Author's Note: Written for Katt. You can read this story and many more at theshieldfanfiction.com
Chapter Seven,
written by Whipper
Dutch was usually a light sleeper who went from asleep to awake in just a few seconds. (Unfortunately it didn't work quite as well the other way around.)
Lucy, his ex-wife, had always found that extremely annoying as he had kept waking up in the middle of the night and then had been unable to go back to sleep. The first years of their marriage he'd spent those lonely pre-dawn hours either reading or watching Lucy sleep. Then, as things had become more strained between the two of them, he hadn't dared to annoy her by doing anything other than just laying quietly next to her and stare up at the ceiling.
Eventually he had resorted to sleeping aids, although even with the help of those it was rare that he spent much time in the hazy state between full awareness and sleep.
That was why he found it so strange that he now all of a sudden had to fight his way to consciousness. For some reason it all seemed to be happening so slowly, every stages a process in itself. It almost felt as if part of him didn't want him to wake up. Although he couldn't think of any reason why.
Unless, of course, he thought dryly, it had something to do with avoiding the pounding in his head, the foul taste in his mouth and the rolling in his stomach.
When he'd finally managed to reach such a level of consciousness that he realized that he was hung-over -- a rare state for Dutch, partly because he'd never felt comfortable loosing control and partly because of the whole affair with Lucy and her alcoholism -- he groaned and reached out slowly to drag the blankets over his head.
God, he thought dimly, I hope I didn't do anything too embarrassing.
The world under his blankets was too hot and humid to stay in for long though and after just a few moments he had to gingerly surface for fresh air. The small movement made the pounding into his head grow from a in comparison rather gentle thump-thump-thump to a full-blown death-would-be-mercy headache.
Stumbling out of bed he absentmindedly thanked whatever divinity who had made him turn off all the lights in the apartment before stumbling into bed after his nigh of, what he assumed had been, heavy drinking. He just wished that the same divinity could have found a way to convince him to take off his clothes as well. He was almost certain that his shirt was ruined.
Not about to test his eyes for light sensitivity he opened the door to the bathroom and walked in without as much as looking at the light switch. In the middle of the small room he stopped though, hesitating between brushing his teeth first and enjoy the clean taste of fluoride for a few moments before he inevitably threw up or if he should just head directly for the toilet.
The alarming lurch in his stomach quickly answered his question and he barely had the time to get down on his knees and grab on to the cold porcelain seat before he became violently ill. It was mostly dry heaves and he cursed at his own stupidity. If you were going to drink you should at least have enough common sense to do it on a full stomach.
"Bet you're regretting that last drink right about now, huh?" a very familiar, slightly amused voice drawled from somewhere behind him.
A voice that for, all it's familiarity, had nothing to do inside Dutch's bathroom.
He turned around much too quickly and the surge of pain inside his head caused his sight to black out for a few seconds. Gasping for air he stared up at Vic Mackey with squinted eyes.
"What...?" Dutch stopped there, swallowing nervously a few times.
Sometimes realization hit you like a fist in the stomach. Not this time though. This time the memories just silently crept up on him.
A random quote flashed through his mind. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper. The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot. He'd read it in school, although not for a class but while hiding out in the library for the school bullies.
"No," he whispered. "Please, no."
Mackey didn't say anything, but then he didn't need to either. The sympathetic look on his face said it all.
They know, a voice screamed inside of him. They know, they know, theyknow, theyknowtheyknow...
Another part -- a much more dominant one -- acknowledged that silently. And answered:
Stay calm.
So when Mackey left the bathroom Dutch didn't ask why. When the man returned with a glass of water he accepted it without a word and rinsed his mouth with the first mouthful, gulping the rest down greedily. Even though his stomach protested loudly against the liquid he somehow managed to keep it down and he automatically thanked a God he didn't believe in for small favors.
He stayed there on the floor for several minutes, his long legged tucked up under his chin and his head resting against his arms. That way he didn't have to face Mackey. That way he could remain calm.
"Here."
The soft voice was surprisingly gentle and surprisingly close. He could practically feel Mackey's warm breath against his skin. Shifting away uneasily Dutch looked up at, focusing his eyes on Mackey's mouth rather than his eyes.
"Tylenol," the man explained, rather needlessly, as he held out his hands.
In one there was two little geltabs, in the other the cup of water. He took both hesitantly, carefully avoiding to touch the other man. He didn't want the physical contact and he was sure Mackey didn't want to be touched by someone like him either.
He shuddered as he swallowed the Tylenol.
"Dutch..." Mackey's low voice made him look up again. "We need to talk."
"Okay," Dutch agreed quickly, mostly because he knew there wasn't any point in objecting.
If Vic Mackey wanted to talk, then they'd talk. But first he needed to make something clear.
"We're not friends."
Mackey nodded, a serious look on his face.
"You're right. We're not friends." He smiled crookedly. "We don't even particularly like each other. But we're both cops. And cops protects each other."
Dutch snorted softly in response to that.
"You think I need protecting?" he asked softly.
Is it that obvious? Am I that weak? Can somebody just look at me and realize what I am?
He was so lost in his own musings that he almost missed Mackey's answer.
"Yesterday, no. Today... I'm not so sure."
Dutch almost spit out an angry 'I can take care of himself!' but then he remembered what acting defiant got you. Stay calm, he repeated instead. Lay low. Don't say anything. Don't give anything away. You've seen Mackey in the interrogation room. You know how he works. His tactics. You can outsmart him.
As the silence stretched between them, Dutch fought down the urge to speak. Even though he wanted to get it all over with he wasn't about to give Mackey the advantage of having spoken first. He stared down at his hands angrily instead, watching them betray him by nervously playing with the hem of his cuffs.
"Do you really want to have this conversation while sitting on the floor of your bathroom?" Mackey asked, finally breaking the heavy silence.
"I don't want to have this conversation at all," Dutch said before he could stop himself. Furiously berating himself mentally he continued; "And I'm fine where I am. Thank you."
"Okay, suit yourself," Mackey replied with a I-couldn't-care-less shrug. "I'll just make myself comfortable then."
And with that he sat down across Dutch, somehow managing to sprawl in a fashion that suggested that he'd never been more comfortable. Dutch pressed himself a bit closer to the wall, happy for the barrier his legs made between him and the other man.
"So... Dutch, want to tell me what this is all about?"
"I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"No?" The smile on Mackey's lips was almost predatory. It was but too obvious that the man was back on familiar ground. "I'm talking about what happened today between you and Danny. I'm talking about you abandoning your partner at a deli to get drunk while still on duty. I'm talking about me and Shane having to drag your sorry ass back to your apartment and watch over you to make sure you didn't drown in your own vomit. That's what I'm talking about."
Dutch could feel his face begin to burn and he cursed mentally. There had been a few gaps in his memory but Mackey had done a brilliant job of filling them in.
"I didn't ask you to do that for me," he said so quietly he could barely hear himself.
Through some minor miracle Mackey heard him though and his face immediately darkened, his eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.
"Your partner came to us and begged us to find you. She was worried sick about you. Danny came along with her, making up some bullshit story so that the boys wouldn't find out what had really happened. They both put their jobs on the line to cover for you, Dutch-boy. So, no... you're right. You didn't ask for my help. But your friends did it for you."
"And now I'm stuck with you."
Mackey grinned widely, all white teeth and blue eyes.
"Now you're stuck with me," he confirmed.
