Bosco felt really sorry for what he said. Under no circumstances did she deserve such meanness and cruelty from him, especially now, when she was extra- sensitive and fragile after the rape. He wasn't a person that words like "forgive me" or just simple "sorry" would come out easily from, but neither was she. Yet he decided to give it a try. It didn't turn out as he expected. When he finally found some spunk to go and talk to her, the words stuck in his throat. After a moment of unbearable silence and her hard, suspicious look he finally managed to utter: " Cruz, I didn't…" just to be cut short, scoffed, carpingly criticized and finally scolded like a dull child. Since then she was deliberately avoiding him, planning her shifts carefully so that they wouldn't have to see each other. If they happened to be in the same room she would leave it right away. The only thing that could force her to stay in it was her own stubbornness. If she were the one backing down that would mean that his words affected her. That she was hurt because of what he said. And there was no way in hell she would show him that she was giving a damn. So she just kept on ignoring him, cutting him dead as if Maurice Boscorelli had never existed. The only signs that indicated that she acknowledged his presence were subtle, caustic comments, snide remarks that seemed to be throwaway but were like implacable, poisoned arrows pointed directly at him. Always invisible and evasive but painful when they hit home. There was a touch of cruel irony, detectable only for him in everything she said but when she was talking it was never addressed to him, just occasionally she was giving him brief, distant glances as if he was a disturbing fly that should be swatted. Her behaviour was exhausting him, his patience and making the pang of guilt he felt slowly disappear. Just as he expected his life sucked, thanks to her.
Strangely, today she was unnaturally nice to him, meaning coldly professional. He tried to be alert but there seemed to be nothing unusual. No tempting, nagging, teasing, she was treating him like every other officer working in 55. She even told him that he was late with his reports and she expected them on her desk in an hour, all the reports from the last month, which he hadn't even started to write, funny indeed, but still it was better than yesterday. Yesterday he was a bug, today a human being. Inferior to her, but still a human being. She was up to something he was sure; he knew pretty well this innocent look on her face. It has always meant troubles. Deep troubles. He could never put the finger on what she had in this little, brilliant mind of hers and today wasn't exception. The question was how unpleasant it would be for him. But when it came to Cruz you could never tell. She was unpredictable. He hoped that she got over with his words and her patronizing, aggressive, casual attitude would be back sooner than he expected. There was nothing to worry about; it was just his imagination. Lately he's become so suspicious that it was probably the first phase of paranoia. As the hours were passing and there was nothing extraordinary, fishy and queer or that would make him distrustful, he could let out a long breath of relief and consider it some semblance of normality. Him and Monroe were back from lunch break. They had to fill in some reports and Bosco had some extra paperwork to catch on. Guess why? Yeah it was his favourite, beloved Sergeant's doing, sarcasm intended. They were standing near Lieu's desk waiting for some blank sheets and forms to be given by desk Sergeant. Davis showed up there too and immediately they were lost in a friendly, relaxing chat. Even Swersky joined them and didn't tell off about wasting time. And then it hit him. What he saw shocked him, probably all of them. They were stunned into silence. Cruz appeared in the entrance door, giggling and chattering happily. She was all smiles but the fact that disturbed Bosco the most was that she wasn't alone. The smart-ass psychologist accompanied her. His eyes narrowed as he saw her delicate fingers intertwined with his large ones. She wasn't a girl that would cuddle you and kiss you endlessly when having an audience. And that little action meant a lot. More than anything else. He felt as if somebody punched him hard in the stomach. They never did this lovey-dovey-in-front-everybody thing. He could never hug her or even touch her hand when others were around. There was only one occasion when they were behaving like a couple; he was playing with her fingers, gently caressing her hand. But even then he was afraid that somebody would walk into her office and next day their love affair would be a latest piece of gossip. And now she was displaying ostentatiously that there was something between her and this egg- head. "If you've got it, flaunt it" and she was this time. And this stood for one thing, it wasn't only a flirtation or fling, this time it was serious as she was getting emotionally committed.