Author's Note: This is an open AU, which means that everyone -- yes, that means you --gets to play around in it. All I ask is that you add your story to the Shield Fanfiction Archive. Fanfiction.net won't let me add the address but it's whipper dot speedis dot org slash theshield. Type it in. Hit enter.
written by Whipper
1. Julien
He kept his head down even though he knew that they had already spotted him and fought to keep his cool even as their eyes -- the eyes of hungry predators -- swept over him. When they began walking towards him he wiped the palms of his hands against his pants and began to pray furiously.
God, please, I've been good, I've been so good, God, I've tried to be good, I've tried so hard, please, don't let them, God...
"Faggot," the leader whispered, his voice as cruel as it was low.
Why whisper? his mind, fuddled with desperation, asked himself as they crowded him. Why not shout it out for all to hear as usual? The question answered itself as the school-librarian hushed at them, her eyes dark and angry behind the spectacles. It was hard to resist the urge to call out for her to come to his rescue.
"Don't be afraid, Julien," the boy continued, sounding amused.
How can I be brave when God won't give me the strength to?
"We're not here for you."
And, as sudden as they had come, they were gone.
"Not today anyway," one of the hyenas added over his shoulder with a leer.
2. Holland
His heart was thundering hard against his rib cage and the copper taste of adrenaline filled his mouth. The alternatives were as old as mankind; fight or flee. Only for Holland fighting had never been a very clever option. It didn't matter much with whom the confrontation was; he somehow always ended up on the wrong side. Of a belt. Of a fist. Of a di-
He shuddered, refusing to finish that thought.
"So, Wagenbach..."
His last name was, as always, horribly mangled and, as always, he didn't protest the mispronunciation. It hardly mattered and all he'd get for his efforts would be more bruises to what was, as always, an already rather impressing collection.
"We were going to ask you for a favor." The jock grinned broadly and Holland forced himself to smile back, even though he was painfully aware that the joke was on him. The joke was always on him. "What do you say about that, huh?"
So, as always, he swallowed the witty repartee and nodded mutely.
"We want you to-"
As the jock finished his sentence the guy's friends burst out in giggles, a surprisingly feminine sound. Under other circumstances that might have amused him.
3. Jackson
A longing smile played on her lips as she watched them move through the school yard, enjoying the swagger in their steps and the faint sound of their unrestrained laughter. Pressing her head hard against the glass -- relishing in the way the cold surface felt against her burning face -- she followed their every movement with hungry eyes.
She allowed herself to become lost in them, in him. The way the faded jeans hugged his body, the way the leather jacket reflected the sun, the way his arm hung so casually over his friend's shoulders...
For a moment there she would have given anything to be Shane. To feel the weight of that arm over her shoulder, to feel Vic's warm breath tickle her skin as he whispered secrets in her ear, to feel the warmth -- the pure energy -- that was Vic Mackey.
And then the four friends disappeared around a corner and the moment was gone, leaving her behind slightly ashamed, very breathless and with an ache in her heart that just... Wouldn't. Go. Away.
"Then she said that he like... Danielle, are you even listening to me?"
"Yes." The smile strained and her eyes began to burn. "Yeah, sorry."
4. Danielle
As Mackey walked by their loud uproarious laughter died out and, instinctively, they huddled together. Seeking safety in numbers. Not unlike those losers they usually preyed upon. It wasn't exactly a thought Jackson wanted to dwell on.
While the others -- the unholy trio -- sneered at them and shot them annoyed looks, Mackey didn't even glance in their directions. In a way, a way he really didn't want to ever acknowledge, that hurt more than anything the three other boys could have done or said.
Not being seen by Vic Mackey, to not even warrant a glance and a curt nod... Their leader pressed his lips hard together as fear filled his stomach like ice-cold water. He was somebody, dammit. Just ask the losers who not to mess with. Just ask them who they respected. Who they feared.
And still... Mackey just passed them by -- passed him by -- without even looking up. Angrily he began stalking back to the library, the fleeting thought that that faggot Julien was still there and fuck, was he going to show Mackey!
The thud-thud of boots against pavement as his friends followed him without asking a single question only made him feel slightly better.
5. Shane
"Assholes," Shane muttered as they'd passed Jackson and his thugs, pleased to see Vic smile slightly in response. Encourage he continued; "Don't know what the fuck their problem is, I really don't. But-"
Vic fished in his pockets after his cigarettes so Shane did the same while letting his mouth run. He liked to think that Vic appreciated his sense of humor. His long tirades that didn't really serve any other purpose than to keep the silence from closing in on them. Shane hated the silence. It left people wanting to think. And nothing good had ever come out of thinking.
"Jesus Christ," Vic suddenly spat out and peered at something over Shane's shoulder. "Jesus fucking Christ."
Shane twisted around, almost-spraining something and the cursing that followed was as much because of the sudden burn in his muscles as over the pitiful sight that met him. As soon as the first second of pure shock subsided his lips curled upwards and he could feel the laughter begin to build inside.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he echoed the leader of their little gang, although his voice held so much more amusement. "That's might just be the saddest thing I've ever seen."
6. Vic
"Shut up, Shane."
Vic said it automatically, the number of shut up, Shane's he said every day too many to be counted. Then he shrugged off his jacket and approached the shivering boxer-clad figure sitting curled up against the brick wall. Unsure of what to do, yes. But somehow knowing that it needed to be done. And that he was the person to do it.
"You okay there, kid?" No answer, so he tried again. "You hurt?"
"'m fine."
Snorting he draped the jacket over the bony shoulders, pretending not to notice how the other boy shied away from his touch. Yeah, sure, kid, he thought. Sure you're fine.
"Assholes," he muttered out loud, angrily echoing Shane.
"They're just joking around," the kid told him in an barely audible voice.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll believe it yourself.
"I don't care much for their brand of humor," he answered tersely.
"Yeah." A short pause, then. "Me neither."
There was no hope -- no hope what-so-fucking-ever -- in that voice and Vic's balled up fists were aching to become better acquainted with Jackson. Aching to show them just who ran this school. Whose rules you shouldn't ever mess with.
7. Curtis
"So, where's your clothes?" he asked, nodding to acknowledge the grateful look Vic threw him over his shoulder. Those looks were usually saved for Shane, but as Vic's best friend was too busy being an ass it was up to Curtis to be Vic's right hand.
"They said they'd leave them in the cafeteria."
Vic growled an curse before barking an order at Shane and Ronnie to make themselves useful for once in their fucking lives. Vic didn't turn around to see the flash of pain in Shane's eyes but Curtis saw and felt a pang of... something.
Sympathy. Mixed with something ugly that he didn't care to name. Something that -- for a second or two -- made him feel good about Shane, for once, not being in Vic's good graces.
Ashamed of his emotions he sat down next to the kid, giving the shoulder clad in Vic's jacket a gentle cuff.
"Don't worry 'bout your clothes," Vic said after a moment, looking down at them with stormy blue eyes. "Shane and Ronnie might be asses but they're good kids still."
And -- just like that -- balance in their little group had been restored and in Curtis' mind relief mingled with regret.
8. Ronnie
Half an hour later Vic finally stated that it was time for them to leave. They had 'unfinished business' to take care of, he told them in a hushed voice as the kid struggled with the zipper to his jacket.
Ronnie smiled thinly at the news, enjoying the rush as his body prepared for the fight. When Vic and the other had first befriended him some years ago he'd never thought he'd find himself almost looking forward to the fights. But part of him -- the part that had once been a kid not so very unlike the loser Vic had just rescued -- felt good about the concept of revenge. Evening out the score a little.
Some kids never stood up to defend themselves, seemingly unable to understand that their pride was worth standing up for. Ronnie had felt like that once, but never again.
"You got a name, kid?" Vic suddenly asked.
"'m Holland," came the quiet reply.
At that Shane threw his head back and laughed out loud and Ronnie couldn't help but grin a little himself.
"Well, see you later then... Dutch," Vic said with a smirk.
And then they were off to find Jackson and his crew.
9. Claudette
"Well, you see, Sarah," someone who sounded suspiciously like Claudette's mother-in-law told the radio-show host, "those feminists are all just paranoid. They seem to think that there's some kind of a conspiracy against women and that it's oppression that society expects mothers to care for their babies. Well, that's just crazy. You should rejoice that you can participate in the creation of human life. You should be grateful that you're a woman."
Claudette shuddered and was just about to say something scathing when the police radio beeped, demanding their attention. Her partner quickly took care of it, leaving her to finish her cup of coffee.
"Anything good?" she asked as she dumped the recyclable cup.
"Nah, not really. Just yet another disturbance at the high school."
"Bet you five bucks that nobody'll tell us who started it," Claudette said with a mischievous grin. "And another five bucks that Vic Mackey and his gang will be standing smirking just a few feet away."
"Yeah, sure!" David laughed. "You try that one with a rookie instead, okay?"
Smiling slightly Claudette managed, for a few moments at least, to forget about sleepless nights, meddlesome relatives and all the other joys of motherhood.
Interlude
Since childhood's hours I have not been as other's were
I have not seen as others saw
I could not bring my passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrows I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone
And all I loved, I loved alone
---
There's something very wrong with me
I know that you've noticed
I cannot even try to hide that
I am a boy in name only
There's something very wrong with me
I'm a boy... in name only
I know what you want me for
If you ask me I'm not so sure
I'd love to fill your void
But I am a boy in name only
Important pieces are missing
I'm a boy... in name only
It's strange how my presence
Intersects with your
Plummeting expectations
You've resolved the flaws
Of your aloneness to components
And projected your hopes
Onto my lone axis
Since childhood's hour
I have not been
As others have been
I have not done a thing
For I am a boy in name only
And not worth considering
I'm a boy I'm a boy
I'm a boy in name only
10. Dutch
"Dutch?" his mother echoed, her eyes smiling at him over the dining table. "How very clever."
But the look on his father's face, the way his lips twisted as he heard the nick-name that Vic Mackey -- of all people -- had gifted Holland with made him realize that it had been a mistake to tell them.
"You have a perfectly good name, son," his father said in that dangerously soft voice he only used when Holland was really in trouble. "I suggest that you use it. And that you make it clear to your... friend that he can keep his pet-names to himself."
"Yes, sir."
"We'll be talking about this later."
The smile in his mother's eyes disappeared only to be replaced by something dark and broken that made Holland's inside ache to comfort her.
Only, really, a treacherous voice whispered inside his head, wasn't he the one who needed that comfort? Wasn't he the one who would be punished as soon as his father finished his steak? Wasn't he the one who would feel his father's wrath through the medium of a leather belt while his mother washed the dishes?
Dutch bit down hard on his lip to keep himself from asking.
THE END