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. |
Disclaimer: - I don’t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Trespass Chapter 36
God, he hadn’t been in The Barn for two minutes and already he had to change his tee shirt. Cucusa had come charging around the corner with a half-finished cup of, thankfully, cold coffee in her hand, which she’d proceeded to dump all over his chest. Of course it had been almost worth it just to see the unusual sight of a flustered and slightly blushing Cucusa, her usual cool demeanor ruffled momentarily. Vic just hoped it wasn’t a not-so-subtle sign from fate about how the rest of his day was going to be turning out. Fortunately he always kept a change of clothes in his locker, so a quick change and he’d be in the Clubhouse going over the details of the crack house roust they had planned for this morning.
Vic slipped into the locker room, quietly opening his locker and changing his shirt. A couple of uniforms were on the other side of the lockers talking about last night’s football game. He couldn’t see them, but he recognised them from their voices, it was Rodrigez, Patterson and Koenig.
He hadn’t been paying too much attention to their conversation until he heard Koenig shushing the other two and saying,
"Hey, hey have you heard who’s coming back today…Wagenbach."
"You’re joking," that sounded like Rodrigez.
"Nope. He’s starting off on desk duty this afternoon."
"Shit."
"God what do you say to the guy?" Patterson asked.
Sniggering Koenig replied,
"Well from what I’ve heard either drop your pants and bend over, or get on your knees and open up."
All three laughed, and Vic felt his hands clenching into fists. Jesus, he’d hoped there wouldn’t be any of this bullshit, but obviously he was wrong. He stopped himself from rounding the lockers and confronting the idiots, making himself listen.
"Come on," Patterson said. "That’s a bit unfair…it wasn’t really his fault."
"Crap." Koenig said, his voice filled with contempt. "Calls himself a man, a cop and he lets a couple of sick sons of bitches do that to him. Fuck man if that had been me I’d rather they killed me…Ask me he probably enjoyed it. Always thought Holland was a fag."
Rodrigez joined in,
"Yeah thinking he’s better than the rest of us…smarter…prick."
"Mind you," Koenig laughed. "He must be a good cocksucker cause rumor has it Mackey’s still living at his place."
"Hey you can’t blame the guy…you know if you’re getting your pipe smoked good who’s gonna say no."
"Well not Wagenbach obviously." Koenig said laughingly. "Maybe we should get him to be the welcome wagon over at "The Dugout" for all the new guys…put ole Badge Sucker Betty outta business…After all he must be good if Mackey keeps coming back for more."
At the sound of their laughter Vic couldn’t hold back any longer. He slammed his locker door shut, the sound loud in the small room, making the other three men abruptly stop laughing. As he stormed around the row of lockers to confront the three uniformed officers Vic felt a surge of satisfaction when they all paled noticeably when they saw him, and all three took a collective step back away from him.
Vic said nothing, just stared at them, his expression like stone. It was Koenig who stepped forward, one hand raised in front of him in a placating gesture,
"Hey Detective we were just joking…we didn’t mean anything by it. W e understand it wasn’t your fault." Koenig glanced back at his buddies, and then turned back to Vic and smiled. "I mean you just did what comes naturally…right?"
Vic moved forward before Koenig could react grabbing his outstretched hand, twisting his arm and bending his wrist back as far as it would go, while shoving him face first into the lockers.
The other two men made to move forward and rescue their friend, but stopped when Vic glared at them, keeping eye contact, as he stretched Koenig’s wrist to breaking point, his other hand grinding his face into the lockers. Vic felt a sense of satisfaction run through him at Koenig’s squeal of pain.
"You bastards." Vic snarled at them. "You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ll never be half the cops, or half the men, that Detective Wagenbach is…All you’re good for is shooting off your mouths and writing traffic tickets, and if you don’t keep you filthy mouth’s shut that’s exactly what you’ll find yourselves doing…Writing traffic tickets in some asshole part of the city, cause life here will be such a fucking misery you’ll be begging for a transfer."
Vic hauled Koenig off the locker and shoved him over to his two friends.
"You don’t speak to Detective Wagenbach. You don’t look at Detective Wagenbach. You don’t even breathe the same fucking air as Detective Wagenbach. Understand assholes?"
The three men stared back at him with wide, shocked eyes, Koenig massaging his sore wrist.
"I said do you understand?" Vic repeated.
The three uniforms sullenly nodded their understanding at him.
"Good cause if I find out any different I’ll be having a long chat with each of you." Grinning at them Vic continued, "I know some old storage containers that are the perfect place for two guys to work out their differences in private…Now piss off."
None of the men needed to be told twice, and quickly left the room, glad to be escaping relatively unscathed.
When they’d gone Vic felt some of the tension drain out of him, and he sat down heavily on the wooden bench, reaching up he scrubbed a hand over his face.
Shit, he should’ve known things weren’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. He’d hoped that Dutch’s return to work would pass as relatively unremarked as his had. After he’d come back there’d been a few hushed conversations and uncomfortable moments, but it had seemed to pass after a couple of days, and things had returned to normal. Vic suspected the same wasn’t going to be the case for Dutch. Those three morons he’d just caught were probably the tip of the iceberg. It seemed that a double standard was at work in The Barn. While his actions that night were being dismissed in a show of macho bullshit – "…if you’re getting your pipe smoked good who’s gonna say no." Dutch, however, was being condemned.
The force was a closed, insular society that liked all it’s members to conform to certain unwritten rules. Anyone who stepped out of the box, or was perceived as being "different", was not welcome. The rules had been written a long time ago by white, heterosexual men. Although women and different ethnicity’s were now 95% accepted homosexuals most definitely weren’t. It wasn’t a case of "don’t ask, don’t tell", in this house it was just the merest suspicion and your life would be made a misery.
Obviously because Dutch had been raped some assholes here thought he must have "asked for it", or "enjoyed it", or even the old favourite "why didn’t he fight them off". Christ it was no wonder so many rape victims failed to report their attacks if this was the attitude they faced from those who were supposed to be helping them. Didn’t these dickheads realize Dutch had had no choice, that he’d done what he’d done to save Vic’s life. God, Vic couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for this. His presence had taken the option of trying to fight back away from Dutch. Then Vic chided himself for that thought. If Dutch had fought back maybe they’d have killed him. Would that be better…better if he’d died instead of surviving? Vic felt a spike of contempt for himself blaze through him, here he was briefly wondering the same kind of crap as those three idiots he’d just chased out of here.
Well, Vic thought to himself, he had been a fully paid up member of "the club" – white, marr a m a man’s man, whatever that meant, and a tough street cop. It was no wonder, he supposed, that some of those unspoken rules had seeped under his skin. Vic snorted in disgust at that thought, and he wondered what everyone would think if they knew what a fraud he was. Married…yes, affairs with women…yes, but a past with more than a few trysts with men, and a present where a good part of his time was spent thinking about one man in particular. Then there was poor Dutch. To the best of Vic’s knowledge the guy was totally straight, he’d certainly never been with a man before those bastards Prescott and Tortora, and he was the one the rumor mill was labeling a fag. Shit, life was a bitch sometimes.
Vic realised though that it was time for him to step up the plate, he’d vowed to be there for Dutch when he needed him, and it was time for him to keep his promise. He pretty much knew who the trouble makers, and loud mouths were, it was time they understood that Dutch was off limits. Vic briefly wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maybe his intervention would make things worse, be misinterpreted, from what he’d overheard earlier certain things were already being implied about him and Dutch, and his actions might just fan the flames.
Vic took a deep breath and made his decision. He couldn’t sta stand by and do nothing, he’d done enough of that to last him a life time. He couldn’t just watch while the bullies attacked Dutch. As far as Vic was concerned Dutch was vulnerable enough at the moment, he certainly didn’t need that crap.
Standing up Vic tried to push his worries away. He had a job to do with the team, and he needed to be focused on that right now. He just hoped his fears would be unfounded, and Dutch would be accepted back as he had been, but sadly he doubted it.
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