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Video	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 1116 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
Disclaimer: - I don�t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Video Chapter 8.
Snapping shut her phone Claudette sighed. She was standing in Dutch�s kitchen having left him asleep on his couch, and not wanting to disturb him had come out here to make a phone call. She wasn�t looking forward to the morning that was a certainty. The phone call had been to Aceveda to find out what was going on at work, and to discover what action was going to be taken concerning the video. He had told her that he�d contacted the sex crimes unit, and they�d sent over a detective to view the tape. Naturally the detective wanted to talk to Dutch, to secure his cooperation in prosecuting his father and the other two men in the tape. Aceveda had suggested that they come over to Dutch�s place in the morning. That Dutch would be more responsive if he felt in a safe setting. Easier to emotionally blackmail you mean, Claudette had thought. She knew what was going to happen. Aceveda and this detective were going to try and browbeat Dutch into "doing the right thing". She knew of course that it was indeed the right thing to do that those creatures needed to be brought to justice. However, she couldn�t help but worry what the cost was going to be to her partner. Moving as quietly as she could she re-entered the living room to check on Dutch.
He�d fallen asleep with his long body crammed into a corner of the couch. Even in his sleep he looked unhappy, Claudette thought sadly. That was hardly surprising though, the depth of guilt, shame and self-loathing her partner had revealed to her had shocked her. The events he�d related, and his own skewed perception of his role in them, had made her feel ill. One thing was certain; Dutch�s father was a real piece of work. She�d earlier described him as an evil bastard, but now she wasn�t sure if even that summed up the depths of his depravity. Being careful not to wake Dutch she walked over to the bookshelves again and once more picked up the photo of the two smiling boys. Gazing at the boy Dutch once was she wondered how he�d had the strength to survive all he�d been forced to suffer.
Over the preceding hours Dutch had told her what she was sure was just a fraction of what he�d gone through. He�d explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, that there must be something wrong with him because neither of his parents had ever loved him. He�d told her how his drunken mother had virtually handed him over to his father on the night of his 8^th birthday. When he apparently been judged, by both parents, as old enough to take over his mother�s conjugal duties. That had been the first time his father had come to him. The moment when he�d had the last vestige of childhood innocence cruelly ripped away from him.
Unable to meet her eyes Dutch had told her that as he became used to his father�s visits, as he became accustomed to the pain that often accompanied them, he had grown to accept them, and sometimes he would almost look forward to them. He told her that this just proved his father correct, that there was something wrong with him, that he was wicked. He had been unable to stop this feeling though, because although he didn�t likat hat his father did to him, his father obviously enjoyed it, and the child had been pleased that he was pleasing his father. He�d always strived for his father�s approval, but seldom achieved it, yet here in the dark, in the midst of the fear and the pain, his father would sometimes call him a "good boy". At those times the boy could almost believe his father loved him. Sometimes, afterwards, instead of leaving him alone in the dark with his tears, his father would stay, he would lie panting on the bed next to him; sometimes he would hold him. Then the boy would close his eyes tightly and try to pretend that his father�s touch was loving, not dirty and perverted.
While he�d spoken Dutch had resolutely refused to meet her eyes, staring down at his hands instead. His voice was an almost monotone as he clinically related the horrifying crimes committed upon him by someone he should have been able to trust above anyone else in the world. His voice only betrayed his emotions when he would hesitate, or his words would become so quiet Claudette would have to lean forward and strain to hear what he said.
As he spoke the years of his childhood passed. He became a teenager in his narrative, and he explained to her how his father would tell him that he led him on. The way he moved, the way he looked, all conspiring to lure his father to act the way he did, to do the things he did. He�d t not not to, he told her. He�d tried to avoid his father, he tried to avoid doing anything that might signal willingness to him, but it never worked. He�d never managed to figure out what those signals were so that he could stop them. A pattern was established, and he was expected to unquestioningly surrender to his father�s attentions several times a week.
At this point in his narrative Dutch faltered, and Claudette had wondered if he�d be able to continue. Silent tears had begun to roll down his face as he�d told her how, as a teenager, his father had begun to elicit responses from him. He�d used this as proof that his son enjoyed what he was doing to him, that he wanted it, welcomed it. He falteringly told her how his father would touch him, do things to him, which would make him orgasm. As he spoke he flushed red with embarrassment. Claudette longed to interrupt, to assure him that he was not to blame, but knew he needed to get all these things out into the open, and now that he�d found the courage to do so, he needed to tell the story his own way.
However, she didn�t have to wait long to have her say. As he reached the subject of the tape, all he�d say was it had been bad, that he tried not to think about it, that he�d pushed it away. He�d gotten over it, he�d told her, and he�d gotten on with his life and couldn�t see the point in raking over the past.
When Dutch�s faltering voice had finally fallen silent Claudette had been seething. She�d had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down before she spoke. She didn�t want any of the rage she felt for Dutch�s father to spill over into her voice, and be misinterpreted by Dutch as being meant for him. Dutch�s father had obviously spent years warping his son�s mind. Dutch was an insightful, thoughtful, intelligent man, and yet he truly seemed to believe the perverted lies his father had filled his head with. He couldn�t see that as a child he could in no way contribute to his own abuse. She tried to explain to him that it had all been down to his father, he�d been the one with all the power, he�d been the adult. She tried to show him that because his parents had starved him of affection, it was only natural that when he was offered some scrap of human closeness that he would grab onto it. It hadn�t meant he�d wanted the things his father had done to him, it only meant that he�d been a child, a lonely, confused child. She had tried to assure him that the physiological responses his father had forced him to experience had all been part of his cruel scheme to make Dutch feel compliant in his own abuse. It hadn�t been because he�d enjoyed what his father had been doing to him, it had just been his body�s automatic response to the stimulation it had received. She reminded him that the victims of male rape often get erections and even ejaculated during their attacks, but that too was just a physiological response out of their control.
Dutcd nod nodded when she�d finished talking and had mumbled,
"I know all that but�"
Then his voice had trailed off leaving his denial unfinished.
She�d gone to the kitchen then to make some tea, but when she�d returned she�d found the physically exhausted, and emotionally drained, form of her partner asleep on his couch. That had been when she�d taken her opportunity to call Aceveda. Looking once more at Dutch now, at the frown on his faeveneven in his sleep, the downturned set of his mouth she wished she could make things easier for him. She wished she could take his pain and guilt away from him. Sitting down in a chair across from him she closed her eyes, and hoped to get some sleep herself. There was no question of her leaving Dutch alone tonight. Trying to find a positive side to this whole mess, Claudette wondered if maybe this whole experience could be cathartic for Dutch. Perhaps if he could drag his demons out into the sunlight and face them, instead of burying them inside himself in the dark, well perhaps it would help him heal. She certainly hoped so, and with a note of trepidation still in her mind concerning the morning, but with a gleam of hope too, Claudette fell asleep.
- 7
- 8
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