In hindsight, I should have known that the anger and hurt that flared so easily between us was our own way of dealing with passion that we couldn't express

In hindsight, I should have known that the emotions that we couldn't deal with, couldn't acknowledge would someday erupt over the edges, dangerous

In hindsight, I should have known the first time we would kiss, it would be in anger

In hindsight, I should have remembered that to love someone, you need to be willing to hurt them and that you must be able to hate them, for they are mirrors of each other, love and hate, and turn on each other so easily.

"You mean your wifey hasn't told you?" I hear Cruz's disbelieving words, and even though I haven't heard the conversation leading up to her outburst, and that I actually am not even in the room at all, I know exactly who she's talking to and what she is talking about.

"Told me what?" Frozen as I am at the door in horror and knowing that the scenario that was about to unfold was my worst nightmare come true, I have to smile. The references to me as his "wife", "girlfriend" or, most often, "mommy" never bother Bosco, and when we were getting along, are really a little joke between the two of us. Cruz always thinks she is insulting both of us when she calls me these names, not realizing that really I've always been a combination of all of the above, and Bosco doesn't mind.

"Oh, I can't believe this – someone pinch me, I must be dreamin'. No wait don't – this is too good. You are seriously telling me she hasn't told you!' Cruz is almost giddy with delight, grinning from ear to ear. A Cruz smile is never a good thing and the look I have of her in the mirror across the locker room does not bode well at all.

"Knock it off, Cruz" Sully's voice rumbles from across the room. "It doesn't concern you"

"Doesn't concern me? Doesn't concern ME? Are you kidding me? Do you forget I went to prison for this? Do you forget the IAB comin' down on me? I'm thinking it does concern me and I am really, really looking forward to getting some small piece of enjoyment out this whole crapfest of events, so don't tell me to knock-it-off, Sullivan!" Cruz is getting agitated, which really isn't going to help. I want Sully to just be quiet and leave, but can't do anything without drawing attention to my presence in the doorway.

"Well, well here she is now"… Well, that rules out the turning tail and running option…"Oh, detective…. your lover boy here has a question for you" Cruz sings across the locker room. There isn't any way to avoid this moment, the stuff of which all my nightmares of later were mad of. I step all the way into the room and see Bosco sitting on one of the benches. He doesn't look up as I enter the room, but just the way he sits there leaning against the lockers, hands loosely clasped in his lap; I can tell he's tired, puzzled, and unsure.

"Prison? You went to prison?" Out of the Cruz's little tirade, Bosco has focused in the biggest fear of all cops.

"Oh crap" I hear Sully mutter, off to my side. "Come on Cruz, we're going – come to Haggerty's for a drink with us" I shoot him a little smile – Thanks Sully, I owe you one.

Bosco's looking at me by now, his eyes trying to read mine, to see if I am sending him any signals, messages, that will help clarify things for him. Sully and Davis are herding up the stragglers, hurrying them out of the locker room, offering to buy the first round, but only if everyone leaves "right this second". Cruz is struggling with them, but between the two of them, they make up about six of her; she doesn't really have a chance. There are several new faces in the locker room, officers that had never witnessed a full out Boscorelli/Yokas train wreck. Of those present, only Sully, Davis and Cruz had a real inkling of how this is going to go – and two of that three do not want to witness the natural disaster in the making. I take a deep breath, preparing for what lies ahead.

Almost of their own accord, my feet take me over to my locker of thirteen years, kitty corner to where Bosco now stands. He walks over to me slowly, unsure as to what is going on, but he is starting to get an idea that something is very wrong, and it isn't anything he's going to like. If Cruz was looking forward to something, odds were good it wasn't in the best interest of most innocent bystanders.

"What's going on Faith? What's Cruz all worked up about?"

I've played this scene out in my head at least a hundred times, every one different, yet ending the same. I know that I should have told him weeks ago, hell months ago, know that he is going to be pissed that I didn't. But how do you tell someone that you had killed the SOB who had tried to murder them, that you had in turn murdered the SOB in cold blood? It doesn't come up in typical everyday conversation. And the longer it went, the more it felt like I was hiding something, that I had done something wrong, and the more upset I knew he was going to be.

Our fellow officers had apparently decided among themselves that none of them were going to be the ones to tell him, two parts believing it "wasn't their place" to get involved, and one part not wanting to potentially tick Bosco off. Bosco has a reputation of wanting to fix his own problems and apparently no one wanted to tell him that this particular problem had been fixed. Every day that dawned saw part of me hoping, praying that he had found out through the grapevine, the other part terrified he would.

It was irrelevant that no one really knew what had happened anyway – I had shot Mann defending Cruz was the official party line, but everyone "knew" that somehow, for some reason, I was covering up for Cruz, and that she had really done it. How anyone had convinced themselves that I would ever do anything for Cruz was the most inexplicable part of it all. I guess believing that I could have a reason to cover for Cruz was the lesser of the two evils they could believe about me, that the possibility that I could have willfully and purposely shot Mann was just too far-fetched and out of character to merit any real consideration.

"It's about Mann…"

"Yeah, I sort of figured that. She asked how it felt to have to have a woman take care of my problems." Nice work Cruz. Glad to see you haven't lost your delicate touch.

"So, what did she arrest him, IAB get fed up with her "interrogation" methods?"

"Wha…?"Oh no! He thinks Cruz was referring to herself as the woman who took care of him. This is so not good…

"So where is he? In jail? Please do not tell me he's bail or something, waiting for his trial. I'm really looking forward to seeing that son-of-a-bitch go down. Man, that's all I could think about in the hospital, you know…"

Shitshitshitshit…it's worse than I thought. He hasn't even found out Mann is dead. Why could I not have been just 30 seconds slower in getting down here, then Cruz might of at least revealed that Mann was dead. Then some of his anger would be directed at her, for being the messenger, for being involved.

"But what's she thinking you were supposed to have told me Faith?"

In spite of this conversation and its outcome having occupied pretty much my every waking thought for the past months, I just had not come up with a way to say these words, a way to break it to him without breaking him…

"Mann, uh, he… he didn't get bail, no…uh, oh crap, Bos. He's, uh, he's…he was shot resisting arrest…" No! that's not what I meant to say "I mean, uh…"

"How shot is he? Like, dead shot, or like, recovering-in-hospital-shot"

"…dead shot…"

"You're telling me that Mann is freakin' dead?" Bosco launches these words between us and follows them in towards me, his sudden spike of anger propelling him to a stop directly in front of me before I can move away.

I am too afraid to speak, frozen by fear and guilt to the lockers.

"Faith…did you know this?"

I just nod, not trusting myself to speak, unable to look him in the eye.

"So, you're telling me that you knew Mann was dead and you never told me?"

"I did tell you" I whisper, choking. By now, he's standing right in front of me, crowding me, his face closing in on mine. I try to back up, but the lockers form a solid wall behind me, completely cutting off any chance of escape. He keeps coming, leaning in further, arms braced on either side of my head, effectively pinning me in place. He is furious – with Mann for dying, the world for knowing, me for not telling – and it radiates off of him, the heat impales me against the cold metal of the lockers.

"Pardon? You told me? See, I don't think so, Faith, I'm thinking here that I would have remembered that."

"No, I did, I did…I told you…"

"Come off it Faith. It's my eyes that are bad, not my memory. You did not tell me about Mann…"

I close my eyes, bowing my head. "Bosco, I did. You just don't remember. It was uh, right after…right after you were shot..."

"You mean when I was unconscious?" , I nod, relief, he understands "And I'm supposed to have remembered that, that makes it all okay? I was shot in the head and you feel that was an appropriate time to be telling me this"

No! No, it wasn't like that! "No, no Bos! I just had to tell you then.. and..."

"And what Faith? You didn't feel the need to bring it up again in the past 8, 9 months? The hours you spent in the hospital with me, talking, talking, it never occurred to you to mention it again?" His words are like a slap, cold and angry. "I don't understand Faith. You trying to hide it from me?"

"No! Of course not, I...it just..."

"Just what Faith!" Oh please, don't yell, please don't be mad

"It's - nothing. I don't know..."

"Doesn't sound like it. Sounds like something's going on here, Faith"

"Really no" please don't

"Why didn't you tell me" "I, I…" "What, speak up, I can't hear you" taunting, cruel, so cruel, when did he become cruel "I couldn't..." please stop I can't breathe "Couldn't? What do you mean couldn't" slicing, cutting, his words are like weapons "I don't..." "Look at me, Faith" no, no, I don't want to, please "No, I don't know, I don't know" "Don't know what, Faith? Don't know why you didn't tell me. Come on, you gotta know. Look at me" no, no don't make me look "No! I just..." "Just what, Faith? What are you hiding?" I don't know why…I can't think "I did it..." "Did what?" words hissing, snapping like embers from a fire, burning my skin "I don't..." "Don't what Faith?" please, you're hurting me, I don't want to see "I couldn't tell..." "Tell what" whispering, searing breath, stealing mine "I was scared, I didn't want to look at it, admit it" "Admit what" "I'm scared..." it hurts, please, don't, no…"Scared of what?" of what it meant "because I couldn't live.." no,no,no,don't make me see, i don't want to know "What do you mean?" without you, oh god it meant nothing, everything..."Without…I couldn't be...nothing..." oh my god i didn't know, i swear i didn't know "Couldn't be what, Faith?" fists hitting metal, too loud, please stop "I don't know" i can't, it can't, i don't love "You don't know?" sharp, it hurts, stop "No…" deaddeadiwasnothing "Faith, what don't you know. Tell me" toocloseithurtsyou'rehurtingtoocloseyourbody "I can't..." imafraidtoomuchitdidn'tmeananything "Yes you can, Faith. Tell me, dammit" raspybreathingmouthnexttomine "I died…" itmeanteverything "What?" hesgonenothingmatters "…needed to die, with you..." "Why, Faith?" youknowyouknowiloveyouiloveyou "I love you" sceamingwhoisscreaming

his lips crashing onto mine, forcing the breath from my body, shattering my world, hidden, trapped, a shield of denial. It doesn't matter. I can't breathe. I won't survive. There's no gentleness, no love – just anger, raw passion, searing violence. My fingers, clutching, tearing the hair on his scalp, my other hand on the back of his neck, nails, digging, ripping, such soft skin. I'm hurting him, I feel it. It's mutual. Pressed back against the lockers by his body, so tight, it hurts, lock, metal, digging into my back, the buckle of his belt forcing, pressing into the skin of my stomach, shirt riding up. I taste blood, his teeth rip against my tongue. I understand, I understand...how could you want to hurt someone you love? I understand. I want to rip out his hair, bite his lips until the blood flows, flay the skin from both our bodies and wrap us in it, a cocoon, to be born there together forever…

He pulls away suddenly. I have no idea how long we have been fighting our war, we are both gasping for air, trembling from exhaustion, at the limits of our endurance.

"Shit" His momentum keeps him going backwards, freeing my body, and I lose my balance, stumbling against the lockers. He grabs his shirt, and coat and leaves, the door flinging open, rattling the lockers. I collapse to the floor, dying all over again.