"You can't leave me here!" I screamed. The dark-haired figure continued to turn in the other direction. My heart raced and the clench I had on my baton only strengthened. Sweat accrued on my forehead, my face and arms, yet I shivered uncontrollably, as if were below freezing. I glanced down solemnly at the weapon that I held so forcefully in my grasp, and watched as claret droplets rolled off and hit the ground. Blood. There was so much blood. The dirt could no longer absorb the continuous dripping that trickled from the weapon like a river. It pooled into deep, claret puddles and snaked its way under the soles of my shoes.

"Cruz!" My voice was loud and strained; pleading and yet demanding. I gathered up all of the air in my lungs to put forth into my scream. It worked. She turned around and padded slowly back in my direction.

-------------------------------------------------------- //

"You tryin' to ruin my first day back, Mary?" I asked as I plodded up to the desk at Mercy, alongside Sully. Having just returned to streets after a long comatose hospital stay and monotonous two months of working the desk, I'd been eager to get back out on the streets. However, a rape wasn't on the welcome back list. I gritted my teeth.

"Still keepin' that cheery morale up, now?" Sully asked, grinning bitterly.

I frowned. All the negative aspects of the shift had come barreling forward full-force. It was a dark reminder of how mentally challenging the job was, though I'd been determined to stay rather upbeat throughout the day. Unfortunately, a drunk and disorderly complaint, two domestics, three false business alarms and a rape later, my attempts were proving obsolete.

I stared at Proctor. Her expression looked especially grave. A bad feeling engulfed me, and I nervously shifted my weight and tried to lighten the mood. "What, you couldn't have called Davis and… and that new rookie?" I looked at Sully. "Fooney, right?"

Sully laughed. "Finney."

"Finney, Fooney. Same thing." I turned back to the nurse. "Me an' Sul were gonna take a lunch…."

Proctor interrupted. "I called you two, because…" she trailed off, seeming unsure of how to state things.

I shook my head impatiently. "Because what?"

It was obvious that she wouldn't be able to finish her sentence. Instead, she shoved a clipboard onto the counter and under my hand, and then turned and walked away. Befuddled, I glanced at Sully for some sort of answer. He just shrugged and pointed to the paper before me, hinting that I should look at it. Tentatively, I shifted my eyes to the black print, my mouth slacking open in dread as my view fell over the name.

"Sullllly," I whimpered. "Sullllly."

A concerned look spread over his face, and he leaned forward to read. "Oh, Bosco," he croaked with a sad sigh. He glanced at me as if waiting for a reaction. I clutched the clipboard tightly in my hand, and then abruptly raised it and slammed it onto the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" I shrieked, briskly walking into the hall and scanning the doors for the right room number. I could feel Sully's eyes on me as he followed closely behind. Finally spotting the door, I rushed up to it, all set to burst in. But instead, I stopped short and stood nervously outside, peering through a slat in the blinds behind the glass, my eyes locking onto her figure. She was perched precariously on the edge of the bed, looking as fragile as china. I was frozen; incapable of knowing what to do. It was an unsettling feeling, as I was normally the first to have a solution. This, however, was something I had never, ever in thirteen years prepared myself for.

"What do I do?" I looked at Sully, who stood next to me, his appearance somber.

Mournfully, he motioned to the door. "Go in," he encouraged softly. "Go."

----------------------------- //

"I can't do this," she whined. Her voice was unsteady and it quivered with each subsequent word. I followed her appalled gaze as it slowly wandered to the ground and fell upon the human-like heap. I locked my eyes on hers and attempted with all my might to draw them up. Don't look at it, I willed. Don't look at it. It was most likely a coincidence when her attention did shift from the lifeless body and back to me. She began to shake her head wildly.

"I can't do it, Bosco," she continued shaking her head and chanting. "Can't. Can't. Can't do it."

My heart raced faster, pounded harder. I was cutting off my own circulation by grasping and holding the metal in my fist. Angrily I stepped forward, just missing the victim as he lay before my feet. "You have to do this," I started. I raised an accusing finger to her face. "You told me you'd help me. You can't leave now, Cruz. Not now."

She backed away from my unpredictable hand. I looked at her intently, shocked at what I saw. It wasn't the tears streaming down her reddened cheeks, or the nervous sweat encasing her neck - instead it was the worried, brisk way she stepped backward, and instead, it was the fear in her eyes as they remained planted on mine, not willing to let me out her sight. What had I done? She was afraid of me. She'd witnessed what I was capable of, and she was scared. Terrified, even.

A grave pit gathered in my stomach and I knelt over to ease the sudden weight. She leapt back and a small shriek escaped her lips. I rose slowly to an upright position and again faced her, this time laughing scornfully. I raised my baton.

"You're afraid?" I stepped toward her, and I supposed I seemed menacing. She backed up faster. "You're afraid of me?" I spun around and landed the weapon hard on the body that still lay planted behind us on the alley ground.

"I'm gonna leave, Bosco," she whispered.

Angrily, I turned. "You're not going anywhere," I hissed. "Not until you finish this. You promised me!" My voice was less threatening now, and more pleading. I felt as if I were going to cry. My face stung. The pit in my stomach grew heavier; the pain in my tightly-bawled fist was unyielding. Was this how a murderer felt? Scared and yet remorseless; angry, cold and desperate?

"I can't do it again, Bosco." She stopped walking and grappled around her waist for her radio. "I did it for Yokas…once…and I can't do it again." Her words were calculated and slow. I'd never seen her this way before. The person standing before me wasn't the hardcore-cuts-corners-doesn't-take-shit Sergeant I had met two years ago. Instead, what I saw was an alarmed and frail cop fearing for her life.

Her words caught my attention and I peered deeply at her. "What do you mean? You did what for Faith?"

She shook her head and urgently found her words. "When she killed Mann. And I took the hit. I covered it - I didn't say anything…" She trailed off and nearly lost her grip on her radio.

What? Her words echoed in my head and I frenetically tried to put two and two together; to try and figure out what she was saying. But my mind was at war with itself, and there was no side that would accept the information. For the moment, I had to ignore it.

---------------------------------------------------- //

Apprehensively, I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. I glanced back at Sully before slipping in and letting the door close gently behind me. I crept slowly toward her; each step closer comparable to torture. Locks of her golden hair clung to her heartbreaking tear-stained face. I stopped a couple feet before her, unable to speak.

Slowly, she raised her head to meet my concerned gaze. I felt as if my legs were going to buckle and collapse under my weight as I watched fresh tears well up in her eyes, balance precariously on her eyelids and finally pour over and stream down her face. Without hesitation, I stepped forward and enveloped her in my arms. She slid her hands around my neck and I quickly felt her entire body go limp in my hold as she cried against my shoulder.

I glanced toward the window at Sully, who was still watching forlornly from the hall, and then turned my head. Neither knew, but my face swiftly twisted in sorrow and the tears fell from my own face in uncontainable deluges.

Someone was going to pay for this.

-------------------------------------- //

Again she shook her head. "So I can't do this, Bosco. I can't lie for you,"

"Why not?" I asked fiercely, hoping if tears would not sway her, then maybe a reinvented violence would.

She pointed to the man who lay in a pool of crimson at our feet. "You killed a cop, Bosco," she cried incredulously. "You killed him…"

Her sentence felt attacking. Offended, I yanked her arm closer to the body. "No!" I shrieked, pulling her closer. "That's not a cop. It's a rapist. It's a --"

She cut me off. "It's a person, and you ---"

"I didn't do anything!" I screamed defensively. I squeezed the baton so hard my hand finally went numb, and I dropped the weapon to the ground. I had to make her understand. I had to make her finish what she'd promised to do. I inched closer.

----------------------------------------------- //

Sully pulled the RMP up outside of my apartment, came to a halt and turned off the ignition. He opened his door and walked toward the back, opening the door for us.

Carefully, I began to climb out, my hand locked in hers as I slowly guided her onto the sidewalk and toward the entrance. I nodded to Sully before entering.

"Thanks," I called softly. "I'll be out…"

"Take your time," he returned, starting to climb back into the squad. "I told Central we went 10-63."

----------------------------------------------- //

"I don't need to stay here," she assured, taking a seat. I knew she was trying to sound confident, but she was having a difficult time keeping up the veneer.

"Yeah, you do," I replied.

"No, I don't," she repeated, beginning to sound defensive.

"I don't want you to be alone," I declared, heading for the door. "Now I'm goin' back to the House. I - I," I stammered. "I have something to do."

Her head flew up. She wasn't stupid. "Bosco, don't do something you're gonna regret…" She warned.

"I'm only gonna regret it if I don't do something," I yanked the door open, slipped out and pulled it shut behind me. I rushed out to meet Sully, hell-bent on not heeding her pleas.

"We're goin' back to the House, Sul," I told him, quickly sliding into the passenger seat.

"Why?" he prompted, starting the car and throwing it in gear.

"Don't ask questions, Sully. Just drive." I ordered.

--------------------------------------- //

"One word, Cruz," I began, lowering my voice. "Warner."

She turned her head at my comparison of the situations.

"Yeah," I continued, keeping my stare. "I heard he never made it outta Rikers." I tilted my head and sneered, "Not alive, anyway."

"That was different," She started, and I could tell she was frantically searching for words with which to build a defense.

"No! This is no different, Maritza. If anything, this is worse." I motioned with my hand to emphasize. "This is worse."

"How can you say that?" She squeaked, sounding hurt.

"Because you set yourself up for that; you brought it on yourself! But she - she - didn't do anything. An' this, this, jagoff," I pointed to the bloody heap. "Wouldn't even have gone to trial, Cruz. And you know it. An' he would've won even if he did. They'd have taken his clean-ass, good cop background and made him look like some outstanding humanitarian. An' meanwhile my partner's every single infraction would've been scrutinized, turned over a hundred times, until she'd have no choice but to just give up. Because that's how the system works, Cruz. You're senior, you know how it goes. The bastards like this get off and then good people get screwed. That's how it is, right?"

She stood, rocking slowly back on her heel, processing my words.

"If you hadn't gotten your boys to take care of Warner, he'd be out by now, wouldn't he? A free man… That isn't justice." I shook my head erratically and again motioned to man lying lifelessly on the ground. "That," I said. "That is justice."

Her eyes darted to the ground and then up to me, and it seemed she was starting to accept it.

"You call it in, Cruz," I instructed, motioning to her radio. "But you wait until I'm around that corner." I pointed down the alley. "I was never here."

She finally nodded, still quivering nervously. I slowly weaved around her, and carefully stepped over the corpse, taking only a few steps to ensure she didn't send the wrong message over the radio.

"Five-five Crime Sergeant, we have a DOA at this location…"

I didn't wait for her to finish. With that, I picked up my feet and bolted, sprinting to my apartment and not once stopping.

----------------------------------------------------------- //

"Oh look," Finney announced upon seeing the two of us enter. "How was your two hour lunch?" He looked at Davis who appeared somewhat amused by his observation.

"Mind your own business, Finney," Sully growled. "You two aren't doin' a helluva lotta good not bein' out on the streets now, are you?"

"We got a prisoner," Finney excused. "Davis just put him holding."

Suddenly, Lieu interrupted. "Two-hour lunch?"

Finney piped up. "Yeah, boss," he looked at me and Sully. "55-David's been ducking calls for two hours."

"Is that right?" Lieu questioned.

The damn rookie. Had I not been in such a robotic, determined state I'd have lectured Davis on how to give him a swift kick in the ass.

We turned our attention to Swersky. Our grim expressions must have summed it up. He scanned our faces for an answer. Sully stepped up to his desk, shifting his eyes to me and then to Lieu. I nodded at him and then slowly headed to the stairs, giving Davis a slight wave on my way. As I climbed the few steps, I cringed as I heard Sully discreetly giving Lieu the news, and then continued on my way.

I searched around with my eyes, and then peeked into each neighboring room until I took notice of Cruz, bent over her desk and writing furiously on a sheet of paper. I stepped inside.

If someone were to ask me exactly what I was planning on doing at that moment, I'm unsure if I could've answered. I wasn't even sure myself.

"Cruz."

She looked up from her paperwork. "Bosco," she said, sounding surprised. Her voice was welcoming and friendly. Had I really been as lucky as to have caught her in one of her rare good moods?

"Santiago here?" I inquired.

She shook her head. "I'm workin' solo today."

I'd never encountered such luck. Good mood, no partner. Opportune time.

I looked at her gravely. "I need a favor."

-------------------------------------------------- //

My breaths were ragged as I burst loudly into my apartment, effete from my run. I ignored her burning stare and stumbled into the bathroom, collapsing onto my knees on the cold tile. I slid over the rounded edge of the shower and fumbled recklessly with the faucet, struggling until a burst of scalding water poured from the shower head. Steam quickly enveloped the room, and water fiercely attacked my arms. I watched, my vision blurred by sweat and tears, as the discolored liquid got lost in the water, circled the drain and then disappeared. I attempted to heave myself over the side, but to no avail. Clean out of breath, I left my arms dangling beneath the steady downpour and took one desperate gasp after another. The dampness of my shirt made it cling to me and for a split second, I glanced down at the soaked garment; the ominous stain spread about the entire front. It was so incredibly drenched, that I watched as crimson drops trickled onto my jeans and were slowly absorbed by the material.

------------------------------------------ //

"We're talking about a cop," Cruz whispered in disbelief.

"I know."

"From the 38th?"

I nodded.

She bit her lip. "Bosco…"

"Listen," I begged. "This won't be on you. I swear. Just tell Lieu you're taking me home. No uniform. No nothing. Just a routine DOA. I'll be gone by the time the Detectives get there. No questions asked."

"He's not on the clock?"

I shook my head. "He works Graveyard."

I observed her body language. She fidgeted around nervously. I dreaded her answer.

"Come on, Cruz," I pleaded. "Everything I've done for you,"

"What have you done for me?" she scoffed.

"Oh, you want me to make a list?" I eyed her. She had a nerve questioning the favors I'd done for her. How many times I'd saved her ass. How many times I'd put her corner-cutting errors on me. "I can make you look bad, Sarge. Real bad."

"Is that a threat?"

I shrugged. "You're the only one that can help me."

She darted her eyes around the room and into the hall. Once satisfied that no one was there, she charily gave in. "Okay."

"Cruz is taking me home, Lieu," I called, as I passed his desk on the way out of the House. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked toward the door with Cruz in tow.

"Okay," he called, with a sense of understanding in his voice.

I didn't bother to respond - for my mind was too set on what I planned on committing. Instead I simply held the door open for Cruz and then made my way out behind her. Together we headed to her car.

She glanced over at me as she turned the ignition and we began to back out. I could sense that she was about to talk, and I braced myself for her question.

"You sure about this?"

I swallowed hard. The last thing I needed was someone to question me; to make me question myself.

"No," I replied, staring glassily out the window at the passing scenery. "I'm positive."

"This is it," I called, waiting for her to slow to a halt. "42nd. This is the apartment."

"And what if he isn't here, Bosco," she asked.

I had to laugh inwardly at the irony of our situation. Just two years earlier it would have been me in the driver's seat, hoping to hell she had a back-up plan in case the first failed miserably or worse, backfired.

"Where else would he be?" I opened the door. "If he isn't here… Then take me home. I'll come back tomorrow."

She followed behind me as I walked up steps. Before entering, I peered around the neighborhood. Perfect. A neighboring alley bordered the complex. There wasn't a single person stirring on the entire block, the sun was setting, turning conspicuous figures into unidentifiable shadows.

We briskly climbed the two flights of stairs, stopping just before we reached the right floor.

"Bosco, maybe we should just call this off," Cruz pleaded, glancing nervously at his door. "Why don't we just go back to the station, you get her to press charges and we get the son of a bitch locked up?"

"Put your badge away," I responded, ignoring her preceding question. I motioned to her neck where it hung.

Obediently, she tucked it under her shirt and tied her coat around her waist, concealing her gun. I gave her little time to protest before I rapped on the door in front of us.

A weary-looking man pulled the door open and stared at us. Cruz and I exchanged equally surprised looks. The name hadn't rung a bell, but the face was familiar. We'd seen him before, I knew we had. He must've wandered through the 5-5 or something. Either that or we'd seen him on our occasional out-of-precinct collars a skel would lead us to during the days of my Anti-crime. Wherever I'd seen him, the feeling was certainly different as I stood in front of his door. I was using all of my willpower possible to keep from lunging for Cruz's weapon and shooting him point-blank in the head.

I stared at him. The bastard could certainly put on a show. All he had to do was brush his hair, put on his freshly-ironed uniform and suddenly he was one of New York's Finest - A handsome, by-the-book officer who everyone respected. I imagined him going to work that night as if nothing had happened. But I beamed knowing I could keep him from returning to work altogether. And I planned on it.

"Evening Walker," I greeted sarcastically.

He shifted his eyes to me and then to Cruz and then back to me. He shook his head.

"Do I know you?"

I glanced at Cruz. Did he really not remember us? Could we really get away with pretending we weren't cops? I decided it didn't matter. Whether or not he knew we were wouldn't matter once he wasn't alive.

"Probably not," I replied. "You wanna step outside with us for a second?"

"You know what," he countered. "You really came at bad time. You woke me up."

Cruz interposed. "You sleep at seven thirty?"

"I worked midnights," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go get a few more hours."

"So you're a cop?" I stuck my foot between the door jam and continued to play stupid.

"Yeah, what do you want?" he asked, evading my question.

"We want you to come with us," Cruz demanded, yanking her badge from under her shirt. "Sergeant Cruz, 55th Precinct." She pointed to me. "This is Officer Boscorelli."

I was somewhat stunned by her jumping in so boldly and revealing our profession. I assumed she could tell how serious I was, and knew what the outcome was going to be.

Walker tilted his head. "Hey, I think I do know you… You two work at the five-five."

"That's what she said," I told him harshly. "Now let's go."

He appeared to be having second thoughts, and had Cruz not jumped in with a kinder approach, I may have attacked him right in the hallway with dozens of witnesses in apartments just feet away.

"We just want to talk, Walker." She motioned for him to follow. "Police business, you know." She plastered on a fake, yet endearing smile. Damn she knew what she was doing. Walker, now not nearly as suspicious, allowed us to lead him outside and into the contiguous alley.

A malevolent smirk became my features. Like a sheep to slaughter, I thought.

---------------------------------- //

Through the roar of the water pressure, I could hear Faith's frantic voice screaming my name. The normally light patter of her feet was magnified into heavy, panicked trampling and I shifted my attention foggily to the door as I waited for her to rush in. Sure enough, she was at the door in a heartbeat, her eyes wide with fear and unsurpassed confusion. They darted to me, to my chest and to the red-tinted water near my side. She took half a dozen steps before collapsing right before me, and my eyes watched as her knees fell flatly into a pooling circle of blood. I turned my head back to the shower and rested my neck on the ridge. From the corner of my eye I could see her scanning my face for some kind of answer as she took horrified notice of my shirt; laden with the same grave fluid. I felt her hand press against my chest, and then pull away. She glanced at her hand, now stained with a brutal florid pigment. The realization suddenly hit her, and hard. Her face twisted in pain and her shoulders slouched. She hastily ran her hands along my shoulders and abdomen, peeling the blood-fraught article from my skin as she searched for a wound - a bullet hole, a stab entrance - anything. It pained me to see her in such despair, but it was difficult to muster up the energy to speak. Finally, I opened my mouth to stop her.

"Faith, It's not mine. It's not my blood."

------------------------------------------------------- //

I ignored Cruz's frantic screams to stop, and instead continued my ruthless attacks until Walker ceased to flail, finally curling into a lifeless mound. I looked up at her in utter shock as the true brunt of what I had just done came tumbling down onto my shoulders. I felt different - calm, yet panicked. I'd released all of my rage, but my blood was rushing and my heart was nearly pounding out of my chest.

I glanced around warily. Someone had to have heard the ear-curdling screams and desperate pleas for help. But there was no one. I sighed with relief.

"Oh my god," I heard Cruz gasp, her voice almost an inaudible whisper. She looked up at me in horror, turned and started to flee.

-------------------------------------------- //

So there we were. Both collapsed on my bathroom floor as the shower ran continuously. Both entangled in each other's arms and both sodden with the blood of another man. Both having been willing to sacrifice our job, the right to see our children and our freedom for the other. Both embraced.

And both murderers.

\\