A/n: (Looks down in shame) I sure hope people are remembering this story. I vowed to hurry and update, but I'll save all the excuses for some other time. Crazy times I tell ya.

Disclaimer: Still don't own them, don't think I ever will.

Special Thanks: All of you wonderful reviewers. When I started this story I didn't know it'd be such a success, so thanks again and I will apologize again for taking so long. Also to Cosmic Castaway, she helped me a TON on some of the last scene, sort of like my advisor. Thanks girl!

Deep Blue Chapter Thirteen: The Mind's Wicked Games

The clock on the wall read 4:20. It seemed that each tick from the second hand on the clock lasted 30 minutes each. Bosco was almost tempted to go put a piece of paper over it so he'd stop looking at it, but no matter where he looked there was always a clock in his line of vision. He was no stranger to pulling desk duty, but it was also something he hated more than anything. Of course he'd rather want to go into crossfire with hundreds of bullets whizzing by him, the heat of each one embracing his skin. That's the way the job should be, but no here he was stuck in the office, practically being Swersky's personal secretary.

His stubbornness is what put him here. If he'd just swallow his pride and go visit Finney then he could get back out there on the street where the time would at least pass a little more quickly. In his line of thinking though, going to see Finney was not the right thing to do. In all reality Finney's family would appreciate it, despite the fact that Finney's mother did blame him. She regretted it, but Bosco didn't know that. In Bosco's mind they saw him as the one to blame since his mother did say those hateful things, when that wasn't the truth at all.

Faith's voice down the hallway disturbed his thoughts of what he should do, and he quickly stood up, trying to go somewhere he wouldn't be spotted. Before he had the chance to even take a step she was at the doorway.

"Bosco, what are you doing?" She smiled at him, but she didn't get one back, not that she expected it.

"So I gotta clear my schedule with you too huh?"

She arched her eyebrow as she folded her arms over her chest. "No, I just didn't expect to see you here." She began to say something else but Bosco cut her off.

"No, I haven't gone to see Finney." He wasn't sure if that's what she was going to say, but that seemed to be the topic of the day.

"I wasn't even going to ask that Boz. I already knew the answer to that." She turned to walk away, letting the door slam behind her. She had enough of Bosco already. He was practically self destructing in front of her, but how could she help when he wouldn't even let anyone in?

Bosco sat down hard in his seat, letting the gravity pull his body down. He leaned back as he stared at the stack of paper that was getting taller, rather than he making a dent in his work. He ran his hands over his face, taking in a deep breath as thoughts began to race through his mind. It was the same thoughts that had been bothering him for the past few days, images that he just could not wash away.

He thought about the day he got shot in the hospital. He couldn't remember much, which was probably a good thing for him, but the memory of it was still etched in his brain. Scenes passed in front of his eyes of right before the gunfire rang out. The very last thing his mind dug up was Faith yelling out his name, and him making a dive at her. Everything went black from there. If it weren't for the scars that were tainted across his body, he'd have never known where the bullets impacted his body.

Then of course it went to Finney. The day started out pretty good, until the call came in and Finney took out on a chase. Bosco closed his eyes tightly as he saw Finney on the edge of building, his body then being sent over the edge. The events played out before him like a movie in real time. The hallow feeling inside the pit of Bosco's stomach came back, and he suddenly felt the urge to go outside and get some fresh air. That and he didn't want people to see him panicking.

The exit seemed a mile away as he walked through the house, passing many other fellow cops that nodded and said hello, but Bosco didn't acknowledge any of them. To him they were all a blur, moving in slow motion as he kept his eyes fixed on his destination, the door that led outside. Any other day he wouldn't consider the New York air to be relaxing, but today he needed it. He stuck his hand out, touching the wood as he pushed it open, never so thankful as he was that moment to let the cool air hit his sweat soaked face. He didn't even realize he had been sweating until he got outside.

He looked down the street, the sun was already beginning to set and nightfall was coming upon the city. He leaned his back against the burgundy bricks of the precinct as he closed his eyes yet again, taking in air that seemed to burn his nostrils. It was as if he was scared to close them though, every time he did horrible images tainted him, and his eyelids would shoot open faster than the speed of sound.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt a hand brush his shoulder. He looked to see it was Grace, the last person he expected. He didn't say anything as he looked at her because he wasn't sure what she wanted.

"Are you okay Bosco?"

He noted her appearance. She had dark circles around her eyes, her skin was pale and she looked as if she hadn't eaten in awhile.

"I should be asking you that."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

He felt awkward with her standing there. He hardly ever associated with Grace and this was hard for him. He remained silent yet again, listening to the traffic on the street and the sounds from the city.

"I'm sure you've been asked this a lot, but why haven't you gone to see Finney yet? He is your partner and he needs your support."

Bosco gritted his teeth, looking down at the sidewalk. 'Great, everyone is going to start in on me.' He thought. "I haven't had time."

"You should make time. He looks up to you. He might not want you knowing that, but he does." Before Bosco could even respond Grace walked back across the street to the firehouse. He watched her as she went inside.

"Finney look up to me? That's the best joke I've heard in a long time." He said to himself as he walked back inside, hoping to burn to burn off the rest of his shift as quickly as possible.

Finney stared up at the TV in his hospital room, feeling claustrophobic from the walls around him that he was now extremely tired of seeing. He'd never admit it out loud but he was scared. Never had anything else scared him like this, but he was uncertain of his future, and if he'd ever be able to use his legs again.

He didn't realize how empty his room could get until everyone was gone. His mom had stepped out to get some fresh air and something to eat, and his brother and sister had gone home to do some errands around the house. He'd had great people stop by to say hello, but there was one person that he really wanted to come by, and that was Bosco. He wasn't sure why Bosco hadn't stopped in, and all he could wonder was if he did something wrong for Bosco to be pissed. You could never be too sure with that guy.

He didn't realize how much Bosco meant to him. In the short time he had worked with Bosco he had learned quite a bit from him. People warned him about working with the hot head, but he was a hot head too so it seemed to work out. He wasn't as bad as people said, but they'd have to see that for themselves. He was going to make himself crazy thinking about why Bosco hadn't come by, but he was sure it was a legitimate reason.

His eyelids began to grow heavy as his body began to slowly relax from the painkillers in his I.V. He tried fighting off the sleep, but that was almost next to impossible. He fell asleep quickly, letting his mind take over and dreams come into his mind.

Never before was Bosco happy to see the clock hit 11:00. He didn't want to go home, but he also didn't want to stay there either. Deep inside his conscience was telling him to go see Finney, to just forget about all of what he was thinking and do it, but his car took him in the opposite direction of Angel of Mercy, towards his house where he planned on drowning out the memories with his latest bottle of Jack Daniel's.

He got home in record time, he was almost anxious to get to the amber liquid that he walked at a fast pace to the elevator and up to his apartment door. The first place he stopped was his cupboard where he grabbed a glass, setting it down hard on the counter top. He unscrewed the lid, letting it roll off onto the floor. He didn't care where it landed, he planned to finish it off anyway.

He poured some of the liquid, causing it to overflow a little onto the smooth surface. He tilted the glass into his mouth, feeling the instant burn down to his stomach, but it was almost like an eraser, causing his pain to go away.

He slid his body down to the floor, sitting down on the cold linoleum floor beneath him. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering with the glass, so he began to drink straight from the bottle. Every time a painful image stung his vision, he'd drink a huge swallow. His throat grew numb from the burning now with each drink as he was near to finishing off the alcohol.

His instincts screamed at him. He knew what he was doing wasn't right, but for the time being it felt right, and it made him feel good. He finished off the last drop of whiskey, and laid the bottle beside him. For the first time in a long time he actually could say he was feeling great. The whiskey really seemed to be helping him.

Quickly he stood up. All the painful memories he had been fretting with earlier seemed to be gone, out of his mind. He was amazed at how that worked. He made it to his couch where he stared at the blank TV, laughing at it for no apparent reason. He couldn't even remember the last time he had laughed, it was almost like he barely had learned how to. A few more minutes passed, and to Bosco it was as if he was floating on a cloud, away from everything and everyone.

Then the effects of alcohol finally came into play. It was only a matter of time for his body to send up red flags from all of the liquid it took in. His forehead grew hot and sweaty, and he felt the urge to lay down. He slowly got up from his couch, walking back again into his kitchen, staring down at the floor. It seemed so far away to him. He finally was able to level his body out back onto the tiles, but his head was still pounding. He leaned back, letting his head hit the cold floor, sustaining the sweat that had gathered on his face for a few moments.

His stomach then began to churn. He hadn't eaten anything all day and a sharp pain was sent through his stomach, up to his mouth and before he knew it his body had vomited up all the acid that was once inside him.

He didn't have the energy to get up and clean it up, instead he just scooted a few feet away from it, where he let himself pass out. Darkness overtook his vision as his body finally grew still, the empty bottle lay beside him, as well as the vomit that was sent furiously up his esophagus.

He wasn't completely passed out, because he kept opening his eyes, seeing flashes of light from the overhead lamp that was still on in his kitchen. He fought his eyelids as he tried to stay awake, but then he began to shiver. His body was sweating profusely but his skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

He finally urged his body to get back up, and his feet led him to the bathroom where he barely made it to the toilet. More stomach acid shot up to his mouth and hit the porcelain below. The burning sensation was harsh, but his body jerked even harder as it tried to get rid of the poison that Bosco put into it. His heart was beating fast, it was almost like a workout.

When he was done he leaned up against his bathtub where his eyelids began to shut again. Before blackness came to his vision his body let out a few more jerks of throw up, staining his clothes. By this time Bosco was so weak from everything that he didn't even care that the body liquids were soaked into his shirt. He sunk down low, arching his back as he let his body relax and his eyes slowly close over his bloodshot irises. He came in and out for a few minutes, but was so exhausted now that he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling above him.

The apartment grew silent, the only sounds that could be heard was Bosco's labored breathing and the second hand of a clock in the living room. He'd soon wake up with the same problems, realizing alcohol solved nothing.

TBC….

Again thanks to each one of you who have replied back on this story. I wish I could continue and write those personal notes to each of you like I did in the past, but I don't wanna risk getting my account deleted over it. You guys rock, and I hope you guys are still interested! THANKS AGAIN!