me with both amazement and doubt in his beautiful blue eyes. "After all I did to you?"

"What did you do to me?"

He gives me a look that that says; "you're kidding me, right?"

"What did I not do to you? I got you shot. How's that for a start?"

The desperation in his eyes and voice cuts through my soul like a knife, and I feel an overwhelming need to find a way to stop him from torturing himself like this.

"Bos, it wasn't you. It was God, the devil, destiny, bad luck, Cruz, whatever you want, but it wasn't you."

He closes his eyes tightly and I wonder what memory he's trying to block out.

"Bos...," I say pleadingly.

He opens his eyes and I'm feeling like I'm drowning in his anguish.

"I should never have asked you. I had no right," he whispers barely audibly.

"I'm glad you did."

His eyes widen and he looks at me in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because that meant that you still trusted me in spite of everything I did to you." My voice is thick from unshared tears and it feels like I can't breathe.

"You didn't do anything to me."

"Yes I did. I rejected you."

"I deserved it."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did. You had no part in this – it was all me."

"It takes two to tango...."

He shakes his head and his eyes tear up. "Not when you're around me. I always hurt people I'm supposed to love: you, Ma, Mikey." He stops abruptly, trying to blink away his tears.

"Bos, please. Don't do this to yourself. It makes you sick - you know that - and you promised me, remember?"

I know I sound desperate but I just can't stand seeing him in this much pain. It's killing me, and right now, I'm afraid that his feelings of guilt and despair are going to kill him for real.

"Please, Faith, forgive me," he chokes out and starts crying again.

This time I'm the one taking him in my arms but, just as before, he clings into me for dear life.

"I have already forgiven you, Bos. I never really blamed you. I wasjust trying to survive," I whisper as soothingly as I can.

I can hear my voice shaking from all the emotions I'm trying to hold back. I can't believe that I really thought that hurting him like this would solve my problems. I have to be insane. He doesn't answer - just keeps crying softly and I can feel my shirt getting wet from his tears.

Then, suddenly, he pulls away and stands up abruptly.

"Bos?" I ask worriedly and stand up as well.

He's white as a ghost and I can barely make out the words in his reply. "I'm gonna be sick."

He runs for the bathroom and I can hear him getting sick. I quickly follow him. On my way there I take a towel form the closet, where I learned that he keeps them the last time I needed one, but that time he got sick because he was drunk. I wet the towel in the sink and then lean against the bathtub, waiting for him to finish. I don't dare touch him, because knowing him as well as I do, I know he's embarrassed as hell over this and probably doesn't even want me in the room. A short moment later he seems to be done but he doesn't move. He just keeps leaning over the toilet, and I'm starting to get worried.

"Bos?" I kneel down beside him and carefully wipe his face with the towel. He still doesn't move – he doesn't even flinch.

"Bos? You OK?" I'm even more worried now. He still doesn't answer, but at least he moves away from the toilet and leans against the bathtub. His eyes are closed and his face is an awful, ashen shade. Just as I'm staring to think I need to call for a bus, he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry. It's just that every time I think about that night I feel sick...." His voice trails off in an exhausted sigh.

All I want is to take him in my arms, but I don't think he'd like it, so I just put my hand on his knee and squeeze it gently. "It's OK, Bos. I told you before; you have nothing to be sorry for – and I understand.

"You do?"

I nod, although I know he can't see me with his eyes closed. "I bet it was really scary."

"It sure was. I thought you would die." He speaks the last part so quietly that I almost can't hear him.

I don't know what to say so I just squeeze his knee again. "Come on, Bos. Let's get you in bed. You need to rest. When was the last time you got a descent night's sleep, huh?"

"I can't really remember," he murmurs tiredly.

"Then come on," I coax gently, tugging on his hand.

"Just give me a minute."

"OK."

We sit in silence for a while and then he finally opens his eyes. "So Emily was right – you only did it to please Fred?"

I nod slightly. "I'm so sorry."

He swallows hard. "It's OK - I understand."

"You do?" I ask in surprise.

It's his turn to nod. "Yeah. He loves you, and he almost lost you because of me. He deserved to feel safe. He deserved to know that I wasn't a threat anymore."

I'm not so sure I agree, but that doesn't really matter right now. I pull pleadingly on his hand again. "Come on, Bos. You really need to rest."

He nods and slowly stands up, swaying slightly. I grab him around his waist to steady him. "You OK?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna lean on me?"

"Yeah...."

He sounds defeated and a great sadness is tugging my heart. I don't want him to feel defeated - I want him to feel loved. We're slowly making our way to the bedroom, but it's difficult, because he leans so heavily against me that I almost can't walk.

"You dizzy?"

"No, not really. Just tired."

Although, I'm still very worried for him I buy what he says because I know he's too exhausted to lie. Once inside his room he immediately lies down on the bed, but keeps his eyes trained on me. I take off his shoes and cover him with the blankets.

I sit down beside him. "You comfortable?"

He nods and closes his eyes. I don't believe him because the expression on his face tells me differently. It tells me he's in pain.

"You in pain?"

"Yeah."

"Your stomach?"

"Yeah."

"Shouldn't you take some medicine, or something?"

"I already have."

I nervously chew on my bottom lip, not really knowing what to say or do next. My stomach is in knots and a lump has formed in my throat out of worry for him. Maybe I should take him to the hospital but he wasn't vomiting blood, and something tells me that right now, he's better off at home, in his own bed, than sitting in the waiting room over at Mercy for hours. Especially since he hates hospitals.

"Faith?"

"Yeah, Bos?"

"I...."

"It's OK, Bos. You can tell me."

I run my fingers lightly against the back of his hand, in an attempt to show him that I care and that he's safe. He opens his eyes and looks at me with a mix of embarrassment and despair. "I...." His voice trails off again.

I try to take my hand away, thinking that it's the physical contact that makes him feel uneasy but, to my surprise, he catches it and squeezes it so hard it almost hurts.

"I don't wanna be alone." His words come out in a rush and I know just how hard it is for him to admit something like that. He hates weakness – especially his own.

I squeeze his hand reassuringly, swallowing hard to keep myself from crying. I have to be strong. He's never needed me this much before, and I'm not about to let him down by letting my own emotions get better of me.

"You don't have to. I'll sit here with you until you fall asleep. Then I'll try to catch some sleep myself on the couch, but I'm not leaving until you wake up, OK?"

"OK."

He closes his eyes, and I can tell that he's trying to calm himself by taking slow, deep breaths.

"That's it, Bos. Just relax," I say softly, gently rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand.

We sit like that for a while, and the only sound in the room is his heavy breaths and the ticking of his alarm clock. Just when I think he's managed to fall asleep, he opens his eyes to look at me and asks, with worry in his voice, "Isn't Fred gonna be pissed with you? For staying here, I mean?"

I smile warmly at him. "No, your daughter is covering for us."

His eyes light up a bit with the mention of Emily, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips when he's thinking of the secret they share.

"She is, huh?"

I smile again. "Yeah."

"You're not angry with her, for that daughter thing?"

I squeeze his hand. "No, Bosco, I'm not. Don't worry, just try to get some sleep, OK?"

"OK," he answers obediently and closes his eyes again.

I watch him fall asleep and I can't stop myself from caressing his cheek. He doesn't stir, and I know he's finally resting peacefully. He's so beautiful. My thoughts drift back to the day he got all dressed up in a tux to go to the opera with Nicole. I don't think he's ever been more beautiful than that night. I know beautiful isn't a common word to describe males but handsome just doesn't cut it.

He looked so young, happy and innocent then. He was so full of life. That's all gone now. He's not that young anymore. All the emotional pain he's been going through lately marks his face, and he isn't full of life. He's more like an empty shell - but still he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He's still the one I love and my love seems to grow deeper for every day. I would do anything to put the mischievous sparkle back in his eyes again – if he'd only let me.

I sigh deeply and run my hand through his hair one more time - thinking that he needs a haircut - before standing up and walking into the living room. I collapse on the couch and for a few moments I just sit there, allowing myself the luxury of feeling nothing, before I pick up my cell phone to call Em.