Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own any of these characters.

A/N: This is my first Third Watch story. Please read and review, let me know what you think. I haven't been watching the show long, the reruns and the new ones of Friday nights. If anyone has any facts or other things about the characters, please don't hesitate to share them with me. Also, can anyone tell me if Bosco really is afraid of the dark? If he is, why? Thanks for taking the time to read this. I'm pretty excited about it.

The alarm clock broke the dark silence of the bedroom with its shrill cries designed to drag even the heaviest of sleepers from their dream filled slumber. It was not needed in the drabbest of drab rooms, though; the room that could be defined as a cell, plain white walls, wrinkled grey sheets, heavy curtains blocking out the early morning son.

NYPD Officer Maurice Boscorelli sat on the edge of his twin sized bed, bent forward at the waist with his face cradled in his hands. Despite the low temperature of the room, sweat dripped down his face and onto the carpeted floor. With a visible effort, he raised his head and glared daggers at the intruding sound with bloodshot eyes. He stood slowly, ripping the blasted machine off his desk and tearing it from the wall plug. He pushed a shaking hand through his hair, and sighed heavily. Bosco couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a full night's uninterrupted sleep. Images from the past year hunted him in his sleep, something even when he was awake. Airplanes crashing into buildings, men and women jumping out of towers holding hands, EMS crews that he worked with rushing to the scene too late. A sudden shiver ran up Bosco's spine, and he shook his head rapidly, as if hoping to send the thoughts flying out his ears. He checked the wristwatch that never left his wrist, and was dismayed to see that his shift didn't start for another hour. Bosco worked the 3-11 shift at the 55th precinct in New York City, the most busy and dangerous time of the day. There was something about darkness, the young officer thought, that just seemed to bring out the crazy in people. Upon returning home the night previous, Bosco had down three quarters of a bottle of bourbon, in a useless attempt to drown his sorrows. All that he gained from the episode was a headache that threatened to split his skull in two. He left his bedroom suddenly, hurrying down the hall to the kitchen, and the much needed bottle of aspirin that never left the counter. After a brief struggle with the childproof lid, Bosco popped four pills into his mouth and gulped them down. He momentarily considered trying to eat something, but doubted he could keep it down. In the end, he showered quickly, got dressed, and headed down to the station.

Officer Faith Yokas hurried into the 55th precinct, juggling her jacket, her bag and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her arms. She was late. Faith Yokas, the one officer with a perfect attendance record, had showed up late for the first time in eight years. Sighing heavily as she rushed to the locker room, she knew Bosco, her partner, would have a field day with this. It wasn't as if she let him off easy if he was late. She made it to the locker room, and was relieved to see the it empty. She wondered briefly where he partner was, but decided he was probably later than her. The thought eased her troubled mind slightly. Faith set her coffee down on the bench, then opened her locker and stuffed her jacket in. That was when she heard the almost inaudible sniffling sound. The sound brought her back in time about a year, when her son Charlie had heard of the September 11th attacks. She had come home after an exhaustive fourteen hour shift at ground zero, to find Charlie hiding in the closet. He told her that he thought that if he hid in the closet, the evil men with airplanes wouldn't find him. Presently, Faith set her bag down quietly, and headed towards the back of the locker room. She rounded the last row of metal lockers, and was shocked into speechlessness to see Bosco sitting on the wooden bench, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees with his face in his hands. She realized with a start that he was shaking just noticeably. She found her voice, and managed to say, "Bosco? Are you alright?"

The young man's head shot out of his hands, and immediately found his partner staring at him. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and fairly red rimmed, but his face was dry and his mouth still as he looked at her, cheeks turning pink. He nodded, and stood up quickly.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little headache. I'll, uh, let you get changed and see ya in roll call."

Without another word, he turned from her and hurried out of the room.

A frown carved itself into Faith's forehead. Although she hadn't said anything to anyone yet, she was worried about her partner. Confronting him was difficult, since she had no actual proof. It was only a mother's intuition; a feeling that something about him was off. As she finished buttoning up her shirt, she decided she could keep an eye on him through their eight hour shift.

"So, aren't you going to say anything?"Faith finally asked. They had been driving around the city for twenty minutes already, and Bosco had yet to make any kind of remark about her tardiness. He took his eyes off the road for a second to cast a glance at her.

"What are you talking about? Did you get your hair cut, or something?"he asked, as he turned down 52nd street.

Faith shook her head emphatically. "No, you gumbo. I didn't cut my hair. I was ten minutes late for shift today. I figured you'd jumped all over it."

Bosco looked at her again for a heartbeat. "Nah, you're a mother. I assumed you had you're reasons. Why? Is something wrong?"

She noticed the concern in his tone, and smiled softly. The man who was normally tough and unreachable to some had a special connection with Faith's two kids, and talk of them never failed to put a smile on his face. "No. Well, not really. Fred's got the flu. The one thing that can turn him into a baby faster than a case of beer is a stomach bug."

Bosco snorted. It was no secret to virtually anyone that he disliked Faith's husband strongly. The two butted heads nearly every time they met, Fred thinking Bosco had too much influence over his wife's life, and Bosco thinking Fred was too pigheaded for his partner. It was a never ending battle between the two. "So, he's drinking again?"he asked, voice tight with sudden anger. Faith was quick to shake her head.

"No, he's been an angel lately. He even helps get the kids off to school in the morning. When he's well, that is."

Bosco's response was to roll his eyes skyward. "Yeah, the guys up for Sainthood anytime now. Look, can we talk about something else? How are the kids?"

"They're fine. Emily's finally forgiven me for missing her recital."

Her partner shook his head slowly. "You know I think your kids are great, but I think they need to learn that they have it pretty damn good."

Faith laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. A mother who can't get ten minutes off work to watch her daughter's first recital, and a father who used to drink himself into oblivion once a week."

"Yeah, well, some kids have it a lot worse!" His sudden anger surprised his partner, and after studying his tense face for a minute, turned back to her vigil of the busy sidewalks without another word. If Bosco was in a bad mood, that was fine with her.

"All units, call Control." The tinny voice spit the words out over the CB radio, and Bosco and Faith exchanged glances. She took the cell phone that was handed to her, and hit the speed dial button.

"Yeah, it's 55 David."

She was quiet for a long moment, then swore softly under her breath, and acknowledged her understanding of their orders. She handed Bosco's phone back to him, then reached out and flicked on the sirens and lights. "P.S. 156,"she said, referring to a public school only a few blocks away. "Control received reports of shots fired."

Bosco let loose his own personal string of profanities, and swung the car into a tire squealing right hand turn. In all the nine years he had been with the NYPD, he had responded to seven potential school shootings. Four had been false alarms, kids bringing in fake guns for presentations, or some shit like that. Three had been the real deal. Bodies of young kids on the floor, coming across a terrified student every time you turned around. The worst part for him had been facing the kid responsible with his gun drawn. Bosco figured that he had such trouble pointing his gun at a kid because in his heart, he understood where the gunman was coming from. No way in hell would he have drawn a gun on a school full of kids, but he definitely understood the emotions that ran through these kids warped brains.

Several minutes later, Bosco swung into the parking lot of P.S. 156, bringing the cruiser to a stop beside 55-Charlie. He and Faith joined Ty Davis Jr. and John Sullivan, where they were standing with Lieutenant Swersky.

"What's the plan?"Faith asked. Bosco watched the school intently, studying the large group of students that had already fled the building, standing on the far end of the football field.

"Well, we have reports from some of the students that there are three gunmen, several already injured, possibly dead."

"Any idea why they're doing this?"Davis asked, receiving a glance from his partner. He shrugged. "Hey, I'm just thinking if we know why they're shooting everyone, chances are we can talk them down."

Swersky shook his head. "Nobody knows these kids well enough. Apparently they weren't even on the radar."

Sully snorted loudly. "That might just be your reason right there. A bunch of kids who want to make an impression on everyone."

"And in their minds, that's exactly what they're doing." Faith glanced nervously at the school in the background. More than anything she wanted to charge in through the front door, and help every single kid out safely. While she knew it was her maternal instincts speaking, she did not doubt the fact that every other officer on the scene shared her feelings. She turned to Bosco, and suddenly realized he wasn't there. She spun around quickly, searching for the familiar shape of her partner's head.

"Where's Bosco?"