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Trespass	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 2004 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Shield, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: - I don�t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Trespass � Chapter 27.
Vic lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. It had been two days since the attack, and he was no closer to catching those two sick pricks. Westwood were completely fucking hopeless, and he was sure if he had to see those two smarmy dicks, Gregory and Lehane, again he�d probably be forced to kill them.
He�d gone back to The Barn yesterday for the first time, and what a joyous experience that had been. As he�d walked in it had reminded him of a scene from an old-fashioned Western. The moment when a stranger walks into the saloon and everyone falls silent and stares. It had answered his question as to how much of that night�s events had become general knowledge. The looks he got ranged from pity, disgust, embarrassment and amusement, and pretty much everything in between. He�d been relieved to get to the Clubhouse, and shut the door on everybody. He�d not enjoyed the feelings that had welled up within him at that point, the wish to hide. It just wasn�t him. Vic Mackey didn�t hide from anybody, and he didn�t let what people thought about him get in his way either. At that moment he�d vowed that it would be the last time he hid himself away, and so it had proven. For the rest of that day, and for today, he�d made sure he�d held his head up high, and carried on as if nothing had changed. He�d noticed a couple of times that whispered conversations would cease as soon as he appeared, and a few jerks avoided him, but that was their problem he decided. On the whole it seemed as if most people took their cue from him, and quickly settled down, and tried to act as normally as possible.
Danny had been the only person to directly ask him about the attack, but of course they had a history together. She�d wanted to know how he was, how Dutch was, if there was anything she could do, and to let him know she was there if he needed anything. He�d answered her questions, and thanked her for her offer of help. However, he�d been glad when she�d left. The pity and concern in her eyes pissing him off. Jesus, he wasn�t broken, he wasn�t in need of "tea and sympathy". What he needed was to exact some payback, but at the moment that didn�t look likely.
There was nothing out on the street. Whoever those two pricks were they at least had the sense to keep their mouths shut, they weren�t bragging. Forensics had been a bust too. They had no fingerprint or DNA matches. That could mean that it had been the first time they had carried out an attack like the one him and Dutch had suffered, but somehow Vic doubted it. They had seemed too cocky, too in control, as if they�d done it before. Of course considering the nature of the attack it was possible that any previous victims had failed to report it. God knows how many women failed to report rape. Afraid of not being believed. Afraid of the stigma, and feeling ashamed. Af to to face the whole grueling justice system. So when he thought about it, how many men must there also be who wouldn�t file a report if they�d been raped. Would Dutch have done so Vic wondered, if he�d been alone that night, if Vic hadn�t been there? Sure Dutch was a cop and so should feel obliged to "do the right thing", plus Vic always thought he was a bit of a Boy Scout, an everything-by-the-book kinda guy. Still if he�d been alone, if they hadn�t beaten him as badly as they had done, what would he have done? Would he have called in sick for a week, and then tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, letting it eat away at him from the inside? Is that what other men were doing? Vic was convinced that was the case, and fuck it he wanted to get to those two before someone else had to carry that horrible secret around with them for the rest of their lives.
He wondered how they�d chosen Dutch as their target. Now he thought about it the gunman who�d entered the spare room, and woken him up, had seemed surprised to find him there. What was it he�d said to his friend,
"Looky here we�ve got two for the price of one."
Maybe they�d been expecting to find Dutch alone in the house. If that was the case then how did they know he lived on his own? Had they been stalking him? If they had maybe Dutch had noticed something? If he had he hadn�t mentioned it to Claudette; else she would have said something after the attack. There again Dutch always struck Vic as the kind of guy who�d bottle things up; he always seemed a little uptight. So maybe he had noticed something and had kept his worries to himself. Well it wasn�t as if Vic could ask him. He spoken to Claudette a couple of hours ago, when she�d called him to find out if there had been any progress in finding the perps, Vic winced inwardly as he remembered the disappointment in her voice when he�d had to tell her that they were still looking. According to Claudette Dutch was still unconscious, still in the ICU on a ventilator. However, he�d been relieved to hear that the doctors were pleased with his progress, and that hopefully they�d be stepping down the sedation in a couple of days, and weaning him off the ventilator as planned. Once that happened Dutch would slowly begin to regain consciousness, and Vic wanted to be able to tell him, when he did, that those two bastards would never be bothering anyone again. He didn�t think he�d be able face Dutch until he could assure him of that. Vic began to think that if he could figure out why they�d chosen Dutch, perhaps it would lead him to those sick pricks, and he could have his retribution. Sighing Vic turned over and closed his eyes, if he didn�t get some sleep he would be good for nothing tomorrow and he still had plenty to do.
*

God this felt so good. Every nerndinnding in his body was ablaze. His skin tingled everywhere those hands touched him, everywhere that long lithe body moved against him. The willing body under him squirmed and thrust up against his body. Breathy moans of pleasure were exhaled against his neck sending a shiver of desire racing through him. He could feel himself thrusting steadily into that hot, tight, velvety heat. The body under him arching up to met each thrust, willing him to penetrate as deeply as huld,uld, to posses as completely as he could. He could feel the exquisite building of his own release, rushing ugh ugh his veins like liquid fire. It was so close he felt himself teetering upon the precipice, the anticipation of his orgasm heightening the experience. He could feel those long fingered hands running down his back, skimming over his sensitized flesh. They moved around pressing against his chest, the passion filled, unintelligible moans becoming louder. He could feel himself letting go, his orgasm rushing through him gathering pace, overwhelming him. The release was so sweet, so intense for a moment he was totally consumed by it. Then as the high began to subside he became aware of those hands against his chest; he became aware of the words that had replaced those sexually charged moans of pleasure. The hands weren�t exploring his body; they were trying to push him away. The body under him was no longer arching up against him seeking contact; it was trying to cringe away from him. The voice that had been expressing it�s wordless encouragement, it�s pleasures nos now brokenly chanting one word over and over again, "�no, no, no, no, no�" Startled he looked down to see a bruised face with wide, tear-filled eyes staring back at him. Those eyes were filled with fear and betrayal>
>

*
With a cry of horror Vic woke up covered in sweat, the sticky dampness in his underwear telling him how intense an experience the dream had been. That final image, the fear and betrayal in those eyes, in Dutch�s eyes, combined with the evidence of his pleasure made the gorge rise up in Vic�s throat, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was violently sick.
Rising shakily from his position kneeling in front of the toilet after the dry heaving finally stopped. Vic turned on the shower and without even pausing to remove his shorts he climbed in and tried to wash away all traces of his body�s betrayal. He peeled the wet material away from his body leaving them in a heap on the shower stall floor as he vigorously soaped and scrubbed himself.
Even though he�d stayed in the shower, washing himself until the water had turned icily cold, Vic still felt dirty, contaminated. Contaminated by his own guilt, by the nagging fear and self-doubt that maybe something fundamental in his character had been uncovered by the events of that awful night. Maybe there was a monster lurking deep within himself, some twisted creature that he�d unknowingly repressed, but which had been awoken by the events he�d witnessed, by that act of cruelty he�d been forced to take part in. Was that dream a warning from his sub-conscious that he�d been infected by some insidious, evil perversion? Knowing he couldn�t face going back to bed, he couldn�t risk being caught up in that dream, that nightmare, again he made his way downstairs to the kitchen and made himself some very strong coffee. Leaning back against the edge of a cupboard Vic stared at the memo board fixed to the wall next to the back door. Trying to take his mind off the morbid thoughts that were trying to crowd into his head he read the few things pinned to it. A half finished shopping list, a reminder that it was Suzie�s birthday in two days time, Vic wondered who Suzie was, a dry cleaning ticket for two suits that should have been picked up yesterday, and a couple of business cards. Gazing closer to read the small print on the cards one was for a local garage, one was for a computer repair firm, and the last one was for some guy who repaired washinchinchines. Next to this card was another of those notes Dutch had written to himself as a reminder, just like for the mysterious Suzie�s birthday. This one simply read "coming to fix w m on 13^th at 10a.m." Today was the 26^th and since Vic had used the washing machine yesterday evening he guessed Dutch had merely forgotten to take the reminder down. He reached out to tear it down and put it in the trash when he paused, and gazed first at the note and then to the business card. The gunmen had seemed to know Dutch lived on his own, they�d seemed surprised to find Vic there. Glancing at the now fixed back door he realised they�d known how to gain access to the house, seemed to know there was no alarm system. Looking back at the business card Vic reached out and pulled out the red pin that held it in place, and looked down at the name and address on it, Tom Prescott, 624, Greenfield Road, Pasadena. Going over to the caar, ar, where he�d noticed before that Dutch had his shifts written up, the 13^th was down as a day off, he�d obviously taken it off to wait in for this Prescott. The fact that he was on day shift all last week and for this week was written there plain as day for anyone who cared to look at it. So anyone who�d been in the house would be able to see at a glance when Dutch would be at work, and when he�d probably be at home. Utility workers, repairmen - well Vic thought we all tend to let them into our homes, and while they�re working if they talk don�t we tend to talk back trying to be friendly. Maybe even answering certain questions about who else lives with us without even noticing we�re doing it. Putting down his coffee cup Vic looked at his watch 4:38 a.m., time to get his boys out of bed early, see what they could dig up about this Tom Prescott.
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Trespass