I know I posted the other four chapters a few days ago, but I felt I needed to get this chapter up before I totally forgot about it. I don't know when I will update this story, as I am currently writing in a huge project over on forum with some other Third Watch fans and don't know when I will update this story. Trust me I will update, eventually.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, except where I have made up to make the story along, nor do I own the words that are in italics, they belong to Walt Whitman.
Enjoy and review
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From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
It had been several days since he had stopped at the diner in western Florida, but some strange reason, he still thought about the waitress whom he had met. She was the one person in a long time that he had opened himself up to, other than somebody at work. In fact, he couldn't remember anybody but a colleague over the past few years, besides his mother, that he had opened up to, Faith being the only one that he only did such a thing, especially in the last few years.
The warm air that came off the Gulf invaded his senses; made him want to pack up and leave New York behind and move somewhere where winter didn't exist, where there was nothing but warm and sunshine and good feelings inside, but he knew that he would only be running; running from a past that would only come up to bite him in the butt someday.
But most of all he wanted to be divested of the turmoil that had been haunting him ever since Faith's ex-husband had his heart attack a few years and he had hooked up with Anti-Crime and Maritza Cruz. He honestly wished he had listened to Faith a little more when they had gone after that writer guy as intensely as they had. But that was the past and nothing could be done about the past, not really.
He looked across the water. It had almost an intrinsic beauty to it, something almost haunting, as though it wasn't going to reveal all its secrets quite yet. The park was rather deserted; any notion of people near by didn't exist. It was hard to believe that a massive hurricane had come through the area, but the lack of houses and people and the amount of destruction that he had seen as he drove through the small town, it was plain to see that there had been something destructive come through just like the bandage that indicated the fact that something had happened to him.
It was like a ghost town, a shell of its former self. Allowing the warm gulf breeze to gently push itself across his skin, he wondered what his life would have been like had things in his childhood been differently. Would he have the understanding he was able to bring to the job? Would have he wanted be a cop? Would his relationship with the man whom they called his father be any different? Did he really want to divest himself of his life in New York for one here, a place where he knew not a single sole?
He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking; thinking that if his life had been different he would have had more opportunities. But opportunities to do what? Sit behind a desk for most of his life, wondering if he would have made more of a difference doing something like he did know? He couldn't imagine himself sitting behind desk, taking orders, doing mundane work for five days a week, making barely a difference in the world.
A child's glee could be heard across the park. He turned to see a small girl, with what appeared to be either her mother or a nanny, being pushed on the swing set. She looked so innocent, so carefree of what the world would expect of her. Hopefully her childhood was far happier than his had ever been.
He let out a sigh, realizing that he couldn't let the past determine where he went; it would only hinder him, forcing him to lug around a ball and chain for the rest of his life. He knew his past shouldn't hinder him from moving forward, but some reason it was.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.
He loved the smell of the salt air; made his lungs feel refreshed, made him feel like he existed. He couldn't believe how fresh the air felt, especially when one placed it in contrast to the scent that the city often brought with it.
Looking at the still water, lapping against the beach, he couldn't believe how still that it was; how peaceful it made him feel. If only he could feel like this all the time, not feel so anxious that something bad would happen. He wanted to feel as though he mattered, that his opinions mattered.
He didn't need to fixate on how Faith had treated him and was continuing to do so. This was his trip; he had to come to terms with himself and who he was and not think of what others had done in the past. He needed to claim every corner of the country for him and him alone. Hell, he needed to claim his life as his own again and to be so burdened by what other's expected of him or what he expected of himself at times.
He knew he expected too much of himself, that he pushed himself to be better than he actually was, pushed himself into situations that he shouldn't have gotten into, but at the time it seemed so innocent and for the most part he really didn't care what the consequences might end up being. He loved his job and didn't know what he would do if there was nothing else for him.
He wanted encompass every space he came upon; leave his mark on it somehow. But he didn't know how he should go about it or what he could leave his mark upon. He had his job, but that was it. He didn't have a family that would leave it's own imprint on his life or on the life of others.
He thought about how much that dream had so far been dashed; he had wanted to have a little girl like the one that was playing on the swing, laughing as her golden curls flew in her eyes, as she flew into the setting sun. It was gorgeous picture, if only it was something that seemed obtainable for a moment.
I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.
Faith was the first person beside his mom that had made him feel like he mattered, even if it were a small little bit, that he was a good man. But he really didn't deserve it; deserve all the compliments that she lavished on him at one time or another.
Even when he felt crappy about himself, she managed to say something nice, or at least she tried. She was a good friend, but he didn't know if he saw her differently. Maybe there was something more with her, maybe there wasn't; he honestly didn't know. He wanted her tell him or do something that would confirm what he should
He felt a small tug on his jeans and looked down. The girl that had been flying high on the swings was at his leg, trying to get his attention.
She was cute; her light pink jacket had dirt stains streaked across it, her small little jeans had grass stains on them, her small hands dirty. Her mother would be after her, wondering why she was bothering such a strange man. She was a lot like he imagined his daughter to be like. She had her small, grubby hand extended; a yellow dandelion clutched in her hand. He had little experience with small children; Emily and Charlie being the only experience he had as an adult.
A woman's voice could be heard in the distance calling a name.
"Is that for me?" He asked the small girl before him.
She nodded; her blond curls bobbing up and down. Her mother would be worried, that much he knew.
"What's your name?" He asked as he took the sticky dandelion from her small, grubby hands. He hoped that whoever this child belonged to that they would be looking for her; he had seen enough children lost and wandering the streets of New York in his career as a cop that he hated to see a child just wandering about.
"Georgia," he caught her small voice say.
He bent down to her level. "Do you know where your mommy is?"
The child remained motionless and silent, almost as if she were afraid. Clearly she didn't know what to do and the best thing would be to look for the child's mom or guardian or whomever had brought her to the park.
"How about we go and look for your mommy, okay?" He said as he picked up the child and placed him in her arms. She squirmed, nodding, clearly slightly uncomfortable at his touch, but just as easily she got comfortable in his arms as them walked in the park, hoping to find somebody that looked familiar to her.
His arms got tired from carrying her around for so long and held her small hand inside of his. He had never experienced such unconditional love from a complete stranger; kids were like that he supposed, trusting almost to a fault. At least he knew that she would be okay with him.
His ears perked up when he heard Georgia's name being called by a female voice; concern clearly edged in the tone of the voice. He started to move in the direction of the voice, hoping that he wouldn't have to take into a local police station and have her placed with a foster family until she was picked up.
"Ma'am?" He asked a female who looked slightly frazzled.
"Yes?" She turned around to face him. "Georgia."
"So this is your daughter?"
"Yes; thank you so much, sir. She just went off and I didn't know where she had gone. Is she okay?"
"Yeah, she appears so; maybe a little startled," he said as the three of them started to move towards the parking lot. "She 's not as bad as some kids that I have seen on the street."
They were silent as they approached a gleaming SUV and as the mom opened the door and picked up Georgia and placed her in the car seat. "What do you do?" The woman was curious to what would make the man that had brought back her daughter say such a thing. "I hope you don't mind me asking."
"None at all; I'm a cop in New York City." He got out his badge and showed her that he really was a cop. He noticed the rings on her ring finger; she was married.
She nodded. "You want to join us for dinner? My husband would love to meet you; he loves anything to do with New York and cops; watches almost every show on television that there is to do with that particular topic."
"You sure about that; cause I don't want to be an inconvince to anybody."
She closed the car door. "We would love to have some company; ever since the hurricane this past September we haven't had any company, say for maybe a few neighbours and family who didn't have any place to go. For some reason our house had minimal damage to it and we could take in people. We were lucky."
He said yes and followed the young mother and her small daughter to their home on the edge of the town that had been virtually flattened or destroyed. He didn't know why they hadn't moved out; he sure as hell would have left. He really didn't want to impose on such a young family or somebody who clearly was struggling to get by, but he couldn't complain for what he received. His mother, the wise woman that she was, told him never look a gift horse in the mouth.
All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among the men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.
Even though they were a few miles inland from the shore, he could certainly see the devastation and how some homes were severely hit, while others were left standing as though nothing had happened. But it was like nobody lived here any longer; it was eerie driving down a street that had once been occupied by families that were hard working people who did nothing really bad except live in a hurricane zone. The houses were void of any sort of life in them.
He saw the SUV pull into a driveway next to another vehicle and parked his car along the street. The house appeared to be in good shape, at least from the outside; appearances could be deceiving, as he could attest to.
Letting out a sigh, he got out of his car and locked, not sure why he did it, but he supposed it was out of habit. Children's toys littered the front lawn; clearly Georgia had been busy playing. The mom and her small daughter made their way to the front door, where a man opened up the door to let them in.
Bosco just stayed to the side, not quite sure what to do next.
"Come on in; Tom doesn't bite, trust me."
Bosco made his way into the house; cleaning wasn't a priority for the young mother, as he took off his jacket and hung it up on a hanger.
"Sorry, I'm being a poor hostess; I haven't even introduced myself and I didn't even hang up your jacket. Having two young children underfoot doesn't exactly lend it to a clean household. By the way I am Nancy."
"Maurice Boscorelli."
"Well, make yourself at home, Mr. Boscorelli…"
"Just call me Bosco."
"Okay then; well, I need to clean up Georgia; seems she gets in the dirt more often than not. I need to get…"
She was clearly frazzled and had too many things on her mind. "Do you need me to do anything?" He could see the frustration on her face; Faith had that look on her face more often than not. "Where's your husband?"
She let out a sigh. "Oh, Tom. He's doing what he usually does when I come home: disappears into the den with a beer to watch some sports. Clearly thinks that it's my job to clean, cook and take care of the kids, but he sometimes helps out."
He knew the sort of man that Tom was like and he didn't like the image he got as a result. Fred Yokas provided an excellent image for what Nancy's husband was like. Nancy moved towards the kitchen and grabbed a clean rag and wet it down. "Actually you can go and wake up Jackson and bring him in here, while I clean my daughter's hands and face."
He went down the small hallway and peaked in the closest door, flipping on the light, only to see castles and pink on the walls. This clearly wasn't Jackson's room and moved to the door next to it and opened it up. A small lamp was on and he moved gingerly towards the crib and peered down and saw a sleeping child. He hadn't had much experience with infants, but from what he knew, he gingerly placed the infant in his arms and moved towards the kitchen. He didn't know why a man such as Tom wouldn't take an interest in his own children, he certainly would.
"So where can I put him?" He asked as he entered the kitchen.
"You can put him in the playpen."
He gingerly put the child in the playpen and sat down and looked on as the child played with a bunch of toys that had been placed in there. He just wondered if he would ever get the chance to be a dad, to correct the mistakes that his own father had made.
"You okay?" She got down some dishes from the cupboard.
He got up from his chair and moved towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm fine." He leaned against the counter and let out a sigh.
"So have you been married? I noticed you didn't have a wedding ring; sorry I couldn't help but notice earlier."
"That's okay. I haven't been married."
She stirred whatever was in the pot and replaced the lid. "Have a girlfriend then?" She was certainly was nosy enough.
"Nope; last one I had blew herself up a few months ago."
"You close?"
He let out a sigh. "Things happened that made me question as to why I even considered going out with her in the first place."
"Surely she wasn't that bad. No, Georgia, you remember you can't have a cookie before dinner."
Bosco stayed off to the side. "She was; made me do things I wouldn't have normally done."
"Like what?" She placed Georgia on her hip as she took the cookie out of her daughter's hands.
Where would he begin; there was too much for him to explain the entire story. "I, um, made sure a CI get away with murder."
Nancy looked a bit shocked at his answer. "But it didn't get worse than that?"
"Yeah, it did." He could remember what the hotel room after Cruz had shot Faith and him Noble. It was a scene of confusion that he never wanted to repeat, ever. "I'd rather not talk about it."
Nancy sighed. "Well, dinner is ready; just have to set the table and call Tom."
"I'll set the table," he said as he moved towards the dishes that been resting on the counter. He knew that he probably that he shouldn't do something like this, but he needed to occupy his mind; something to take his mind off of Faith and everything else that had gone wrong in his life.
After setting the table, he went over and picked up Nancy and Tom's infant son and secured him in the high chair that was beside the table. It was all so normal looking, as everybody dug into the meal that had been prepared for them.
Sure he was good, but he wasn't that good, at least that is what he thought. Faith would tell him differently.