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Author: Amy
A/N: Thanks to all who have written their butts off to keep this going
. And of course thank you to all the readers who make it all worthwhile 
Previously on Third Watch: When Sasha Monroe arrived at the 55th precinct shortly after Faith was shot, she made sure everyone knew she was a woman with her head on straight who didn’t cut corners or bend any rules. It was rough in the beginning being partnered with Bosco, he had never been a fan of change, especially one in these circumstances, but differing opinions aside, the two formed a friendship, bringing down Allie Nardo in the process. Ty Davis formed a friendship all of his own with her that bloomed into love shortly after Sasha was involved in a fraudulent car accident that indirectly killed a little boy.
But the rippling effect of Sasha’s true reason for being reassigned to the 55th would only serve to destroy the friendships she’s made and break the one man’s heart who thought she could have been the one. She was following orders to find the truth... but at what cost?
The High Price of Deceit
Tyrone Davis, Jr. Only 28 years old, but in those short years many chapters have been written which have culminated in him knowing the awful and well-hidden truth that has made up much of the book of his life. It’s all come to an end, this search for the truth, and Ty sits all alone in his quiet apartment and ponders how this tangle of partial-lies and half-truths became the shield protecting him from how his father really lost his life seventeen years prior to this night. He carries to this day the sorrow his mother wore like a second skin when she sat him down and told him the news. He could pinpoint the exact moment when he knew that life wasn’t always going to roll out the red carpet for you to walk upon unharmed, and that night was it.
The calendars marking that date have been carefully marked each year and he fights with every ounce he possesses to hold onto what he
knows to be the man he called Dad. Ty’s second year following in his father’s career path, he found out some very disheartening news; Dad had a second family. Gwen Girard was his half-sister from that other family and after meeting her and understanding she wasn’t doing anything but being honest, the stand-up image of his father became disfigured and forever blemished. Ty’s anger bubbled to the surface in the course of those days after Gwen made her reappearance into his life but the main person he wanted to attack verbally and possibly physically, was gone for good. His only recourse to stem the flow of misdirected angry words at his mother or his partner for the past six years; his partner from day one when Ty officially wore the uniform of a New York City police officer, was to kick over his father’s headstone after a particularly stressful day. The shadows resembling his dad faded away immediately and Ty was no longer haunted by them until a short, few weeks ago.
He was twelve years old; he’d turned twelve four little days ago. Maggie Davis had the unimaginable job of sitting her youngest child down and explaining that his father was never coming home. Ty learned that day a hard and very ugly lesson: life contained some life-altering events that wouldn’t think twice to send hurdling down your path. It didn’t care if a little boy was standing in the way, it was an unstoppable force and it slowed down for no one. His childhood had ceased to exist and that little boy grew fast into a man with little preparation or warning. Every birthday since had been slightly soured with that unforgettable knowledge. Ty laughs softly to himself thinking of other people’s reactions to their own upcoming birthdays almost seeming to whine about it simply because another year was passing them by. He’d swallow his biting comment every time.
So what? It’s your birthday tomorrow or next week. I’ll trade you if you’d like. My father died just four days after mine and was buried three days after that. Still want to trade me? If not, then quit your bitching.
The new presence in the form of Brendan Finney opened up a piece of John Sullivan’s past he had prayed would never have to be spoken about. Of course Ty wanted to know why Finney, Jr. rubbed Sully the wrong way so badly and he got all the answers he would ever need on the subject for four lifetimes.
One second your dad was laughing and the next he was dead. The kind of details you want, I don't have.
Ty closes his eyes without being fully aware of doing so and is suddenly brought back to that dark night in the very same park, the very same spot his father was gunned down by a drug dealer using the cover of darkness to carry out his malicious crime. Ty accepted what Sully had told him while standing side-by-side on the blacktop and only trickles of what actually happened dripped into his eager-to-know heart and brain in the months and years leading up this point. And this time those tiny trickles turned into a tsunami threatening to wash away all the fragile versions of the truth he was fed by so many since he was a young boy.
The quiet and lonely apartment is ripe for replaying the bits and pieces that now fit perfectly together to finish the puzzle he’s been trying to finalize for nearly two decades. It all began after Brendan became part of the 55th and snowballed from there. Sully was convinced that Finney, Jr. was sent in to become an informant with the investigation involving Sgt. Cruz, Yokas and the death of Donald Mann. Was he totally off-base or what? That little tidbit of information was the bitter icing on the regret-soaked cake Ty ingested daily since Sully began letting Ty in on his father’s unsavory past.
Brendan was really the first person to mention the fact that his father, Ty’s father and Sully all worked together at one time. While at the scene of a crime, Ty sat on the bed once slept in by a man who killed himself all because of a woman he couldn’t have, while Brendan supplied Ty with the first of many sections to a twenty-year old cover-up. Ty asked Sully soon after finding out about it but didn’t seem too pleased at the suggestion of having to talk about it in any way. He did tell Ty that the three of them worked the Anti-Crime Unit after that shift but that was it. Ty could already foresee that getting Sully to spill any more info was going to resemble walking on water or better yet, persuading Jelly to work more hours in the day than he spent eating; which translates as, you guessed it: a miracle.
A hidden picture of a knife under the refrigerator at Sasha’s apartment was the next piece but he was clueless as to then of how it would eventually fit into the big picture. Knowing what he knows now he realizes how calm and cool she played it when he showed her souvenir of that brutal day at Mercy Hospital. Of course he understands it all now. She deserves some kind of award for playing him so easily for a fool. She’s quite the actress.
He had the pleasure of meeting the infamous Cpt. Finney one night after Brendan made his first kill; and Ty’s assessment of the man was one not of a positive light. Finney had the room and the people within its walls at his disposal, even Swersky, who didn’t see how Ty saw the situation. Ty saw that Brendan’s father must have always wanted to be the one in control and he didn’t fail to have it in this case either, while basically dictating Brendan’s statement to the IAB Detective. Brendan’s mouth barely moved. The next time Ty came face to face with Finney, Sr. the terms would be on a much more personal and nasty level.
I’m gonna tell you this story one time. I’m gonna tell you the "see spot run" version and when I’m done telling you, we’re done with it. It was a long time ago. There were a bunch of dirty cops who were taking payoff money from drug dealers. About a dozen or so of them. Some you never heard of…your father…and CT. Finney. When it became clear that the house of cards was gonna cave in, the rest of the gang had a brainstorm. They’d pin it on the black guy. ‘Cause, you know, ‘cause that would be an easy thing to do. Your father saw it coming. Decided to head ‘em off at the pass. CT Finney got wind of it. You know the rest.
What are you saying? What, Captain Finney killed my father?
Your father was going to IAB the next day. We got a bogus call…your father ended up dead. A month later CT Finney’s in a nice corner office downtown…You can draw your own conclusions.
And there it was. That dirty sonofabitch killed his father for deciding to come clean and for doing the right thing. Sully thought laying it all out there once and for all would have kept Ty at a distance satisfied with the truth but it only forced him deeper into wanting and needing to know more. He knew there had to be more. And, of course, there was. There –always- was.
The remainder of the story Ty now fully understands. Capt. Finney orchestrated this whole ordeal in order to save his own ass; his and his alone. Although there were four officers involved in the IAB inquiry; Ty Davis, Sr., John Sullivan, Cathal Finney himself and Thomas Mackie, Finney was only out to clear his own name and hired Morris to carry out what he would not do himself.
After Cruz was sprung from her surprise sleepover at Riker’s she caught up with Ty in the locker room and questioned him about the well-traveled knife that had been the final nail securing her inside the jail cell for only a brief one-night stay. Ty had nothing to do with Cruz’s arrest and told her as much and left it at that. Still no connection was made by him between the fact that Monroe had a picture of that very knife in her house, maybe even knew that Cruz had taken it out of the hospital; and the fact that perhaps Sasha was the one responsible for damning Cruz and sending her off to prison. Nope. Not a clue.
Raymond Morris. My father’s killer had a name and a face to go with his crime. Ty did some research on the man and found out Morris was getting paroled after only serving 25 years for shooting a cop. Once again, when pressed for details, Sully asked Ty to drop it but Ty was never going to let it go until he got what he wanted. Could Sullivan ever understand that?
Ty was able to set up a meet and greet between Morris and himself the very next day. The man had a very enlightening tale to tell and Ty
had no idea of what he was in for while waiting in that unfeeling room where the color of the walls and floors matched the colors to the metal benches and tables: bland. Ty could virtually feel the whispers and the secrets crawling and burrowing beneath his skin from the thousands of other inmates who had sat in the benches at one time or another crowding the small room. Things were seemingly falling into place when Ty sat across from the man who had actually pulled the trigger and propelled the bullet into his father’s brain killing him instantly. Ty had to battle between two conflicting emotions while making eye contact with Morris. He kept his heart out of the equation, knowing full well his finite fury was being commanded by that ever-pumping muscle. The other emotion clashing for dominance was a crazy mixture of passiveness and the strange need to hear what nobody else but Morris could convey. He sat and listened.
Who are you?
I don’t look familiar?
Can’t say that you do.
You killed my dad. But, you know, you shot him in the back of the head. I guess you wouldn’t notice the resemblance.
I’m not gonna talk about this.
Yes, you are. You owe me. You owe my mother, my sisters.
Look, man. You can’t be rollin’ up here now.
You were the one screaming conspiracy, right? Right? I just wanna know who set you up. Was it, uh, Scott Murray? Tyler O’Riley? Mark Vecetti? How about Cathal Finney? That name ring a bell? He’s the guy that booked you on felony drug possession then had it dropped only to have you arrested two days later…for killing my dad.
He’s a player.
What’d he do? What, did he drop a gun on you, get a false confession? I don’t get it, man. 21 years ago you were begging for somebody to listen to you. Why are you flipping the script now? What’s he got on you? Is he sending your mom checks? Kicking you back cigarette money? What?
Funny.
Oh, I’m glad that you can find the humor in all this. Maybe I should go down to the parole board, beg ‘em not to let you out of here.
Come on, man.
Decorated officer in his nice dress blues. I bet I could be quite persuasive.
That ain’t right, yo.
What the hell do you know about what’s right?
Look, they made me do it. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? They made me do it. CT. was big. He ran drugs in all the projects. He let you make your money as long as you kicked him back. Now every now and then, to make himself look legit he’d run our asses in. When our boys paid his price he’d get the charges kicked.
So, what’s that got to do with my dad?
One time my number came up. Instead of money, CT. said he wanted a favor. Said if I took him out, he’d give me half the projects. Window faced a spot in the park where he said your pops would be. Bastard even gave me the gun…The only thing he didn’t tell me: dude I shot was a cop…I ain’t stupid enough to kill no cop.
You told people this story?
I bitched to everybody. My attorneys, the judge. Even your dad’s partner.
Who, Sullivan?
I sent him letters for years.
What?
I gave him dates, times, places. Figured he’d be the only one to care about this mess. You think I ever heard from him? Nope.
You’re talking about John Sullivan?
So the best thing I could have ever done… was taking CT’s deal.
You’re gonna testify to this.
Yo, let’s get this straight…
I’m gonna get a D.A. down here. You’re gonna testify to this.
They’re not gonna listen to you. These white boys did to your old man. Look what they did to me.
I’m coming back here. I’m bringing a D.A. and you’re gonna testify to this.
In 12 months, I plan on walking out of here. Alive. That won’t happen if they find out I’m talking to you.
Please.
There would be no D.A. returning with Ty to talk to Morris, no testifying to any judge or jury, no anything. ‘Please’ would be the last spoken word between Ty and Morris for Raymond was later found stabbed to death in a puddle of filthy mop water later that night. So that left Ty back to square one; or so he thought.
A mysterious manila folder was waiting for him days later after he returned from his morning run. The fierce running helped to push away
the heavy burden his troubled mind had to bear now. Inside the folder there was a paper-clipped group of papers and the first one instantly
caught Ty’s eye. The names of his father, Sully, Cpt. Finney and a Thomas Mackie were listed there in black and white bold letters. The date of the sheet of paper read 7/22/83 and although the four of them were under an IAB investigation at one time it was apparent it was quickly squashed and now it all made sense; his dad was murdered because he was going to expose the corruption that had been feverishly led by none other than Finney himself. Ty heard what Sully told him but was not ready to acknowledge it until he was sure on his own.
There were pictures contained in this folder as well. Ty pulled them out and found himself staring at a 20-something version of Sullivan and a similar one of his father. Ty could only assume the third man in the photo was Finney. He’d only met the man once but Ty would recognize the cold-hearted gaze and twisted smile hidden not so deeply in the folds of his younger yet no more attractive features.
When he confronted Sullivan about what had been left for him to see, Ty out and out called Sully a coward. The pictures didn’t lie and Ty was through listening to anymore protests about letting this go. Ty was disgusted by Sully’s inactions today and for the past 20 years and was, as far as Ty was concerned, ready to pitch his long partnership to the wind over this. Maybe he’d regret tossing it to the side like yesterday’s garbage but garbage is what he felt like he’d become to Sullivan.
Ty sat for two hours in Finney’s office so he could make it known that the Captain would not be able to control him like so many others on his way to the top. Ty was not to be a stepping stone for the murdering, lying and manipulative evil bastard who sat in the glass-enclosed, plush, high-rise office building. Ty Davis, Jr. was an exception to that rule Finney was still trying to enforce to this day.
When Finney decided to grace Ty with his presence the crap spewed from his mouth about Ty’s father and Ty let it roll over and off him as it had so many times before. There was nothing new being said in this office; Ty knew about the “other” family, he knew about his father taking dirty money so it made no sense to debate that with Finney. Ty was the sole person in that room who did have anything new to add to the tale. But the ambush awaiting Ty would smother any further gain in the struggle to topple Finney to the ground.
Why don’t you come and talk to me. I have something to show you.
Sasha’s voice slowly became more recognizable as she neared the open door to Finney’s office and Ty sat in silent bafflement when he saw and heard her rush into the room yelling about being found out to be IAB. He sat there completely dumbfounded and equally as heartbroken while Finney, with shameless content, made it abundantly clear their meeting was absolutely no coincidence. Obviously Finney planned this whole meeting between Sasha and him and the smug look on that bastard’s face confirmed it.
An ambush was the best word to describe how Ty found out Monroe was an IAB informant and he was completely unaware of her involvement in the Donald Mann situation. He assumed that she was also in the wrong place at the wrong time as the rest of his fellow officers were. His growing love for her blinded his ability to believe someone he cared about could be one person while making collars as an officer of the 55th, yet answer to the very man behind this reopened can of snakes. Finney had always been in the center of it all pulling the strings on the marionettes like the master puppeteer he had trained himself to become. He had run the show from day one when Sullivan and Ty Davis, Sr. were part of Finney’s Anti-Crime Unit but that show would be forever cancelled sooner than expected.
The sick grin plastered on the face of this heartless man threatened to crack apart and shrivel away to reveal the rabid mongrel hiding just below the wrinkled flesh. Ty could almost see the skin wanting to pull apart as Finney pushed the idea of blackmail to seal Ty’s mouth shut about his father’s murder. It was a weak attempt at best yet Ty wasn’t discussing the case involving the three females, one stolen car, and one murdered elderly woman that he and Monroe had handled a few months back when things were a less chaotic version of normal for mostly everyone he knew. He knew and so did Sasha that the ticket was fabricated after the fact but did Finney really believe that this joke of intimidation was going to steer the direction of this ship his way? If that one little smudge on his record was all CT Finney could dig up then Ty didn’t have a thing to worry about. Try again, asshole.
Her pleadings outside on the street only served to anger him more and send his stomach into violent lurches with each added whining, no-good word from her lying mouth. She could chase him all over the streets of New York City and she’d get nothing from him. He had no forgiveness for her and he would only leave her breathless and no closer to repairing the damage she had done no matter what she said. His skin was being seared with all the time he had wasted caring for her and waking next to her for so many months. He was revolted to know he’d been screwing a stranger. She was –still- a stranger to him; it was over. Was there anyone on his side now? Trust was a real bitch and switched sides on you in the blink of an eye. She was nuts if she thought leaving that folder for him was going to help her win any chance with him again.
After returning home night after endless night, the furiously blinking red light on his answering machine went wholly ignored. There was no need to listen to the messages; he was through wasting another second of the little time he had to relax on her incessant, nagging voice filling the tape inside the machine. For a Detective, she sure was slow to take a hint when she wasn’t needed. He loathed the fact so much of his time was wasted on thinking about her but it was sadly inescapable. The weight of Sasha’s betrayal shadowed his thoughts during work, when he slept, when he ate; any time of the day. There was no discrimination.
He made sure the first words he spoke in roll call the next afternoon was to share the wealth about Sasha’s new found secret identity. He did not give a shit about what she wanted. He was seriously messed up with each breath he inhaled and exhaled over her effortless duplicity and it was her turn to have her heart trampled upon without mercy. For that to work she’d have to have a heart to begin with; Ty was uncertain if she did.
Ty sighs deeply at the memories he shared with her and lays back against the couch under him and wonders how one person can knowingly lie to someone else and simply not care enough to think it wouldn’t somewhere down the line return to blow up massively in their face. Sure, he knows he’s never been a choir boy in the loosest description of the word but never has he hidden such a destructive secret while sharing a bed with another. Forgiveness was not a term he was willing to apply to Sasha. Who knows if he ever would?
When Sharon Burns, the District Attorney, informed Ty of Morris’s death she also added Sully’s new part in this ongoing mess. He was willing to come forward with what he knew about Ty Sr’s. death and if Ty wanted help he’d have to be the one to ask for it. He didn’t ask because he didn’t want it and he wanted Sullivan to not be a part of it any longer. Ty knew the consequences to Sully’s testifying in court; the complete loss of his pension. Everything would be gone. Ty didn’t have that much to lose so he wanted to continue on alone. He didn’t want to believe he was alienating himself from anyone who would help or care although that is precisely what direction he was going. All he could focus on was getting that bastard Finney and it was much more simple to depend on himself to reach that goal.
The 10-13 was heard by all the surrounding units when 55-David was in trouble but there was no race to respond to dispatch. Everyone knew Monroe was IAB and she was about to learn a valuable lesson in what loyalty to your fellow officers really meant. The drug dealer she was foolishly pursuing on her own inside a warehouse that was closed for the night was not above shooting a cop to escape capture. Ty stared silently at the radio and felt the seconds tick by as his heart thudded in time with them. He knew he had to answer it. As angry as he was at Sasha he had to be slightly better than the rest of them and not be a complete prick to her. When they arrived Brendan was quick to jump on Ty about how long it took for 55-Charlie to arrive at the scene. Ty kept himself cool and told Finney he and Sully needed more time to actually pinpoint their location. So, maybe that was partly true. Ty wasn’t going to defend his actions to anyone so Finney could believe what he said or not. The kid was more apt to trust his father than Ty and that made him the most naive human on the planet.
Faith showed up on scene with another death to add to the growing list of obstacles in Capt. Finney’s way; Brian McKinley. He was the one
who supplied Monroe with that goldmine of IAB information she dropped at Ty’s door, so naturally he was found shot in the head. Ty felt the
ominous weight of being the next target in Finney’s game of good cop/bad cop and wondered how Sully would find the strength to call Maggie Davis once again and essentially eradicate any opportunity for her to be happy ever again. The pieces that Ty was certain were going to aid in Finney’s swan song were being trampled upon and he was slowly losing his grip in bringing him down.
********
Ty cuts off all these memories and moves to his feet and paces his living room stretching his cramped limbs. An image of a soda machine
puts his mind out of sorts since he’s caught off guard to its meaning. Once he closes his eyes and remains still in the center of the room, he
finds himself back crouched behind that same soda machine in the lounge at Angel of Mercy Hospital waiting for a break in the shooting to take a few shots of his own. He never questioned as to why the four of them were being hunted down like animals; he fought back the only way he knew how. The arm dominating the gun in his hand stayed calm and steady while the skin cloaking his body crackled with a rush of adrenaline he’s never experienced before.
He remembers seeing a distraught and hysterical Faith rolling Bosco over onto his back and making high-pitched whispery screams as she
surveyed the awful destruction bestowed upon his face and body. Ty had seen some very ugly and horrifying things in his six years as a cop but never one as arresting as this one. Bosco was his friend and he’d never imagined looking at a friend in such a disastrous condition right in front of him. He was torn between what to do. He felt utterly helpless where Bosco was concerned and knew Faith would take care of him as she had been doing remarkably well since day one.
The relief at the news that Bosco had survived the long surgery was immeasurable and Ty thanked whatever being was above that he had been given another chance to live. When he visited him the first few times, Ty kept the conversations on the mundane side, not wanting to burden Bosco with too much at one time. With all the complicated crap he was caught up in Ty thought it best to wait until Bosco was out of the hospital and on his own again. Not to mention Faith made it abundantly clear that she wanted Bosco to know nothing about Sasha. He fiercely objected to her poorly made decision and knew it would come to bite her in the ass in the near future.
Standing here, Ty decides to leave the apartment and grab a few drinks. He picks up his phone and gives an old friend, who was probably sitting and staring at the same four walls at his mom’s place, a call before heading out the door.
“Hey, Bosco, it’s Davis.”
“What’s up?”
“You doing anything? I’m going to Haggerty’s for some drinks. Thought you might want to get out. I’m buyin’.”
“Nah, I’m not doing anything exciting. If you’re buying then I’m drinking.”
“Good. Meet you there in a half hour?”
“I’ll be there. See ya Ty.”
“Later, Bos.”
The bar is surprisingly subdued for the late hour and it being a Saturday night so Ty finds Bosco easily enough at the end of the bar busy crunching on a handful of pretzels. He doesn’t see any other familiar faces at bar or the surrounding booths and finds himself quite relieved at the anonymity provided tonight. Ty shakes off the cold still breathing down his neck and strides closer to the empty stool waiting for him.
“Hey, it looks like you need a drink, man.” Ty extends his hand as Bosco turns on his stool and shakes Ty’s outstretched hand.
“Somebody said they were buying so here I am”, Bosco noisily remarks around a mouthful of pretzels.
Ty silently observes how good Bosco looks even though he’s only been out of the hospital a couple of months. He doesn’t let his stare linger for too long. He already knows the line of shit he’ll get if Bosco feels uncomfortable in the least. That part of his personality was very well alive and present. He takes the seat to the left of Bosco and orders them two beers and when the bartender cracks the bottles open neither hesitate to empty half of them in mere seconds.
“First beer since the surprise party. And that’s fucking depressing.” Bosco accentuates his point by raising the arm with the beer up above his head in some strange toast. Ty can’t help but laugh and really lets go when he sees Bosco doing the same.
“I’ll help you catch up.” Ty flags down the bartender and orders them both another round.
“So, what’s new with you, Davis?”
“Without boring you with all the details, let me say that I found out the truth abut my dad’s death.” Ty sips his beer hoping to quell the uneasiness in his stomach at rehashing the story again. Although Bosco and he had seen each other several times, the short drives to PT were not conducive to discussing such a heavy topic. And you don’t bring baggage like that to a party.
“Thought he was shot by some drug dealer, right?” Another handful of pretzels disappear into Bosco’s mouth as Ty gives him the real rundown.
“He was. But the dealer was set up by the now head of IAB, Capt. Cathal Finney. He wasn’t at the time 20 years ago, of course, but having my father killed secured him the pathway to the top”.
“Why would he set up a skel to kill another cop?”
“To cover his ass. Finney was dirty and my father was going to IAB to come clean about what they all were doing. They were all under investigation at the time by the Bureau.” Ty drags his fingers through the condensation circles left by the damp bottle on the counter. “My father was dirty too, but wanted it to stop.”
“Wasn’t Sullivan your dad’s partner back then?” Ty watches Bosco distractedly tug at his bandage covering his right cheek out of the corner of his eye.
Ty nods. “Sully knew about everything that was going down and what did go down.”
“Let me guess. Your dad was killed right before getting to IAB.”
“Good guess. The whole thing was bullshit except for who pulled the trigger. It was a bogus call and it was kept that way until a couple of months ago. But knowing doesn’t make it any less hard.”
“Was Sully dirty in all this?”
“He told me he wasn’t and I believed him. Still do.”
“Weren’t you pissed at him for lying to you?” Bosco finishes his second beer and pushes it toward the edge of the counter. He nudges Ty in the side with his elbow after waiting for him to answer.
“What?”
“I was asking about Sullivan. You two still partners?”
“Yeah, I was pissed at him. How could I not be? I stayed that way for a long time then realized it was gonna get me nowhere. I forgave him when he proved to me he’d sacrifice everything for me.”
“And what was that? What’d he do?” Bosco adjusts himself on the stool and places his forearms on the ledge of the bar.
“He got together with Sharon Burns, the D.A., and Monroe. He was willing to testify to everything he knew. He could have lost his job, his pension for doing that.”
“Sounds like he never got that far to me.” Ty motions for two more beers and shakes his head negatively toward Bosco. “What changed that?”
“Now that is the best part. I still can see the look on that bastard’s face.” Ty’s sick feeling rumbling inside his internal organs is replaced with an elated sense of closure and he smiles faintly as he continues. “Sully and Sasha rounded every guy involved who had worked with my dad and Finney back then and brought them to the D.A.’s office. They were all willing to testify. I didn’t even know them. But there they were. All there for me.” Ty goes quiet thinking back to the gathered, remaining players in this lopsided game of tug-of-war and the eerie one-shot reunion which took place in the office of the D.A. Thomas Mack, Murray and Vecetti were located and persuaded to come together and with a little extra shove in Murray’s direction, the men gathered around a pristine oak table and shocked the hell out of an almost unshakable man. It was Finney who was backed into a corner after scanning the older but still distinguishable faces that circled the room.
“Where’s Finney now? It never went to trial so where’d he go?”
“He’s dead.”
“No shit? He off himself?”
“Oh, no. Something much better than that. He was to turn himself in the next day at 9 a.m. and that was the last I saw or heard of him alive. He was walking alone to his car, which was unusual for him, at night the day after that unexpected reunion and he was mugged and shot. Died right there on the sidewalk. He died the same way my father did. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy; if you ask me. The guy who did it is still loose. Not sure if I care that he does get caught. Whoever killed Capt. Finney did me and my family a huge favor. He did what I couldn’t do.”
“Damn, Ty. You were in the middle of some serious shit. And here I thought it’d be quiet while I was gone. No word got out about Sullivan
and all those other guys?” Bosco raises his eyebrows in time with his question.
“No. The Brass kept a very tight seal on that. Imagine the circus that would have come into the city if the head of IAB being a dirty murdering sonofabitch came out? Very few people know the real deal.”
“Still in 55-Charlie with Sully?” Bosco asks Ty again.
“We are. I was riding with Finney’s son, Brendan, during the time that Sully and I were split. How’s that for some screwed-up irony? But you won’t get to meet him when you come back to the house. He left when his father’s true nature was revealed. The kid had no friggin’ clue the guy he admired for so long wasn’t worth it. He left ashamed of who he came from. Besides, I couldn’t see the two of you hitting it off so well.” Ty laughs heartily at the image of Finney Jr. and Bosco in the same car. One shift and they would have been at each other’s throats, or worse.
“What’s so damn funny, Davis?” Ty laughs again hearing the faint pissiness in Bosco’s voice. Some things never change. Some peopel never change.
“I was thinking of how much the two of you were alike. You know…hardheaded…scared of nothing…acting before thinking. It was scary, man. Could’ve been separated at birth.”
Bosco flips the bird showing his appreciation of Ty’s comment.
They both drink in silence for a minute before Ty gets on with his second piece of news. Faith specifically asked him not to tell Bosco
about Sasha but how could he sit here, buy the man beers and not tell him about her. Leave out that part for later.
“Monroe was…is a rat. You believe that?” Bosco squints his eyes a little and slams his bottle down onto the bar and it miraculously stays intact. The bartender cocks his head their way, sees nothing to worry about, and goes back to his business.
“A fucking rat!? For how long?” Ty can clearly see the anger whirling in his darkening eyes.
“The whole time she was in the 5-5. Supposed to be an informant for any corruption going on. Then I think she was assigned to sniff out Cruz and what happened after you almost died.” Bosco cringes and Ty picks up on his reaction immediately.
“I rode with her the entire time Faith was out and she was a rat. That’s just fantastic. Came to see me in the hospital like she was my friend. What a fucking joke!”
“I was sleeping with her and I was fooled. How’s that for stupid?” Bosco chokes loudly on his last bit of beer as he hears the exact same words come from Ty’s mouth that he said to Swersky about Cruz almost two years past.
“You alright there? What’d I say?”
“That’s just it. What you said. I said those words to Lieu right after Faith was shot by Cruz. Same words. To the letter.” He clears his throat one last time and looks recovered from his sudden choking fit.
“You want another one?” Ty shakes his empty bottle at Bosco.
“Nah, I’m good for now.”
“Speaking of Cruz, she had an involuntary visit to Riker’s a few weeks after the shootings at Mercy.” Incredulous? That wouldn’t even begin to describe the expression that washed over Bosco’s face. Not even close.
“You kiddin’ me? She got locked up? I bet she met some old and dear friends in there. She has so many, you know?” A hollow laugh burst out from within Bosco’s throat then is quickly extinguished. He can’t feel sorry for her; she’d skipped out on receiving punishment for so much. Time apparently had a funny way of catching up to you.
“It had everything to do with Donald Mann’s death. Don’t know much else but that she was locked up then let back out a day later. Word travels fast when one of your own suddenly wears one of those orange jumpsuits.”
“Faith filled me in on that some while I was still in the hospital. My brain is still a bit fuzzy with the details. Maybe it’s better that way.” 'Cruz shot Mann?'
Ty doesn’t disagree with him and they both fall quiet once again. It’s after midnight and the small crowd of patrons scattered about Haggerty’s begin to dissipate into the frigid, starless January air.
“I think you and I are gonna be closing down the place tonight.” Ty turns his back to Bosco checking out the slowly emptying bar.
“Alright with me. I’m going home to an empty house, anyway. Sully and the old ball and chain are out again tonight.” Bosco looks less than thrilled.
“Same here. About the alone thing.” Ty should be out with Sasha having a good time but obviously that wasn’t going to happen again. “Hey, Pete. Two more down this way.” 'Fuck it. I’m having a good time sitting here with Bosco. Sure the topics of conversation are pretty crappy but who cares?' “How are the two lovebirds by the way? Things are going good I guess?”
“My mother is making sure I know. It’s real hard to get used to. I mean, Sullivan of all people. But she’s happy so I’m not allowed to bitch.” He throws his arms up in defeat.
“You still do it though. Imagine it, Bos. Sully as your step-dad.” He fans his long fingers outward; palms facing the opposite wall lined with the collection of alcohol bottles, like a $2 fortune-teller predicting a very possible scenario for Bosco. Ty slaps the top of the bar very amused at his teasing look into his future.
“Shut up, Davis. Nobody said anything about marriage. A few dates don’t mean they’re exchanging rings or anything.”
“Be easy on Sully. Don’t count him out. He’ll be nothing but good to your mom. I know because he’s always been around for my mother. He’s damn loyal and you know it.”
Bosco shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I get it. I have someone like that, too. I’ll try to be less of a dick to him.”
“Good enough for me.” Ty fills his large hand with the few straggling pretzels lying in the shallow basket before Bosco can snatch the rest.
Bosco’s left leg begins jouncing under the ledge of the bar. His stool squeaks from the repetitious movement. Ty can feel Bosco’s need to say something that’s on his mind.
“Went to see...uh… Mikey the other day.” Bosco keeps his eyes fixed on his fingers splayed out on the slick, wooden surface of the counter. He felt compelled to say it to Ty. Maybe, just maybe, the more times he spoke it the easier it would be to accept his death. That time was not quickly approaching and the godforsaken words still stick in his throat.
“Sorry, Bos. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. You know my number if you ever do.” Ty claps Bosco on the back lightly reassuring him of his promised open ear.
“Yeah, thanks, Ty.”
“I hear congratulations are in order. You got a couple of medals I hear?” Ty wanted to change the subject to something lighter and Faith had told him the good word the day before Bosco was finally sprung from Angel of Mercy.
Bosco waves his hand dismissively. “Faith told you, huh?”
“She did. You don’t sound so knocked out over it.”
“They made a big deal outta nothing. I didn’t want any reward for what I did.”
“Nothing? Come on, man. That was –anything- but nothing. Tell me you would have done the same for me or Cruz if we were sitting where Yokas was sitting.”
Bosco presses his lips tightly together and looks in every direction except in Ty’s. He can feel his stare boring a hole into the side of his head and knows Ty would sit here all night waiting for an answer. 'And I’m the hard-headed one here?' He’s on the spot. He has to say something.
“I wouldn’t have. I could have a million chances and she would still be my only choice.”
“You don’t regret it, do you?”
“I’ve thought a lot about that. That’s one thing you get too much of when you’re trapped in a bed for months on end. And I don’t regret it after debating it over and over. I know what I did and I’d do it again. Nothing else more to say, really.”
Another comfortable silence passes between them while Ty’s digests Bosco’s words. His partnership with Sully was as strong as the one Bosco and Faith shared. And he understood completely the unspoken and unquestionable bond all four of them built from the ground up through terrifying yet crucial seconds out on the streets and from the personal demons each one had to overcome to preserve some semblance of that same unbroken, wide-eyed person who was awarded the honor of becoming one of New York’s finest.
“Listen, I’ve gotta tell you something so let me say it and then you can be as mad as you want. Faith told me to keep my shut…… about Sasha being IAB. She didn’t think you needed to know so I went along with her.” Ty was prepared for an instant blowup from Bosco but he never got one. His body language spoke volumes where his voice could not or would not. The tense posture his shoulders and facial muscles fell into counteracted the smooth and even tone his words were colored with.
“Is that right? Now it makes more sense to me why Monroe suddenly stopped coming around. She was a fucking rat and I thought it was me. As usual, I thought it was me.” He downs the rest of his lukewarm drink and hops off his stool and prepares to head for the door.
“Thanks for the drinks, but I have to go.” Ty leaves his seat and lays a hand on his shoulder and holds him back as best as he can. Ty can feel the pent-up energy inside Bosco gasping for freedom under his long fingers and tightens his grip in return.
“What’s the rush?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me go, alright?” Ty knows where he’s headed. He can’t stop him so he relinquishes his hold on Bosco’s jacket
and watches as he retreats closer to the door in a leather and denim-clad flash of determined movement. With his head down and shoulders drooped he forces the door open and walks into the icy, after-midnight wind.
Ty sits back down in a defeated slump and begrudgingly finishes his last beer and squares up his bill with the bartender. He sighs, fully
aware of Bosco’s intended destination and is sure he’ll feel the backlash of Faith’s rude awakening that was coming her way. He exits the building the same way he came and walks the distance back home hoping the exercise will mercifully hasten a deep sleep.
*******
“Faith, open up!” He bashes on her door hard and fast not caring about his late night intrusion. The trek to her apartment barely washed away his anger and he had to act while it was still rolling through him.
The locks click open and Faith stands akimbo on the other side, ready to rip the inconsiderate man outside her door a new one. Her mind is racing as to what to say exactly, waking up after 35 minutes of sleep will do that to you; instead she yanks Bosco by his jacket into her living room and closes the door.
“What the hell are you doing? Knocking on my door like that at one in the morning? You scared me half to death. Emily’s asleep down the
hall so keep it down. So was I. What’s going on with you?” Faith stands and watches him straighten himself up to look her in the eyes. She can already see he’s been drinking but believes he would have marched over here with the same temperament with or without alcohol swimming in his bloodstream.
“I know about Sasha. Ty told me what you didn’t care enough to. I appreciate being shut out.” Unmistakable sarcasm runs off each word but
Faith lets its heavy weight slide off her knowing it was going to get back to him sooner rather than later.
Another great idea from the mind of one Detective Yokas.
“Sit down, Bos. Please?” Faith moves around the coffee table and sits on the couch wrapping her frayed robe more securely around her. The light from the muted television flickers across both their faces when Bosco follows behind and sits opposite Faith. She’s not mad at him anymore for his middle of the night visit; he deserved an explanation and now was as good a time as any other.
“Tell me why, Faith. Why did you make that decision for me?” His head is propped up by his closed fist as he patiently and softly demands an answer. The mere presence of him being inside her home evaporates the overwhelming exasperation he let drive him to her door and he relaxes the second his body sinks down into the cushions. Or he was too fucking tired to initiate or perpetuate one of their infamous arguments; he laughs inside his head not able to pick which one it was.
“I wanted to tell you but didn’t before because you needed to focus on recovering and leaving the hospital. You had enough to deal with and
I thought it was a good idea at the time.” His burning stare is too much for her to bear and she looks away telling him without words how ashamed she feels for controlling his life; even just a particle of it.
“I coulda handled it. I’m a big boy, Faith. I would have liked to have known why Sasha ditched me the way she did. One day she’s there talking to me then…no more. Do you know what that feels like? Not good. I can assure you. You made sure I knew about everything else; your divorce, fighting for custody, Fred’s bullshit, you becoming Detective, so why not that? It wouldn’t have made a difference.” A fresh wave of regret causes hot, angry tears, the anger being directly solely at herself, to fill her eyes as his profound hurt needles its way into her heart.
“Me telling you about my life was personal to me, Bosco. I was dealing with it and I was grateful that I had you to talk to about it. I can’t tell you enough how grateful. But in the end it was all on me to figure out. You can detach yourself somewhat from my problems and that goes both ways. You can only do and feel so much for someone else.” Her tears recede. She looks him in the eyes gain. “And to answer your question, no, I don’t know how that feels. I’m sorry for treating you like that, Bos. I was wrong. It won’t happen again.” That burning is absent from his blue eyes and she doesn’t have to shy away from the kind yet pleading gaze he’s giving her.
“None of your life’s important to me? Forget who you’re talking to? I would have been of more help if I could have. Everything that happens to you, good or bad Faith, affects me.” Faith smothers a scream that was shaping up to scare her out of her skin. She bites down hard on her bottom lip keeping her swelling emotions thankfully under wraps. She has no idea on how to respond to his last sentence; so she doesn’t. She manages to stay on track whilst her brain churns out what she’s too afraid to articulate.
‘He wanted to be of more help? He almost died and he thought he should have done more for me? I’ll be the first one in line to smack anyone who ever doubts his loyalty. I’ve been told by many that he was the lucky one to have me as a partner; if those same people could see and hear him now they’d surely change their mind and I’d be the lucky one. Maybe it’s been that way all along.’
“I know. But listen, this is my point. My life is ultimately mine and what I knew about Sasha affected –you- personally. I mean, how long
did you two ride together?” Faith folds her legs beneath her on the couch and leans her head on her arm mirroring Bosco’s position. The restrained but obvious anger that met her at her door has flowed outward and away and Faith hears his voice change from sharp and cutting to soft and subdued in a matter of minutes. He wants to be trusted. Scratch that; he needs to be trusted. He can’t do this if she doubts him in any way. She’d understand his point of view if she hadn’t pushed him away when she was pulling herself up from the bottom rung with deadened legs and a bullet embedded in her spine. He would have been there fighting for her, not against her.
“Almost a year.” He opens his mouth to add more and quickly shuts it again. Faith doesn’t need to hear what he was going to say; those days are long gone but the guilt is plainly visible in his hasty downcast glance. There are times when she’s stuck hating herself for his guilt; she’s forgiven him yet he bears that unnecessary burden still.
“Okay, so tell me; what would have been your reaction if I sat down on your bed and told you that you drove in 55-David with someone you
only thought you knew? Because if it was anything close to mine or Cruz’s then Sasha may have left and taken that transfer I strongly suggested. I don’t know.”
“What did you do?” He flashes a mischievous grin which communicates to her he wants to hear some gory details. Too bad she doesn’t have any to share.
“I told her to go far, far away. I was extremely nice compared to Cruz. She nearly clawed Monroe’s face off.” Bosco eyes widen slightly
and he shakes his head from side-to-side as he listens.
“I’d have to say that was the first time Cruz would have gotten my vote for an ass-kicking that didn’t involve her own ass.”
Bosco’s amused expression gradually fades into one of seriousness. “So, you were looking out for me? Is that it?” She watches as he draws
distorted shapes on the fabric of his jeans. She reaches out her right arm closes her fingers around his wrist to gain his attention.
“Tell me one time that I haven’t and I’ll prove you wrong.” Bosco doesn’t hesitate to shake his head negatively at her request. There will be no argument from him about that. “Of course I was looking out for you. I’m still allowed to do that. Right?”
“Right. No one does it as well as you do. But I hate being left out of the loop; you know that.”
“Really? You? That’s news to me.” She playfully chides.
“Oh, I gotta get it from you, too, huh? First Davis, now you.” His “poor little me” pout has no affect on Faith. She covers her mouth stifling back one of her infamous giggles looking away from him in order to regain control.
“Sorry, Bos. You know I am.” The corners of her mouth continue to quiver. She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings so she forces herself to stop.
“I know. I do. Listen…I don’t trust many people and since you’re at the top of my list, I’d like you to stay there. I need you to… to be on my side. ” Faith slides her fingers within his and holds them tightly for several seconds promising him her unconditional friendship and support.
“I’m still you’re best friend, Bosco. I’m far too old to find someone else and start over anyway. So it looks like you’re stuck with me unfortunately.”
Bosco rolls his eyes dramatically and smiles in return of her radiant one. “Looks like I’m stuck then.” He finishes off the conversation with those simple words and Faith understands from his response that things are okay once more between them. It’s what they do and neither one wants to change it. If it’s not broke then don’t fix it.
He releases her fingers from his and rubs his hands along the inside of his thighs and staves off the thrumming building within his overstimulated nervous system. He knows he should leave and go back to home but he can’t find the energy to carry his limbs out the door.
She holds her aching loneliness deep below the surface and adjusts her voice to a safer, more nonchalant mode when she offers her couch to him for the night. When he accepts, her heartbeats resemble that of a hummingbird and her blood seems to thicken and her ears ring from its steady drumming through her arteries and veins. She runs to the hall closet to gather a pillow and a blanket for him but in reality her disappearing act was a cover for her impending dizziness. The last thing she wanted was to look foolish in front of Bosco. She had done enough damage for one evening. Ever since Fred and she had finalized their hostile split, the walls she called home felt more closely constructed around her. Not a comforting closeness, rather a suffocating one. Knowing he was here applied the correct amount of pressure to the nameless and shapeless boulder that was invisibly tied to her and nudged its extraordinary weight the bare minimum so she could fully inflate her lungs and breathe again. She was once the vessel breathing for him and he, in turn, is hers.
A pinprick of guilt enters her. She’s with John now but recently he’s been distant, working more and more hours on a high profile case; quadruple murder or something equally as challenging, and she’s been feeling lonely. Sure, she wanted to kill Bosco the second she saw him tonight, but she feels safe with him here. Of course she can’t count out that her daughter’s right down the hall. It’s not the same welcoming feeling though.
After he gets situated and comfortable she takes a seat on the arm of the couch. She wants to enjoy his company for a few more moments. Her relationship with Bosco never ceases to mystify her; one minute she’s seething and primed to rip his head off, the next he’s readying himself to crash on her couch and she’s finding it hard to bring herself to bed.
“You want this on?” She points her forefinger at the jackass infomercial salesman smiling absurdly back at her from the television. Thank God for the mute button.
“No way.” She clicks off the moron-athon and sets the remote back onto the coffee table. Faith pats his leg through the blanket and stands, stifling back a yawn.
“Goodnight, Bos.”
“You too, Faith.” She smiles in the darkness. She turns for her bedroom but his whispered voice forces her to stop mid-step.
“Faith, can I ask one more thing?” Faith can hear the smile in his voice and if she could see his face there’d be one on his face to match the one in his voice.
“Sure, go ahead.” She slips her hands inside her robe, making out the faint outline of his horizontal position.
“You’re not mad at Davis for letting that slip, are you?”
“I have no right to be. I should have listened to him in the first place. He was right and it’s important I tell him that next time I see him. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to get some sleep.”
“Okay…okay. Go on and get outta here. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Faith pads down the hall to her bedroom and closes the door. Her palms lay flat against the wood and her forehead rests in between them.
She lets out an enormous sigh of relief as she listens to Bosco move about on the couch, causing the coils in the middle cushion to groan in disapproval under his weight. She walks next to her bed and ditches her robe when the living room is silent. When she pulls back the comforter and sheets, the coldness of the flannel material swings her emotional equilibrium off-kilter and she’s once again lying on that floor with the cold, hard tile pressing into her side. Unlike last time, Faith refuses to turn her head and look at him. There’s no reason to follow through with that pain anymore. Faith slides underneath the sheets and leaves those horrifying images back where they belong; in that lounge at Mercy Hospital and far away from her. More importantly, far away from Bosco.
Ever since that night, she’s woken up with her nose filled with the sick smell of his blood sticking to her, her ears filled with the agonizing, labored breathing passing like molasses in and out of his lungs. She’s experienced the sensation of his life slipping between her shaking fingers as she desperately opened his airway and feverishly forced her exhaled breath into his body. She’s tasted the bitterness of his blood being tattooed into the cellular memory of her taste buds that painted the pristine, shining floor where the clutches of Death stood watching over them trying to claim him, but losing.
Tonight her nightmares end. Faith clutches the pillows supporting her head and smiles knowing her fears are no longer a visitor in this room made for peace and rest. Sleep drapes her like a warm body holding her close and that smile remains long after her eyes close.
Next chapter will be posted 4/28
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I loved this chapter. Amazing.
Awesome job... I'm speechless. 
