![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xtremeroswelliaTitle: Wherever You Will Go series, fic #26: The Writing on the Wall (1/1)
Authors: Demelza and X_tremeroswellian
Email(s): demelza81@yahoo.co.nz and X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to us. They belong to Edward Allen Bernero and John Wells and a bunch of other people that we've never met before. Please don't sue.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual content
Summary: Bosco seeks solace from his mother after a fight with Faith, while Faith desperately tries everything she can to hold her family together.
Spoilers: Up through and including "The Unforgiven."
The Writing on the Wall
He pulled his car up outside his mom's bar, and Bosco turned the ignition off, his eyes falling to the dashboard, watching as the lights behind the speedometer faded out and all he was left to stare at was a stale blackness. He didn't allow himself time to think a single thought as he opened the door and climbed out of the blue mustang. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with the key when he was finished. It all felt like it was too much and he ended up using his left hand for support as he leaned up against the car and let out a breath, closing his eyes as he tried to squeeze all the emotion he was feeling out of his mind. He had to focus, he had to let Faith live her own life. She obviously didn't love him enough to leave for her own safety, so why should he care?
He slowly found his way into the bar, the wind blowing in behind him as he walked inside, sending a chill across his bare arms as he walked over to the bar. He found his mom down the other end, serving some low life, and he made himself comfortable on the bar stool closest to him, waiting as she made her way over.
Angela took one look at her son and knew something was seriously wrong. She leaned her arms on the bar and leaned toward him. "What happened, Maurice?"
He didn't look at her, but slightly lifted his right brow. "It's a long story, Ma..." he sighed.
"Faith?" she guessed, ignoring the motion from one of the other customers wanting another drink.
"Faith, Mikey, Ron, Natalie..." He let out another sigh, this time looking up at her. "I screwed up. As a cop. As a human being...I screwed up..."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "Talk to me, Maurice."
His gaze dropped to the bar and he turned the paper coaster around with his finger tips. "Faith and I were called to a case this morning...this kid was beating his stepdad...gave us Mikey's name, said he was dealing dope to him...so I...Faith and I...we went round to his place..."
She swallowed hard, waited for him to continue, some of the color draining from her face.
He let out a sigh, and he looked up at her. "I thought he was dealing, Ma..." he began, his voice angered, not at her, not at Mikey, but at himself. "Turns out, he was protecting Faith's sister-in-law from her old man...he saw the signs, knew she was being hurt and he...he helped her..."
Angela's eyes widened slightly in surprise and she stared at her son.
His jaw moved side to side just slightly as he moved his tongue against the back of his top teeth. "He saw the damn signs, Ma...and what about me? Huh? Nothing!"
"What are you talking about, Maurice?" she asked, confused.
"Faith. That...shit headed husband of hers...he hurts her, Ma...and I'm so screwed up inside, I didn't even see it!"
She reached out and touched his face gently. "That's not true. You saw it, Maurice. But you can't make her leave him."
A sob escaped his lips as a tear streamed down his face. "But I love her, Ma...that should have been reason enough for her to want to...but she doesn't..."
"Oh, Maurice," Angela said with a sigh as she reached out to give him an awkward hug. "Come on, let's get out of here." She looked down the bar to her friend. "Linda, I'm leaving early!"
Linda nodded and waved at her to go.
"You don't....don't have to do that for me, Ma..." Bosco tiredly said, hugging her back. "I'll just...go home, hit the couch..."
"Nonsense. You're coming home with me, and I don't want to hear any arguments, got it?"
He looked at her, wanting to give her a smile, but couldn't get one to work right. "Yeah."
She nodded in satisfaction and grabbed her purse. "Let's get out of here."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith drew in a shaky breath as she unlocked the door to her and Fred's apartment. She leaned her forehead against the doorframe for a long moment before opening the door and going inside. She immediately saw Fred and her kids sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Santa leapt to his feet and ran over to her, yapping excitedly. Her family turned around to look at her, surprised looks on all of their faces.
"Hey honey...what's wrong...why are you home so early?" Fred asked, concerned.
"It's sort of a long story," she answered tiredly, leaning down to pat Santa on the head.
"Well, why don't you take a seat, tell me all about it?" he then asked, patting the seat.
Faith bit her lip and looked over at him and her kids. She stood up slowly, still feeling a bit off-balance. She took in a deep breath and slowly walked over to the couch and sat down. "Hey, Em, why don't you and Charlie finish watching the movie in your room, okay? I need to talk to your dad."
Emily sighed. "Do we have to?" she whined.
Charlie frowned as he saw the tired expression on his mom's face. "C'mon, let's go," he said, tugging on his sister's shirt sleeve.
Emily frowned, stomping her feet as she followed her brother. "This is so unfair," she moaned, following him through to the room.
Fred looked up at Faith, seeing how tired she looked and sighed. "You want to tell me what happened?"
She glanced down the hallway to make sure her kids were out of hearing range. "I, uh...I passed out at work this afternoon," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor.
He froze suddenly, not sure what to say. "Oh my...God...are you, are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. The doctor ran some tests. Apparently I'm anemic."
"You're what...anemic? Since when?"
"I don't know, awhile I guess." She sighed tiredly and laid her head back against the sofa cushions.
"You're not going to get sick again, are you?" he asked, his voice suddenly angry, like he was that same night he'd argued with her that she wasn't going to have cancer.
"No, Fred, I'm not...I'm not gonna get sick again." She opened her eyes and looked at him, gave him a small smile, though it was forced. "The doctor gave me some iron pills, said that should take care of it. Nothing to worry about."
"There better not be...I don't want you having...cancer, again..." he replied. "I don't want to lose you."
"You won't." She looked away for a moment, then back at him again. "There's something else."
His brow creased. "What?"
Faith hesitated for a second. "I've been doing some thinking...about what how you've been saying that I'm not here enough. For you and the kids."
"You have?"
She nodded slightly. "Yeah, and...I've been thinking about cutting back on my hours at work." Faith studied him, waited for his reaction.
A confused but happy smile stretched over his face. "You're...you're serious?"
"Yeah. Is that okay with you?" she asked softly, uncertain.
"Yeah, of course...you know it is...this is...it's what I've been hoping you'd do for...for ages now...I'm happy..." he replied, excitedly.
She felt a wave of relief wash over her and she gave him another small smile. "Good."
"Why the sudden change though?"
"I just...miss you guys." Faith suddenly felt like she was on the verge of crying and she looked down.
"We miss you too, baby..." Fred whispered, reaching a hand out and placing it over hers. "I'm glad you finally decided to do this..."
She managed to smile. "Yeah. Me too," she lied.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angela Boscorelli rummaged through her kitchen cabinets until she found the can of hot chocolate that she'd bought ages ago and hadn't bothered to open yet. She quickly opened the lid and scooped out some of the powdered cocoa into two coffee mugs, then added water and popped them into the microwave. She glanced out to the living room where her son sat on the sofa, his arms propped up on his legs as he stared at the floor.
She watched him for a long time, until the microwave dinged, signalling it had done its job. She sighed slightly and removed the mugs from the machine, then carried them out to the living room. "Here, Maurice."
Bosco slowly lifted his head to look at his mother, he took the cup from her and soon set his eyes back to the floor. "Thanks."
She nodded and sat down beside him. She drew in a long, deep breath. "You know, she does love you," she began quietly.
He huffed. "No she doesn't."
"Yes, she does." Angela leaned back against the sofa cushions and looked at him. "But this isn't about you, or what she feels for you."
"Right." He replied in that stating way he used so well. "Because she doesn't love me...she as much said it..."
She sighed heavily. "Oh, Maurice. I really doubt it. Getting out of a...relationship like the one she's in..." She shook her head. "It's not as easy as everyone thinks."
He looked up at her, frowning. She was right. She'd been there. "How did you leave?" he asked.
Angela glanced at him, then down at her mug of hot chocolate. "One day your dad came home and he was...angry as usual and he was...screaming, how he was going to kill you and your brother for leaving your toys out in the yard." She swallowed hard, sipped her cocoa. "And he picked up this bookend and he threw it at me, told me what a worthless piece of trash I was. And then he went out to a bar, said he'd be back when you boys got home from school. And I was so afraid, Maurice. So afraid he'd actually kill you and your brother. I picked you up from school that day and I took you over to your aunt's house. That's the night I went home and told him I wanted a divorce."
"God..." Bosco said softly, looking directly at her.
She gave him a small, sad smile. "But it took me three years of putting up with him to be able to say those words, Maurice. It wasn't easy."
He frowned. "She should leave him, Ma."
"Yeah, she should. But she has to figure that out on her own. You can't save her, no matter how much you may want to. She has to save herself."
He looked down at the floor again. "Not if she thinks she deserves the treatment he's giving her...I have to help her see that she doesn't need to live that life, Ma... I have to."
"Maurice, all you can do is be there for her. You can't make her do anything. I know this is hard, baby," she said softly, resting her hand on his back. "Faith is a smart woman. And she will figure it out."
"I hope so Ma..I don't want to see that son of a bitch hurt her again..." he told her, his voice fading to a whisper. A tear trickled down his cheek as he looked at his mom and he couldn't stop the sob that came up. "I don't want to see her hurting!"
Angela set her mug down on the coffee table and put her arms around her son. "I know," she murmured quietly, sighing and closing her eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith was awakened from a restless, dreamless sleep when she felt herself being shaken. Her eyebrows furrowed and she managed to open her eyes. She blinked rapidly against the darkness in her and Fred's bedroom and she could see the outline of Emily's figure standing beside her bed. "Em? What's wrong?" she whispered.
Emily burst into tears. "Mommy..." she cried in a loud whisper, sobbing.
She immediately sat up and then swung her legs off the bed, alarmed. "Emmy, what is it?" she asked worriedly, reaching out to put her arms around her daughter.
The young girl wrapped her arms around her mother, sobbing harder. "I had a bad dream..." she cried. "I'm scared, Mommy...I'm so scared..."
"Okay, it's okay, sweetie. Shhh. It's okay." Faith glanced over her shoulder, relieved that Fred was still asleep. "Let's go out in the other room so we don't wake your dad, okay?"
Emily nodded, but didn't move first, she just clutched onto her mother.
Faith kissed the top of Emily's head and kept an arm around her as she guided her out the door, pulling it shut behind her. She turned to look at her daughter in the semi-darkness of the hallway and pulled her into another hug. "I'm sorry you had a bad dream, sweetie."
Emily looked up at her mom in the darkness, still crying. She still didn't say anything, couldn't.
"Em, it's okay," she whispered, not understanding what her daughter could have possibly been dreaming about that would upset her this badly. "You're safe. It's okay."
She burst into tears again. "No...it's not..." she cried. "You died...I didn't want you dying...you wouldn't wake up, I screamed for you, but you wouldn't open your eyes..."
Faith stared at her in surprise, then touched her cheek gently. "Em, look at me," she said softly.
"Why would you die on me, Mommy?" Emily asked, crying as she looked up at her.
"Honey, I didn't. I'm right here. It was just a dream, a bad dream," she said, shaking her head slightly.
"Please don't ever die..." she begged through more tears.
Faith opened her mouth to speak, but found this time she couldn't. How could she possibly make that promise? She knelt down so she was eye-level with her daughter. "I'm not going anywhere, Em. Not for a long time, okay?" She carefully brushed some hair out of Emily's face.
"Promise me," Emily whispered back.
"I promise," she said quietly, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.
"Mommy...can you please...please stay with me?" Emily asked, sniffing. "I don't want to sleep alone."
"Sure, sweetie." She kissed the top of her daughter's head again and stood up. She reached down and took her hand gently and guided Emily to her and Charlie's room. She watched with a heavy heart as Emily crawled into her bed and scooted over to make room for her. Then she laid down beside her daughter as Emily snuggled up to her.
She listened to the soft sounds of her breathing for a long time, something she hadn't done since her daughter had been very small.
Faith squeezed her eyes shut against the flood of tears she refused to let fall. And she began to pray that somehow, some way, things would get better.
Authors: Demelza and X_tremeroswellian
Email(s): demelza81@yahoo.co.nz and X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to us. They belong to Edward Allen Bernero and John Wells and a bunch of other people that we've never met before. Please don't sue.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual content
Summary: Bosco seeks solace from his mother after a fight with Faith, while Faith desperately tries everything she can to hold her family together.
Spoilers: Up through and including "The Unforgiven."
The Writing on the Wall
He pulled his car up outside his mom's bar, and Bosco turned the ignition off, his eyes falling to the dashboard, watching as the lights behind the speedometer faded out and all he was left to stare at was a stale blackness. He didn't allow himself time to think a single thought as he opened the door and climbed out of the blue mustang. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with the key when he was finished. It all felt like it was too much and he ended up using his left hand for support as he leaned up against the car and let out a breath, closing his eyes as he tried to squeeze all the emotion he was feeling out of his mind. He had to focus, he had to let Faith live her own life. She obviously didn't love him enough to leave for her own safety, so why should he care?
He slowly found his way into the bar, the wind blowing in behind him as he walked inside, sending a chill across his bare arms as he walked over to the bar. He found his mom down the other end, serving some low life, and he made himself comfortable on the bar stool closest to him, waiting as she made her way over.
Angela took one look at her son and knew something was seriously wrong. She leaned her arms on the bar and leaned toward him. "What happened, Maurice?"
He didn't look at her, but slightly lifted his right brow. "It's a long story, Ma..." he sighed.
"Faith?" she guessed, ignoring the motion from one of the other customers wanting another drink.
"Faith, Mikey, Ron, Natalie..." He let out another sigh, this time looking up at her. "I screwed up. As a cop. As a human being...I screwed up..."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "Talk to me, Maurice."
His gaze dropped to the bar and he turned the paper coaster around with his finger tips. "Faith and I were called to a case this morning...this kid was beating his stepdad...gave us Mikey's name, said he was dealing dope to him...so I...Faith and I...we went round to his place..."
She swallowed hard, waited for him to continue, some of the color draining from her face.
He let out a sigh, and he looked up at her. "I thought he was dealing, Ma..." he began, his voice angered, not at her, not at Mikey, but at himself. "Turns out, he was protecting Faith's sister-in-law from her old man...he saw the signs, knew she was being hurt and he...he helped her..."
Angela's eyes widened slightly in surprise and she stared at her son.
His jaw moved side to side just slightly as he moved his tongue against the back of his top teeth. "He saw the damn signs, Ma...and what about me? Huh? Nothing!"
"What are you talking about, Maurice?" she asked, confused.
"Faith. That...shit headed husband of hers...he hurts her, Ma...and I'm so screwed up inside, I didn't even see it!"
She reached out and touched his face gently. "That's not true. You saw it, Maurice. But you can't make her leave him."
A sob escaped his lips as a tear streamed down his face. "But I love her, Ma...that should have been reason enough for her to want to...but she doesn't..."
"Oh, Maurice," Angela said with a sigh as she reached out to give him an awkward hug. "Come on, let's get out of here." She looked down the bar to her friend. "Linda, I'm leaving early!"
Linda nodded and waved at her to go.
"You don't....don't have to do that for me, Ma..." Bosco tiredly said, hugging her back. "I'll just...go home, hit the couch..."
"Nonsense. You're coming home with me, and I don't want to hear any arguments, got it?"
He looked at her, wanting to give her a smile, but couldn't get one to work right. "Yeah."
She nodded in satisfaction and grabbed her purse. "Let's get out of here."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith drew in a shaky breath as she unlocked the door to her and Fred's apartment. She leaned her forehead against the doorframe for a long moment before opening the door and going inside. She immediately saw Fred and her kids sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Santa leapt to his feet and ran over to her, yapping excitedly. Her family turned around to look at her, surprised looks on all of their faces.
"Hey honey...what's wrong...why are you home so early?" Fred asked, concerned.
"It's sort of a long story," she answered tiredly, leaning down to pat Santa on the head.
"Well, why don't you take a seat, tell me all about it?" he then asked, patting the seat.
Faith bit her lip and looked over at him and her kids. She stood up slowly, still feeling a bit off-balance. She took in a deep breath and slowly walked over to the couch and sat down. "Hey, Em, why don't you and Charlie finish watching the movie in your room, okay? I need to talk to your dad."
Emily sighed. "Do we have to?" she whined.
Charlie frowned as he saw the tired expression on his mom's face. "C'mon, let's go," he said, tugging on his sister's shirt sleeve.
Emily frowned, stomping her feet as she followed her brother. "This is so unfair," she moaned, following him through to the room.
Fred looked up at Faith, seeing how tired she looked and sighed. "You want to tell me what happened?"
She glanced down the hallway to make sure her kids were out of hearing range. "I, uh...I passed out at work this afternoon," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor.
He froze suddenly, not sure what to say. "Oh my...God...are you, are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. The doctor ran some tests. Apparently I'm anemic."
"You're what...anemic? Since when?"
"I don't know, awhile I guess." She sighed tiredly and laid her head back against the sofa cushions.
"You're not going to get sick again, are you?" he asked, his voice suddenly angry, like he was that same night he'd argued with her that she wasn't going to have cancer.
"No, Fred, I'm not...I'm not gonna get sick again." She opened her eyes and looked at him, gave him a small smile, though it was forced. "The doctor gave me some iron pills, said that should take care of it. Nothing to worry about."
"There better not be...I don't want you having...cancer, again..." he replied. "I don't want to lose you."
"You won't." She looked away for a moment, then back at him again. "There's something else."
His brow creased. "What?"
Faith hesitated for a second. "I've been doing some thinking...about what how you've been saying that I'm not here enough. For you and the kids."
"You have?"
She nodded slightly. "Yeah, and...I've been thinking about cutting back on my hours at work." Faith studied him, waited for his reaction.
A confused but happy smile stretched over his face. "You're...you're serious?"
"Yeah. Is that okay with you?" she asked softly, uncertain.
"Yeah, of course...you know it is...this is...it's what I've been hoping you'd do for...for ages now...I'm happy..." he replied, excitedly.
She felt a wave of relief wash over her and she gave him another small smile. "Good."
"Why the sudden change though?"
"I just...miss you guys." Faith suddenly felt like she was on the verge of crying and she looked down.
"We miss you too, baby..." Fred whispered, reaching a hand out and placing it over hers. "I'm glad you finally decided to do this..."
She managed to smile. "Yeah. Me too," she lied.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angela Boscorelli rummaged through her kitchen cabinets until she found the can of hot chocolate that she'd bought ages ago and hadn't bothered to open yet. She quickly opened the lid and scooped out some of the powdered cocoa into two coffee mugs, then added water and popped them into the microwave. She glanced out to the living room where her son sat on the sofa, his arms propped up on his legs as he stared at the floor.
She watched him for a long time, until the microwave dinged, signalling it had done its job. She sighed slightly and removed the mugs from the machine, then carried them out to the living room. "Here, Maurice."
Bosco slowly lifted his head to look at his mother, he took the cup from her and soon set his eyes back to the floor. "Thanks."
She nodded and sat down beside him. She drew in a long, deep breath. "You know, she does love you," she began quietly.
He huffed. "No she doesn't."
"Yes, she does." Angela leaned back against the sofa cushions and looked at him. "But this isn't about you, or what she feels for you."
"Right." He replied in that stating way he used so well. "Because she doesn't love me...she as much said it..."
She sighed heavily. "Oh, Maurice. I really doubt it. Getting out of a...relationship like the one she's in..." She shook her head. "It's not as easy as everyone thinks."
He looked up at her, frowning. She was right. She'd been there. "How did you leave?" he asked.
Angela glanced at him, then down at her mug of hot chocolate. "One day your dad came home and he was...angry as usual and he was...screaming, how he was going to kill you and your brother for leaving your toys out in the yard." She swallowed hard, sipped her cocoa. "And he picked up this bookend and he threw it at me, told me what a worthless piece of trash I was. And then he went out to a bar, said he'd be back when you boys got home from school. And I was so afraid, Maurice. So afraid he'd actually kill you and your brother. I picked you up from school that day and I took you over to your aunt's house. That's the night I went home and told him I wanted a divorce."
"God..." Bosco said softly, looking directly at her.
She gave him a small, sad smile. "But it took me three years of putting up with him to be able to say those words, Maurice. It wasn't easy."
He frowned. "She should leave him, Ma."
"Yeah, she should. But she has to figure that out on her own. You can't save her, no matter how much you may want to. She has to save herself."
He looked down at the floor again. "Not if she thinks she deserves the treatment he's giving her...I have to help her see that she doesn't need to live that life, Ma... I have to."
"Maurice, all you can do is be there for her. You can't make her do anything. I know this is hard, baby," she said softly, resting her hand on his back. "Faith is a smart woman. And she will figure it out."
"I hope so Ma..I don't want to see that son of a bitch hurt her again..." he told her, his voice fading to a whisper. A tear trickled down his cheek as he looked at his mom and he couldn't stop the sob that came up. "I don't want to see her hurting!"
Angela set her mug down on the coffee table and put her arms around her son. "I know," she murmured quietly, sighing and closing her eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith was awakened from a restless, dreamless sleep when she felt herself being shaken. Her eyebrows furrowed and she managed to open her eyes. She blinked rapidly against the darkness in her and Fred's bedroom and she could see the outline of Emily's figure standing beside her bed. "Em? What's wrong?" she whispered.
Emily burst into tears. "Mommy..." she cried in a loud whisper, sobbing.
She immediately sat up and then swung her legs off the bed, alarmed. "Emmy, what is it?" she asked worriedly, reaching out to put her arms around her daughter.
The young girl wrapped her arms around her mother, sobbing harder. "I had a bad dream..." she cried. "I'm scared, Mommy...I'm so scared..."
"Okay, it's okay, sweetie. Shhh. It's okay." Faith glanced over her shoulder, relieved that Fred was still asleep. "Let's go out in the other room so we don't wake your dad, okay?"
Emily nodded, but didn't move first, she just clutched onto her mother.
Faith kissed the top of Emily's head and kept an arm around her as she guided her out the door, pulling it shut behind her. She turned to look at her daughter in the semi-darkness of the hallway and pulled her into another hug. "I'm sorry you had a bad dream, sweetie."
Emily looked up at her mom in the darkness, still crying. She still didn't say anything, couldn't.
"Em, it's okay," she whispered, not understanding what her daughter could have possibly been dreaming about that would upset her this badly. "You're safe. It's okay."
She burst into tears again. "No...it's not..." she cried. "You died...I didn't want you dying...you wouldn't wake up, I screamed for you, but you wouldn't open your eyes..."
Faith stared at her in surprise, then touched her cheek gently. "Em, look at me," she said softly.
"Why would you die on me, Mommy?" Emily asked, crying as she looked up at her.
"Honey, I didn't. I'm right here. It was just a dream, a bad dream," she said, shaking her head slightly.
"Please don't ever die..." she begged through more tears.
Faith opened her mouth to speak, but found this time she couldn't. How could she possibly make that promise? She knelt down so she was eye-level with her daughter. "I'm not going anywhere, Em. Not for a long time, okay?" She carefully brushed some hair out of Emily's face.
"Promise me," Emily whispered back.
"I promise," she said quietly, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.
"Mommy...can you please...please stay with me?" Emily asked, sniffing. "I don't want to sleep alone."
"Sure, sweetie." She kissed the top of her daughter's head again and stood up. She reached down and took her hand gently and guided Emily to her and Charlie's room. She watched with a heavy heart as Emily crawled into her bed and scooted over to make room for her. Then she laid down beside her daughter as Emily snuggled up to her.
She listened to the soft sounds of her breathing for a long time, something she hadn't done since her daughter had been very small.
Faith squeezed her eyes shut against the flood of tears she refused to let fall. And she began to pray that somehow, some way, things would get better.
