This is the first time I'm trying Joe's POV, so forgive me if it's a little off. I'd very much appreciate your feedback on the matter to help me improve it.

Thank you Stayce for givin' this forrner a lesson in Jersian…LOL...hugs

This story picks up in the middle of TBO, so if you haven't read it, it may not make much sense…Steph has picked her little laundry basket up and grabbed Rex, she's on her way to Ranger's truck to discover the wonders of GPS…and Haywood Street.

Disclaimer: This time I'm actually quoting dialogue…and without owning the characters, too. Oh boy. Even the title is stolen, from Bon Jovi!

Rating/Warning: The language is pretty bad

Bad Medicine

Stephanie hefted the laundry basket and pushed past me to the door. "On the surface that sounds reasonable," she said, "but the reality of it is that I give up my job and hide."

I didn't want her to do either and I didn't ask her to. I just wanted for her to be safe. Why was everything always black and white with Steph? I loved her stubbornness as much as I hated it. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could think of the right thing to say, she opened the door and left, with a last glare at me.

That's where I should have probably run after her and tried to stop her. And my hand was on the doorknob when I saw her climb into Manoso's truck. Somehow, that stopped me in my tracks. Steph'd come home with torn jeans and mussed hair, like she'd had a fight. And she was driving Manoso's truck, origin unknown. She didn't ask me for my car, she just took his. And that just rubbed me the wrong way. I knew Steph would call it jealousy, I'd call it pride. So I didn't like some guy giving my girlfriend a truck, I didn't think there were a whole lot of guys who would either. The fact that the truck might even be stolen didn't help. And who the fuck would give her a souped up truck with her driving record to begin with?? I didn't want her in the truck, I didn't want her in my SUV, I just wanted her to stay the fuck at home. Was it so hard not to be a moving target?

My hand dropped to my side as I watched her take off. Even if I ran out and stopped her, what was there to say? Nothing had changed in the ten minutes since she'd made up her mind.

She got herself into way more trouble than she could handle this time, not even Trenton gangs messed with Trenton gangs. And she was a white girl from the 'Burg, they couldn't wait to fuck with her. All I'd wanted was to keep her safe, and I couldn't think of any way to do that when she was driving around. But mention staying at home, even for one day, and it's like waving a red cloth in front of a bull, she goes berserk.

"Damn, Stephanie," I sighed.

Why hadn't I tried harder? I really liked those panties she threw into her laundry basket and they'd given me all the right ideas. And I knew I could've convinced her if I'd tried harder. But then what? Sex wouldn't have changed her mind, that only worked for me.

Bob sauntered out of the living room with a curious look on his face. He doesn't like it when we fight, I can tell. Hell, I don't like it when we fight!

I sighed and scratched Bob's ear. "It'll be all right, buddy. She'll be back," I told him, but I didn't like the lack of confidence in my voice. Bob gave me a wary look. "What? You don't believe me?" I squatted down to be at eye level with him, fully aware that I was about to have a man-to-man with the dog. Steph can truly drive a man insane.

"I did it again," I confessed to Bob, "She gets me to a point where I yell and then she leaves and I'm left with everything I still wanted to say unsaid. And now she's fucking mad at me and in as much danger as before and I let her go."

Bob made one of those whimpering dog noises and I shook my head, getting up. "I'm sorry big guy, it's not your fault. I should find other two-legged idiots to talk to, right?"

Bob's gaze had shifted from me to the door and I realized wasn't commenting, he'd heard something.

And now I could hear it, too. It sounded like a car engine idling right in front of my house. At first I thought maybe Steph had changed her mind, but this engine sounded totally different from the truck's. And it wasn't moving.

A car idling in the street, even at night, is nothing unusual. But after the past few days, anything was possible and I instinctively went for my gun before I realized I took it off when I got home. I could hear the car radio's bass thumping.

Before I made it to the window to check on it, my phone rang. For a split-second I debated letting it go to voicemail, but then I hoped it was Steph and picked it up.

"Just though you should know," Steph said without greeting, "There's a suspicious car waiting outside the house. Be careful when you go out of the house." She paused. "And maybe you shouldn't stand in front of any windows."

'Come back,' I wanted to say, 'I'm sorry that what I said made you leave. I'm scared when you're out there by yourself. Come home now.' Instead, all I said out loud was "They're not out for me."

Why do I do that? Why can't I just say what I mean, I wondered. Predictably, she just hung up. So she was still close enough to see my house. Was she debating whether to come back or go someplace else?

She would go to her parents' house, I assumed. That was a lot less safe than my house, because I wasn't there to protect her. Not that I could protect her from everything, but at least when she was with me, I could try. At her parents', only Frank could be considered protection. And I wasn't sure if he even owned a fucking gun. I ground my teeth. There were too many fucking variables at their house. Plus, her mom and grandmother added to the risk factor, they couldn't keep anyone form coming in.

Bob whined and I realized I was still standing in the same spot, with the phone in my hand. But I couldn't hear the engine outside anymore. I'd been right, they weren't out for me. Shit.

With any luck, they didn't make her and she could get away clean. The problem was, they knew she lived here, so they probably figured out where her family lived, too. Shit!

"Well, it was her decision," I told Bob. Christ, I talked to him like she did now, like he was a person! I snorted at my own idiocy and went into the kitchen to get a beer. I needed to drink heavily tonight.

Of course I knew drinking wouldn't solve a thing. But the alternative was banging my head against the wall or running a marathon, I needed to do something to let off steam

I emptied the first bottle in two long pulls and still felt miserable, so I opened another. "Fuck it, Bob," I told my only companion. "I'm getting drunk and we're gonna have us a nice guys' night in!" With that, I went back to the living room, sat down on the couch and flipped through the channels until I found a ballgame.

'She left me,' I reasoned, 'Don't needto worry about her, she gets what's coming to her for just walking out on me!' It was a nice theory, but unfortunately my heart and my head don't always agree. Like it or not, I would always worry about her. The second beer did nothing to change that either, so I had a third. And just for kicks, I got the bottle of Jack Daniels as well. I knew there was a reason I hadn't thrown it out yet. Dad told me once whiskey doesn't go bad and I'd believed him, since he knew about alcohol, if not much else. I don't know for how long I've had this bottle since I don't usually drink this shit, but tonight I needed it. I poured some of my beer into Bob's water bowl and he came galloping in from the living room. "It's not a real guys' night if only one of us is drunk," I explained as he sniffed at the unusual liquid. I could have sworn I saw him shrug before he inhaled the beer like a vacuum.

On my way back from the kitchen I took the phone with me into the living room. Maybe she'd call and ask me to stay with her at her parents'. It's happened before.

Truth is, it's all happened before and she usually comes back. And I should be so used to it by now. We disagree, she huffs, she leaves if we're at my house, when we're at her apartment it's the other way around. We're both too Italian to just discuss things, it's always loud and angry. But every time she leaves, I'm afraid it'll be the last time I see her, that this is it, the end. And I don't like that feeling.

I sighed, took a long pull from my third beer and downed my umpteenth shot. Getting drunk was probably the worst idea I could have had. What if the Slayers threw another Molotov cocktail or whatever, my reflexes might be too slow. What if Steph called right now, needing help? I waved off my worries and scratched Bob's ear.

"You and me, buddy. We can always count on each other." I realized two things. First off, my speech was slightly slurry. And second off, I was talking to the dog. Steph hadn't called and it was getting late. I hoped was drunk enough to sleep as I climbed up the stairs.

I had no idea what time it was when I passed out, but I felt as exhausted as when I fell into bed when the alarm radio blasted out Bon Jovi by way of telling me to get up. I opened my eyes and the sunlight almost set them on fire. My head was pounding and my stomach was rolling. Shit, this was going to be a fun day for sure.

I slammed my hand on the clock radio and turned around. No Stephanie. I knew I would have woken up if she'd crawled into bed next to me, but I'd been drunk, so I was hoping I'd missed it. I dragged on a pair of jeans, did the bathroom thing and stumbled downstairs. First I checked the living room. She wasn't on the couch either. Damn. I knew she wouldn't stay on the couch, bit I still checked. The empty couch just underlined that she was still out there. Alone and unprotected. Shit!

I opened the back door and Bob flew past me to do his business. I left the door open while I walked through the house to the front. No truck parked in front of the house. I contemplated calling her when my phone rang.

Caller ID announced it was Steph calling and I almost sighed in relief when I answered the phone.

"Hey, just wanted to make sure you're OK," she said. Instinctively, I switched into cop mode. I tried to identify the tone of her voice, whether she was exhausted because she hadn't slept all night or ready to turn around and come back or whatever. I listened for background noises but there were none.

"Where are you?" I asked. She wasn't in a public place, and she wasn't at her parents' house, it was too quiet.

"I'm in the truck on my way to work. Any new damage from Slayers?" I groaned inwardly. Again with the truck. A second ago I was going to ask her to come home and now I was getting aggravated again.

"No," I said truthfully, "It was a quiet night…after you left." Quiet wasn't the right word for what happened, but it was true as far as the Slayers were concerned. I took a deep breath. Fuck pride, I thought, Steph is more important. "So what's the deal, are you coming back?"

"No, never." I knew she didn't mean that, but it still hurt. Why did she insist on playing these games?

"One of these days we should probably grow up," I voiced my frustration. We both knew she always came back, but if we started acting like grownups maybe she wouldn't leave in the first place.

"Yeah, but I don't think we should feel rushed into it," Steph said. Jesus! I didn't meant grow old and grey; I'd meant grow out of the teenager phase! Fine, two could play that game, and I was willing to bet I had more experience at it. "I'm thinking I might ask Joyce Barnhardt out on a date," I said. Just the thought of Joyce Barnhardt made me gag; she'd never been my type. But I knew she was one of Steph's buttons, all you had to do was push it to get a rise out of her. Not today though.

"That would be a definite detour on the way to maturity," she said, all calm and suddenly grown up. I snorted a laugh and disconnected, still shaking my head. Damn her, she could still surprise me.

The radio started blaring from my bedroom, reminding me that I'd only hit the snooze button. I filled Bob's bowls, called him inside and closed the door before I went upstairs to take a shower and get dressed. I felt like shit, but I really had to go to work. Hair of the dog sounded a lot better, but Steph was out there, and she was in danger.

I locked the door and stared at the paint job. Damn. I'd forgotten all about it. I flipped my cell phone open and called Mooch. Maybe I'd get lucky and he had a slow day.

Mooch said he was pretty busy but he'd see if he could squeeze in the paint job later today. Thank God for family. I did not want to come home to the graffiti again.

I got a double-shot espresso at Dunkin' Donuts and made it into the station a little after nine. Gazarra gave me a curious look but he knew better than to talk to me. Smart man. Today was definitely not a day I'd laugh about his sarcastic remarks about my girlfriend.

I sat down at my desk and fired up the computer. I needed to get something today. A lead, a source, anything. We'd been working on the Red Devil case for months, but it wasn't my priority until the Slayers started targeting Steph. When I took a serious look at the investigation so far, it became damned clear pretty fast how little we actually had.

I cracked my knuckles, chucked the coffee cup and got up. There was one person who might be able to help me…and was always willing to, for a smile and the promise of more.

A/N: So what do you think, should there be more? How closely do you want it to follow TBO?