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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 34.

Idly flicking from one channel to another Dutch watched as a crying pregnant teenager talking to Ricki Lake, a woman gushing about how a multi-function juicer had changed her life, and a fat middle-aged man getting far to excited at the news he�d won a fondue set, chased each other across the TV screen. The desert that was daytime TV, he thought with a small snort of disgust. Sighing he hit the off button. The blank screen and silence a relief. If he thought hospital was a boring prison, it was nothing compared to being under house arrest.
Not that he couldn�t go out of course he was perfectly free to come and go as he pleased. He could visit an art gallery or museum, go shopping, or just take a walk in a park. Apart from having to see Dr. Reyes a couple of times a week to "talk through issues and touch base", and an appointment next weeth hth his own doctor to check his medication regime, his time was his own. Of course the one problem with any leisure activities that took place out of the house was�people. Wherever you went there they were. Jostling you, pushing against you, looking at you, whispering about you --- looking through you, into you, and seeing the emptiness inside.
Dutch shuddered, and resisted the sudden, irrational, urge to throw the remote control he clutched, a little too tightly in his hand, against the wall. He leaned his head back closing his eyes, and looked inside himself as the brief, crimson flash of anger and frutiontion that had flared in him was quickly caught and smothered under the dark, black, blanket that surrounded his feelings and emotions. Keeping them under control, suppressed and safe.
Suddenly feeling exhausted Dutch briefly considered going upstairs for a nap, but quickly dismissed that idea. He could barely force himself into his bedroom to sleep at night; he certainly didn�t want to spend more time in there than he had to.
He remembered that first day back from the hospital when Claudette had brought him home. When he�d gotten out of her car and looked up at the house he could remember he�d shivered, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. It hadn�t felt like "home" anymore, still didn�t in fact, now it felt colder, the ease and familiarity of it shattered. Now it was merely a house�bricks and mortar, wood and glass, stuck together to form a shelter. Not that he�d shared that observation with Claudette of course, when she�d looked at him with a little frown and asked if he was okay. His sincere smile, the one he�d practiced in the mirror in his bathroom at the hospital every morning, had popped onto his face, and he�d used his now favourite phrase "I�m fine".

The only drawback he�d found to having "I�m fine" as a favourite phrase was that once he�d used it he then had to live up to it. So that day, sincere smile still firmly in place, he�d followed Claudette into the house with his bags and up the stairs to his bedroom to put his things away.
He�d felt Claudette�s concerned eyes on his back the entire time and he hadn�t let his façade slip once. As he�d climbed the stairs he hadn�t let Claudette know that his heart was beating against his ribs so hard he thought he was about to re-enact the dinner scene from "Alien". The sweat on his palms had nearly caused him to drop the bag he was carrying. Then as he�d walked towards the door of the room it was as if he was walking through thick mud. Each footstep was harder and harder to take. Nausea making his stomach clench and he�d prayed that the porridge and juice he�d had for breakfast wasn�t about to make a sudden reappearance. There�d been an awful wailing cry of fear, and at first he�d been afraid that he�d let it escape from inside his head, but then he�d realised it was still internal, and his sincere smile had disappeared as he�d clamped his mouth shut to make sure it stayed inside.
He�d pushed open the door with a hand he couldn�t stop from trembling, no matter how hard he�d willed it to keep still, and he�d stopped on the threshold. It was his bedroom, and it wasn�t. "Surprise" Claudette had said softly behind him, and it had been. The walls were light blue now instead of pale yellow. The carpet was light grey instead of beige. The furniture in different places, and the bed and bedding all new.
Surprise had been an understatement. He�d been shocked, and incredibly touched, when Claudette explained that her and Vic had spent a weekend decorating and re-arranging. He remembered stammering out his thanks, and vowing to pay them back the money they�d spent, which he had despite their protests. He�d never had the heart to tell either of them that all their efforts, although good intentioned, had been a waste of time. Even now when he entered that room he felt like throwing up. He�d have to squeeze his eyes shut sometimes to try and blot out the nightmarish images that would flood into his mind. Not that it ever worked. The ghosts of that night were too insistent, too angry, to be easily pushed away. Sometimes it was like sensory overload --- sights, sounds, voices, words, touches, feelings. They�d all come rushing through him like wailing banshees, and he�d have to hide himself away in his blanket of emptiness until they�d gone.
He still hadn�t managed to sleep in there without leaving the light on.
Opening his eyes, not liking the direction his mind was taking, Dutch looked at the clock on the video. Claudette would be at work now, Dutch knew Vic was, and he wished he could be there too. He wished he could be at work and other people were the victims. Other people were broken and damaged and soiled. Other people, faceless, nameless people --- other people not him. He wished "it" had never happened. He wished he could be at work, in control, helping those "other people", not one of them.
If he could just snatch back all his control. Push everything else away. Make it so that "it" never haed. ed. That was what the emptiness was helping him to do. He understood that now. At first the growing void inside him had worried him, frightened him even. It had felt abnormal, Dr. Reyes always telling him to feel, to emote, and all the time he was being eaten alive by a ravenous, black, monster. However, what had seemed, at first, like a smothering darkness, had become a kind of security blanket. Duhad had realised that it was all right that he didn�t want to talk about "it", explore his feelings. He just wanted to forget "it�� had ever happened. However, he knew that Dr. Reyes might not view his attitude too kindly so he�d decided to "play the game". He told him the things he knew he wanted to hear, he made the right noises. Anything to get him what he wanted, and that was quite simple. He wanted to put that night behind him and stop being one of "those people", and just be Detective Dutch Wagenbach again.
Once he�d achieved that he�d be allowed back to work again. He knew he was already partially there. Dr. Reyes had briefly mentioned some light desk duty after his visit to the doctors next week, if he got a clean bill of health. Of course it might help if he could get over his aversion to people. Maybe that walk in the park was a good idea after all, he thought, a good starting point anyway. Besides it certainly beat sitting here in this house listening out for the whispers of ghosts.
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Trespass