The Shield: Look Away
(The characters of The Shield do not belong to me. They are property of FX and their creators)

It was dark and cold and raining. Vic Mackey would have

rather been almost anywhere then where he was: in an

alleyway dimly lit with orange mercury vapor streetlights.

There was just enough fog to make visibility low and Vic's

sense of danger high.

Mackey had been getting ready to go to sleep, warm and

dry, albeit alone, in his apartment only an hour ago. Then

his cell phone rang. Now, as Mackey stood in this damp

weather, feeling rain run down his neck, he cussed that

damn phone and himself for answering it.

He proceeded down the alleyway slowly, his gun in hand,

but held low, at his thigh.
The call had been from one of his CI's, Del Vasquez. Vic

hadn't heard from Vasquez in months, so he was a little

more than surprised to be hearing from him now.

"What'da you want?" Vic had asked, after the caller

identified himself. Vic remembered Del as a skinny little

Latino with slicked back hair and a teardrop tattoo under his

left eye.

"There's a mess down here you might want to clean up."

"Down where?"

"Behind the Hombres Bar by the old warehouse."

"What kind of mess?"

"The kind that the police don't usually want to deal with."

"Talk in complete sentences," Vic said in frustration,

debating about putting his shirt back on.

"There's a lady down here. One of yours. She bought

some bad junk from one of the Posse kids. OD'd or

something. They just tossed her out the back, left her in the

alley."

Vic's heart started to beat faster, his adrenaline rushing.

"What'do mean 'one of mine'?"
"A cop, ese. She's a pinche cop."

Vic still wasn't sure what he was getting into when he

drove down to the alley behind the Mexican bar called the

Hombres. He didn't know if it was a setup or some kind of a sting gone bad. At least not until he found her.

Sandwiched between the back of the bar and an

abandoned warehouse was a pile of collapsed boxes and

other trash near a dumpster. There, lying like so much

garbage was a woman's body. From the angle, Vic couldn't

tell if she was dead or alive.

He looked around cautiously. There was no one else around as far as he could tell. He went to the body.

He wiped back the soaking wet blond hair from the face.

"Shit," he said, checking for a pulse. There was one but it was thready.
He holstered his weapon. He needed both hands to pick her up.

"Goddammit Stef," he cursed as he carried her limp body back to his truck.

Vic didn't drive to a hospital. He was tempted though.

He'd had enough. He couldn't protect her if she kept this

up. And it wasn't his responsibility.

He didn't go back to his apartment either. He knew a

motel that wouldn't ask any questions. He paid cash for

three nights through a dirty bulletproof window to a clerk

who looked like a fugitive himself.

Vic carried the woman's body inside, glad just to be out of

the damn rain. He put her in the bed, again checking her

pulse, then her pupils. Dilated as hell, but they responded to

light. Her breathing was ok.

Vic picked up the phone and called Shane. He'd had

enough, he repeated to himself again. He was going to make

Shane take care of this.

"Yeah?"

He'd obliviously woken up his partner. Good. "You need to

get down to the Pelican, room 33, now."

"Vic? What's up?"

"I've got a package that belongs to you."

"What-?"

"Just do it Shane!"
**************************************

Earlier that week.....
Vic Mackey didn't like getting summoned to Captain

Acevedra's office. In fact, he got downright pissed about it

after awhile.

He entered without knocking. "I heard you wanted to see me?"

Acevedra looked up from what he was doing, not happy about the abrupt disturbance.

"I did. What's up with your team?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't have a team half the time. Shane's been gone more than he's been here. What's going on?"

Vic shrugged. "He needed some time off."

"Why?"

Another shrug. "Personal reasons."

"Well his personal reasons better clear up quick. He's burning up leave time and causing a shortage in the department. He's either on your team or off. Can you pass that along to him?"

"If I should happen to see him."

"And if you happen to see him, let him know that two more call ins and the rest will be without pay. And then he can take a nice long vacation, without pay, for the rest of the week."
Vic rolled his tongue around in his mouth. He had to keep from saying something he might regret later. "Yeah, I'll give him the message."

"And if you've got any cases on hold, close them. We need statistics or this department will be a fond memory for all of us," he said without feeling.

Vic just nodded. He turned and left.

He went back to the Strike Team "clubhouse". Curtis "Lemonhead" Lemansky was the only one there, finishing up some paperwork.

"Where's Ronnie?"

"Getting lunch boss," Lem answered.

"Do you know what's going on with Shane?"

The younger man shrugged. "Not really."

"Acevedra's about to have his ass. If you know, you better tell me before I go over there and mow it myself."

Lem sighed. "It's a woman."

Vic rolled his eyes. "It's always a woman. What woman?"

Lem shrugged again. "Some chic from Vice. Stefanie, something."

"Stefanie Knight?"

Lem nodded. "Yeah. That's her."

Vic shook his head with disgust. "Perfect. That's just perfect," he said flatly.

"Who is she?"

"Have you read the paper lately?"

"Mostly the sports section," he shrugged innocently.

"Anything about Vice cops who got suspended?"

"Oh shit!" Lem said with realization. "She's one of the ones they popped on suspicion?"

Vic nodded. "That's great. We've got brass practically sleeping with us at night, looking at everything we do trying to find some dirt and Shane's balling the Hoover." He grabbed his jacket. "I better get over there."

"You want me to go?" Lem asked.

"No. You and Ronnie drum up some business. Acevedra wants closed cases on his desk ASAP."

"Okay, we'll hit the street."

Vic pulled up in Shane's driveway. He saw that all the window shades were down. Shane's truck was in the driveway. He walked up to the porch. Bosco was lying by the door and greeted Vic with a wag of the tail.

Vic banged on the door. When there was no immediate

response, he yelled. "Shane, it's Vic. Open up!"

In another minute, Shane came to the door, opening it. Vic could see the house was pretty dark.

"Having a Halloween party and you didn't invite me?"

"I've been sick."

Vic pushed his way inside. "Don't bullshit me Shane. Where is she?"

Shane folded his arms. "Who told you? Lem?"

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is that we're practically under the microscope and you're holed up in here with a suspected felon."

"She's an old friend Vic."

"I'll bet. Where is she?"

"Sleeping."

"You trying to get her clean all by yourself?"

Shane knew there was no use trying to deny anything to Vic. "Look, she's had some problems. But that vice report set her up."

"Shane, she's on suspension for suspicion of illegal narcotics trafficking. What am I not getting here?"

"It was a set up. She's never pushed anything."

"Coke? Heroine? Meth? What?"

Shane shook his head. "No way. She doesn't mess with that. She got shot a couple of years ago. She had a lot of pain."

"Prescription narcotics?"

Shane nodded. "It's mostly legal stuff. Good doctor, you know?"

"Mostly ? What does that mean?"

"It means she'd gotten a few unscheduled refills."

"Jesus Shane, she's buying that crap off the street? What, she buys it then busts the jerk selling it?"

"Vic, dammit, she's got a problem, okay?"

"No, Shane! It's not okay! If Acevedra finds out your tied to her, he's gonna reopen any old wounds he can. We don't need that kind of heat!"

"What' d you want me to do? Just hang her out to dry? Let her twist in the wind cause it don't 'look good' to be seen with her? What if it was me? Is that what you would do?"

Vic sighed. It was obvious he wasn't going to get through.

"Look, I came over cause Acevedra's going to suspend you if you have another call in."

"Screw Acevedra!"

"Shane, I need you on the team. Think about this."

Shane paced his living room. "Fine, I'll be in tomorrow."

"And Knight?"

"I'm not turning on her. They don't have any hard evidence. Just one cop saying she's dirty. And her partner who wants to take her down with him."

Vic ran a hand over his head. He tried to think how he could use this to their advantage, rather than against it.

'You have any coffee in this joint?"

Shane nodded. "In the kitchen."

They walked into the kitchen; Vic noticed that the house was unusually clean. In fact, it was spotless. Shane poured coffee for both of them.

"How's she doing? How long's it been since she's used?"

"Three days. She's over the worst of it, I think."

"Can she prove anything on her partner, Jackson?"

Shane nodded. "He's been using a bar to launder his money, the Torro Rio. He's been cleaning the cash for about two years. The owner, Freddy Marcos, gets ten percent of the take."

"Marcos keep records?"

"Stevie says he's got good ones. He knew that if Jackson went down they'd take him too. When the shit started to hit the fan, he booked it. But she was able to get into his computer. The information he'd transferred onto disks was still backed up on the hard drive and she hacked into it. She made a copy then toasted the computer."

"So why isn't she in IA with the disk?"

"Jackson knows she has the disk. He took out and insurance policy. He's got pictures of her buying from her supplier."

"So it's a Mexican standoff? No disk, no pictures and all Internal Affairs has is one cop's word against another, unless Marcos turns up."

"Pretty much."

"And her urine isn't dirty cause it's all legal and prescribed?"

Shane nodded. "Unless they can prove she's been using dirty pills."

"And her supplier? He won't roll?"

Shane shook his head.

"How can you be so sure?"

Shane stared into his coffee cup.

"Shane?" Vic pushed, eyes intense on his partner. "Shane?" He asked again.

"He had a little accident."

Vic could have hit him. "What the hell does that mean? Fuck, Shane, you didn't-"

"No, no. He's not dead. But he is in county with a broken jaw."

Vic didn't even go into the tirade he wanted to. He'd leave it alone. For now.

"Alright, we get the pictures, Stevie turns in the disk, she walks, right? And we get a bad cop so the light stays off us. Give the damn department something to talk about besides Farmington for a while. Feed them to the damn reporters."

Shane nodded. It was a viable plan.

Vic stood up. "So get your ass to work tomorrow, lock her up here or something. Work out the details, what ever you can get form her tonight."

Vic left, still not feeling great about the mess Shane was dragging him into.

***************
It had been a rough three days. Shane was about worn out. But Stefanie, or Stevie as he called her, was a friend. More than Vic would ever know. Shane and Stevie had grown up together. It was because of him that she'd become a cop, come out to LA. He felt responsible for her now, like always. And in some ways, he felt responsible for her addiction too.

When the story hit the papers, he hadn't been surprised that she'd turned up on his doorstep. She looked like hell; thin, tired, wired. She begged for his help: she wanted to be able to go to Internal Affairs. She knew as well as he did that she couldn't. Not like that. And not without help to get back the stuff Jackson had on her.

So, like always, he'd taken her in. The first thing he'd done was to empty the pills from her purse and her car. Six bottles in all went down the toilet. Then he took her keys and her shoes and locked them in his truck.

It wasn't long until Stevie got agitated and jumpy. After a few more hours, the pain began to hit. Shane didn't know how much of it was physical and how much of it was her psychological addiction.

After 24 hours, she cried, yelled, begged and bargained, trying to get him to let her have something. But the drugs were gone and the strongest thing he had in the house was Aspirin. By 4 AM that morning, Stefanie was frantic. She paced and chain-smoked. She'd already used up a ton of energy cleaning the entire house: she did laundry, cleaned the floors, scrubbed the bathroom top to bottom, did dishes, cleaned the stove and the refrigerator. Just watching her had made Shane tired. He knew her metabolism was in chaos, not having drugs in her system to regulate it. Finally they'd both fallen into an exhausted sleep, Stevie's head in his lap on the couch.

But by 11, she was begging again. "Please Shane, please! Just get me something-anything!" She was on her knees on the bed, pulling on his shirt.

He stroked her long blond hair, trying to soothe her. "Let it pass. It'll pass in a few minutes."

"You don't understand!" she yelled. "It hurts!" Her hands were shaking again. She stood up abruptly and started pacing again. In another minutes it was back to the bed where she curled up in a fetal position. He sat beside her.

"Please," she begged in a small voice.

Then in another few minutes, she sat up and put her arms around him. "Come on Shane," she whispered close to his ear. "You and me, we could have a real good time," she told him seductively. "I could give you the best blow job you ever had," she said, running her hand up his thigh. "If you'd just get me something," she added, kissing his neck.

Shan removed her hand. "No can do." He stood up.

Stevie was more angered by his refusal than by the rejection. She threw the empty coffee cup from the nightstand at his head. Shane ducked and it bounced off the doorframe.

"You bastard!" she yelled.

"I know. You'll thank me later." He picked up the cup and headed to the kitchen. He was pretty sure she wouldn't run.

The windows in the bedroom were barred and he'd locked the front door with the deadbolt using the key from the inside. She'd have to get past him to get to the back door.

When he returned, she was asleep again.

Yeah, it had been a long three days.

By the time Vic had shown up, the worst was over. Stefanie was exhausted and had been asleep sine around midnight. Shane had finally slept soundly too, next to her on the bed.

Shane made some food after Vic left, knowing that when she did get up, Stevie was going to be hungry. She hadn't eaten in over three days.

He thought about the old days, when he'd been as close to Stevie as a friend could be without crossing the line. They'd been kids in the same neighborhood and something about them together had just clicked. He remembered in the beginning, her parents were divorcing. Her house was in constant turmoil. She had been 7, he 9. She used to sneak out of her house when the fighting got too bad and come over to his window. She'd climb in and they'd play board games or read books. Her mother always knew where to find her when her father got his fill of whiskey and passed out. Sometimes Stevie would show up in the middle of the night, if there were a bad fight. "I'm scared Shane," she's say and he'd let her go to sleep in his bed while he slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. And now there wasn't much difference; she was scared again and he was doing what he could to protect her.

He was stirring some frying potatoes and ham when she came into the kitchen. She'd showered and put on clean clothes; jeans and one of his tee shirts. Her long blond hair was still damp but combed back. The dark circles under her eyes were gone. She looked good. She looked clean.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself." She had a slight Southern drawl that peeked out every now and then.

"I haven't seen you in awhile," he told her, meaning he hadn't seen her sober, off pills, in a long time.

"I haven't been me in awhile," she answered.

"Hungry?"

"Starved."

"Well, I fixed up a good old Southern breakfast: eggs, fried potatoes and ham, grits and biscuits."

"Sounds terrific."

He watched her as she got a cup and poured coffee. She was still a little shaky, but not like before. He made her a plate of food.

"Vic came by," he told her then. "I've got to go to work tomorrow or I'm suspended."

She nodded, sitting at the table. "You don' need that." He sat across from her and they started to eat.

"He's got a plan. We're gonna get that stuff from Jackson so you can go to IA and clear yourself."

"Shane, I don't want you guys getting into my mess."

"We're already in. We just need the rest of the info on Jackson. Vic thinks it'll be good for us if he gets busted, you know, take the spotlight off Farmington? The division isn't doing as well as it's supposed to I guess."

"Jackson's not stupid. How are you going to get those pictures?"

"That's what we're going to figure out."

***************
Detectives Holland "Dutch" Wagenbaugh and Claudette Wyms were the first detectives on the scene of a grocery store robbery. They'd been called because two citizens had been killed in the course of the robbery: the Korean owner and a stock boy, a black teenager.

"The press ought to be having a field day with this," Claudette said, surveying the scene at the small store.

The business was a "mom and pop" operation, owned and run by Wan Kasha, a Korean immigrant in his 60s. He'd kept the store going in the rough neighborhood for 16 years. He'd only recently hired DeShawn Roker, the 17- year-old black stock clerk, because of arthritis that was getting too bad to run the place alone.

"It was a pretty pro job," Danny Sofer confirmed to Dutch. "They took the video tapes from the back, got the register cash and the money from the safe."

Dutch nodded. The kid, Roker, had been the first to get it. He'd been on the register. When he'd seen the masked gunmen come in, he'd probably reached for the .32 under the counter and they shot him. Then Wan comes out from the back, they get him to open the register, then the safe, and then just when he thinks they're leaving, they turn and shoot him in the head. No witnesses.

Claudette came back from looking at the body of the owner.

"What do you think?" she asked. Dutch gave her his narration of the crime.

"They're probably three strikers," he went on. "You know, already have two priors. Any more, and they're off to prison. No witnesses, no one to testify. They may be from the neighborhood, or had at least been in here before, casing the store. They knew where to go for the safe and the videotapes. They probably knew or at least suspected there was a gun under the counter."

Wyms nodded in agreement.

Dutch did some more surveying, looking out the front window.

"Canvass the neighborhood," he told Danny. "And get the surveillance tapes from the liquor store across the street. It looks like there might be a view over here from out their front window."

"Got it," Danny said, heading out.

*************
Shane got as much information as he could from Stefanie about her former partner Kevin Jackson. She knew he kept cash and her pictures in a safe in the Torro Rio's back office. He and Marcos had been partners for years in ownership of the bar. That's why it had been so easy for him to launder the money he was taking from their drug busts.

"Isn't that the first place the IA investigators are going to look for money or evidence?" Shane asked.

Stevie nodded. "And he'll even let them into the safe. But that's the safe where all the legit stuff is kept. Jackson has another safe, one even Marcos didn't know about I don't think. It's hidden under this statue in the office. IA will toss the place, get all the records and everything, but if he's smart, that's where he's stashed his moving cash. And I know it's where he put those pictures. He's probably waiting to give it a little time for the investigation to either pan out or for them to find something. If they do, he'll split like Marcos. So he'd got to have some traveling cash."

Shane nodded. It sounded reasonable.

Stefanie had made a drawing of the bar and the office and where she knew the safe to be hidden. Shane would take that and his notes to Vic in the morning. Then they'd figure out a plan.

"I don't know about you, but I'm damn tired of being in this house," he said, stretching.

She nodded.

"Lets take Bosco for a run."

She gave him a hard look. "You're not afraid of being seen with me?"

"It'd take a hell of a lot more to run me off."

Stevie smiled. It was just like it had always been when they were kids. She didn't have any brothers or sisters, but Shane had always taken care of her. She remembered the times he'd rescued her when they were kids. When two bullies from the neighborhood tried to take her lunch one day walking to school in third grade, out of nowhere Shane had appeared and knocked both of them square in the teeth.

In middle school, when drugs were moving freely, the "cool" kids teased her when she wouldn't smoke pot or try LSD; but then there was Shane, the jock, standing up for her, telling them she didn't have to. And all the sudden, the cool kids looked stupid, cause the jocks were way cooler, and here was this jock sticking up for Stevie.

He'd help her with algebra and she'd help him with English. That's the only way they'd made it through high school. He'd been a senior when she was a sophomore. She remembered being so jealous when he'd asked Katie Prentiss to the senior prom; then two weeks later, for the Junior/Soph prom, Jed Grey, the gorgeous quarterback had asked her to go only to stand her up on the day of the prom. Stevie had cried her eyes out; then there was Shane, coming through the back door with a rose corsage ready to take her like he was planning it all along. (She found out much later it was due to her mom calling him that he'd shown up.)

"You coming?" Shane asked.

Stevie smiled. "Yeah."
Bosco the Rottweiler was more than happy to take a run in the park. Stevie taught the pup how to fetch (except he wouldn't bring anything back) and they killed about two hours playing. Shane was happy seeing Stevie back to her old self. Ever since she'd come out to LA, he'd know she wasn't really happy. She didn't belong here. She belonged in a small town with horses and dogs and woods to hike and lakes to fish. He knew she'd come out here because of him. It left him with a hollow guilt.

He kept remembering things from their childhood: how cute Stevie had been in her junior high school cheerleading outfit; how gorgeous she was the night of the Junior prom; how they'd skip school to go fishing in the creek; they'd been like brother and sister. Sometimes he'd wanted more, but he knew even then that it would have ruined their friendship. Stevie hadn't been like other girls.

Watching her play with the dog, he realized she still wasn't like other girls. She was a gorgeous woman; a cop and a damn good one for a while; but this town was going to kill her. He could see that now.
They walked back to the house.

"Thanks," she told him as they walked.

"For what?"

"For all this. For helping me."

"Just cause you've been off the pills for three days doesn't mean your straight. You're gonna have to work hard. Every day for a long time Stef."

She nodded. "I know." " I don't want to see you back on that shit, you know?"

She nodded again. "I'm really gonna try Shane. I promise."
Back at the house, the sun was setting and the two did their dinner dishes together, laughing and talking about old times. It was almost like being there; Shane realized he'd missed his friend.

They'd begun a playful water fight and Shane threw soapsuds at Stevie. She laughed and splashed him back. He grabbed a towel and went to clean the soapy bubbles off her cheek. He wiped her face. It was then that she put her hands on his.

For a moment, they stared locking onto each other's eyes. Then Stevie moved closer, standing on her toes, and pulled him in to a kiss. She had dreamt about kissing him like this for years.

Once their mouths met, it was like an invisible wall had come down and Shane put his arms around her, pulling her close. Maybe it was the need to be close to someone from the past or maybe it was the realization that they were not children anymore, but they were seized by a very adult hunger.

Lips locked in a passionate dance, Shane lifted her as easily as a pillow and carried her back to the bedroom. Sitting her on the bed, he looked into her beautiful blue green eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life," she told him, then lifting her tee shirt over her head.

They'd slept together many times before, but never like this. Never as lovers.

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