TORN

(I don't own any of the characters of The Shield. They belong to Shawn Ryan, FX, and their creators)

CHAPTER ONE

It was dark and a drizzle steadily fell from the sky, making the pavement blacker and wet. The light from the orange mercury vapor street lamps didn't illuminate much in the deserted alleyways and streets. The black sea water rolled against the docked boats making a sloshing sound in the otherwise quiet pier.

The Strike Team moved in, cautiously, on the dockside warehouse. They began, together five dark clothed shapes with the glint of steel in their hands. Vic Mackey, wearing a dark sweatshirt and skullcap, took the lead, followed by his right hand, Shane Vendrell. Vendrell was similarly clothed. Splitting up, one going left, the other right, were Curtis Lemanski and Tavon Garris. Bringing up the rear was Ronnie Gardocki.

Inside the warehouse was supposed to be a huge meth lab. According to Vic's sources, there was a big shipment brewing for delivery next week. It was now or never, shut down the lab, bust the cooks and stop the shipment of killer crank.

Vic and Shane gave Lem and Tavon time to get around back and get inside through the door they'd jimmied open earlier. Finally, minutes ticking by like hours, Vic gave Shane a nod and they forced in the front entrance.

Weapons drawn and senses on high alert, they burst into the warehouse. They could smell the fumes of the toxic chemicals used for making methamphetamine. They spotted three men in the center, where all the lights were. That was where the lab was set up. The meth makers were in the process of cooking up a new batch of product.

The men had heard the noise and scattered.

"Freeze LAPD!" Vic shouted at the fleeing suspects.

Shane went to the right; the direction through some high crates one of the men had taken. Vic had charged through the makeshift lab after one of the others. He knew his boys had the exits covered and the third wouldn't get far.

Vic tackled his subject just feet from a staircase. The guy fell hard and Vic slammed down on top of him.

"I told you to freeze ass wipe!" Vic re affirmed, yanking the man's arm behind him to snap on cuffs.

Tavon and Lem had the third suspect literally run right into their arms. The man was so panicked, he didn't even see the two cops until he was right in front of them. By then, it was no use. Tavon held the man while Lem put on handcuffs.

Shane darted through the oversized wooden crates used for transporting cargo on large ships. He cautiously rounded the corners, expecting gunfire. He spotted his suspect's back, dashing ahead, then turning a corner of the building. Shane pursued. He slowly rounded the corner, thinking he would have the suspect cornered. But when he turned, he cussed. There was a third door. It must have been hidden from the outside, for no one on the team had spotted it earlier when they cased the building. The door was just swinging closed.

Shane jogged to the door and cautiously went thought it. Sure enough, it opened just enough for a man to get through before it stopped, hitting against some crates stacked ten high outside. No one would have seen it from the outside.

Shane slipped through the narrow passage made between the crates and the building's wall and found himself in the dark shipping alley, leading to the dock. He saw someone in the alley ahead, trying to hide behind some fuel barrels.

Shane dropped low, expecting an ambush.

"LAPD! Come outta there!" he commanded.

His 'suspect' came out from behind the barrels and was about to make a dash for it.

"Stop right there! "

The shadowy figure whirled toward Shane, a glint flashing in his hand.

Shane fired his weapon twice in rapid succession. The man dropped to the pavement.

Shane took a moment to breathe. He then carefully advanced on the suspect.

Shane looked down at the person he'd just shot, expecting to clear a weapon from the man's hand. In shock and disbelief, Shane suddenly realized there was no weapon. The glint he'd seen, now lying on the wet pavement, was a screwdriver, nothing more. And the suspect was not the man he'd glimpsed and chased through the meth lab. It was a kid, a boy of maybe 14 or 15, who was dirty and dressed in shabby clothing with shaggy blonde hair.

"Shit!" Shane cussed and dropped to his knees, He shoved his gun into his waistband. He felt for a pulse on the kid's neck. He could find none. The blood from two chest wounds was pooling on the pavement, black on black.

"No, dammit!" Shane yelled, not finding a pulse. He hit the kid in the chest with a fist, and then began chest compressions. He did CPR for a good two minutes, to no avail.

Vic and Lem ran from the back then, having heard the shots. Ronnie and Tavon were holding the two suspects for the approaching squad cars.

Vic saw Shane who appeared frantic over a body.

Vic ran to the scene. He saw the kid, the screwdriver, Shane giving CPR and he deduced what had happened.

Vic checked for a pulse and like Shane, found none. He checked the kid's pupils, which even in the dim light, he could see were fixed and dilated.

"Shane!" he yelled. "He's gone!"

"No!" Shane returned, his adrenaline rushing, his head feeling like it would explode. He continued rapid chest compressions.

Vic grabbed his arms, roughly pulling him away. "He's gone!" he repeated.

Shane was pulled off balance and fell against Vic and the pavement, the shock beginning to set in.

"What happened?" Lem asked, witnessing everything, taking in the scene.

"It was the wrong guy," Shane mumbled. "This was just a kid."

Lem stared at the body. "Shit," he said.

The wail of sirens was getting louder.

"Vic, what do we do?" Lem now asked. He wondered if they were going to cover this up, like so many things they had done in the past.

Vic swallowed hard. "Shane think. What happened?"

Shane stared at the body, but spoke to Vic. "I followed the guy from the lab. He went out a hidden door. I got out here, I saw someone hiding. I thought it was him. He stood and ran, I told him to stop, he turned, I saw the metal, I thought it was a gun. I fired. I killed him. Vic, I killed a kid!" Shane was loosing it.

Vic shoved his cap into his pocket, running a hand over his now damp bald head. "Okay, look, just tell it like that. Exactly like that. I'll back you up, say I was coming up from the side and the kid turned on me. You were protecting me, that's all. Lem, where was Tavon?"

"He was in the back, taking down one of the cooks."

"He didn't see me at all?"

Lem shook his head. "I don't think so. No, he was with the guy the whole time. We heard the shots and I left. He was taking the guy out."

Vic nodded. "Okay, we're good. The kid may or may not have been in the lab. At any rate, Shane and me were in the alley, following a guy, kid comes out, turns on me with a weapon, Shane fires. Lem, stick to your point of view. You heard the shots and came to see if we needed backup. I'll talk to Ronnie."

Shane was still sitting on the wet pavement.

"Shane, can you keep this together? Tell me now if you can't and you'll have to face the IA board with no backup."

Shane looked up at Vic, his face expressionless, wet from the rainy mist. "I'll keep it together."

The sirens and flashing red lights pulled up in front of the warehouse.

"Lem, go get the duty officer and get a wagon back here." Lemanski trotted toward the front of the building.

Vic was worried. He'd never seen his friend so shaken up, not even after Terry Crowley's death.

He pulled Shane to his feet. Shane kept staring at the body.

Vic turned him away. "Quit dwelling on it right now. That kid was not out here cause he was late to church. He had a weapon. He was hanging out behind a meth lab for God's sake! We don't know he wasn't involved with the other guys."

"And we don't know that he was," Shane hissed. "He was just a kid."

"Look, lets stick to our story, find out who all the players are and go from there, okay?"

Shane nodded. He knew Vic was thinking clearer than he was. He had to listen to him. But deep down inside, he knew this was bad. It was very bad.

*****************************************************************

The Sergeant on duty took Shane and Vic's statement. Captain Aceveda made it down from the station when he heard there'd been another officer involved shooting of a possible civilian, this time involving one of the Strike Team. It had been too much to hope it had been Mackey, but Vendrell was second best. He would pull for suspension, he knew that even before hearing the details.

Aceveda approached Mackey.

"What happened here?"

Mackey shrugged. "We raided a meth lab. Looks like couple of hundred thousand dollars of crank we got before it hit the streets."

"And the minor that Vendrell blew away?"

"We're not sure how he was involved. He came at me with a weapon, Shane did what any one would have done."

Aceveda nodded. "A fully loaded screw driver, is that correct?" he asked sarcastically.

Mackey did a slow burn. "Look Captain, it was dark, it went down fast. I thought he had a knife. Shane thought he had a knife or a gun. Either way, even a god dammed screw driver can make a helluva hole in your guts."

"Well, we'll just have to see what IAD has to say about that."

"IAD? There's no reason for it to go to IAD. I saw the whole thing. It was a clean shoot."

"How convenient. But luckily, policy dictates that it still be brought to the board. And Vendrell's on paid leave until it does." The Captain turned on his heel and was gone.

**************************************************************************

It was a lot later that night, after all the paperwork had been processed, that the Strike Team was ready to close shop.

Vic had spoken with Ronnie, who agreed that it was best if Vic said he'd been with Shane at the time of the shooting. His story was that Vic had nabbed one of the meth cooks, turned him over to Ronnie and then went with Shane out the side door. As long as Tavon didn't start asking questions, they'd be okay. And so far, he had no suspicion.

It was nearly midnight when Vic dropped Shane off at his house.

"You gonna be okay?" Vic asked. Shane, who'd not said much since they'd gotten back to the station, nodded.

"Look, the board will clear you. This thing will blow over in a day or two. You got nothing to worry about."

Shane looked at his partner. Was it really that simple for him?

"Yeah," he just said. And he got out of the Durango.

"Look, call me if you need anything, okay?"

Shane shuffled up the porch stairs and inside. He didn't even look back.

Shane took off his badge and laid it on the desk, like he did every night. He went to take his gun out of his holster and put it on the desk as well, but he remembered it was gone. His weapon had been used to kill a kid and until all the ballistics reports were back and he was reviewed by the Internal Affairs Department, he didn't have his gun. He took off the empty side holster and set it on the desk.

He went out of habit to the fridge and got a beer. Then back to the living room. He untucked his blue denim shirt from his jeans and unbuttoned it but didn't take it off. He sat down on the couch, put his boots up on the scarred coffee table and lit a cigarette. He found he was down to his last one. The night had been so stressful he'd smoked more than he usually did.

Was this what it all came down to? The life of some kid, whose name he didn't even know, was only as valuable as weather or not he still had a job? Was it as easy as Vic made it, to just dismiss? That kid had been somebody's son. Somebody loved him. Now somebody would have to bury him. What kind of a line was there between being a cop and being a paid executioner?

Shane's mind was reeling. He couldn't stay here. He would drive himself nuts or drink himself into a coma. Before he could do either, he grabbed his keys. Leaving the rest of the beer and not bothering to button his shirt, Shane ran from the house.

***************************************************************************
Stefanie Lee Knight was sleeping soundly when her doorbell rang. She groggily pulled herself from bed and the dream she was having. She clicked on a lamp. Who the hell could it be at nearly one in the morning?

She made her way to the impatient bell-ringing caller at the front door.

Upon looking out the peephole, she wasn't too surprised to see Shane. She was however surprised to see how bad he looked, his clothes disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, and his face tired and pale. She quickly opened the door.

Shane stood there, looking a bit like a lost puppy. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I woke you."

Stevie shook her head. "It's okay. Come in."

Stevie and Shane hadn't been as close lately as they had once been. They had dealt as best they both could, although separately, with the miscarriage of their baby. But they hadn't returned to any kind of relationship yet. And neither was sure what the other wanted. Not the kind of hurt that a romantic relationship would leave, that was certain enough. Maybe if either one of them would stop being stubborn for one minute and talk to the other, they might find out what there was left, but neither knew how to start.

Shane looked at Stevie, in her gray pajama bottoms and tank top. Somehow he saw her as a ten year old girl, his best childhood friend; the one he had comforted when she ran over to his house, afraid of the thunder and lightning; the one who'd held him after his grandmother died; the little girl who had bruises on her back after her father beat her. He missed his friend. He wanted her back.

"What happened?" she asked, going with him into the living room and turning on a lamp.

Shane sank down onto the couch. "I killed a kid."

Stevie sat beside him. She had known it had to be something like that, something at work, something bad. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked softly.

"I thought he was a suspect. I thought he had a gun. I shot him. A fifteen year old kid with a screw driver."

"How bad does it look?"

Shane shrugged. "Vic's backing me up."

Stevie nodded. She was well aware of how the Strike Team took care of each other. She knew Vic wouldn't let Shane take much heat over it. So that part didn't worry her. Shane's state of mind however did. He was torn up. They sat there for a while without talking. It was something they had always been able to do. It was comfortable silence.

"You want me to make you something to eat?" she finally asked.

Shane shook his head no. "I just didn't want to be alone."

Stevie laid a hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture of comfort. "You can always come to me," she said. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

Stevie stood up and took his hand. She pulled him off the couch. She took him to her bedroom. She knew he was here for comfort and nothing more. And that was fine with her. That was a part of their relationship she understood. That was something they had always been there for each other for.

In the room, Shane sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. He then lay down on the bed.

Stevie put on the stereo, turning the volume down low. She always had trouble getting to sleep without some music on. The CD she had in the player was one of oldies like Aaron Neville "Tell It like It is", Dobie Gray "Drift Away", The Platters "Smoke gets In your eyes" and the Brook Benton classic "Rainy Night in Georgia."

Stevie lay down beside Shane, his back to her front, and she curled against him, her arm draping around his waist. She knew he needed to feel safe, just like she had as a child, when in her own home she was not safe. Shane had always promised her that she'd never get hurt in his house. And she'd felt safe with him. It was still the same. In less than five minutes, Stevie could tell by his even breathing, he was asleep. She pulled the sheet up over them both. The cool breeze and scent of rain drifted in through the open window and gently lulled Stevie to sleep as well. Tomorrow maybe that could deal with this thing that was tearing Shane up. And she'd tell him why most of her things were packed up in boxes.