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Author's Notes: Written for Katt. Also archived at the theshieldfanfiction.com

Past Present,
written by Whipper

Chapter Eight

Sitting on a cold bathroom floor next to a depressed fellow Detective who smelled like a horrid combination of a cheap whiskey distillery and the bathroom of a club at two a.m. was not Vic's idea of well-spent evening. Especially not since the fellow Detective in question seemed hell-bent on giving him the silent treatment.

Yet, somehow, he had managed to keep calm. And quiet.

Although, the later wasn't exactly by choice. It was just that there were so many ways to start the conversation he so desperately needed to have with Dutch and they all had one thing in common; they were god-damn fucking awful.

"Hi, Dutch, why don't you tell me about your relationship with your father? Danny and I suspect that he sexually abused you when you were a kid, could you please confirm that? Okay, I'm sorry to hear that. Could you please tell me how you feel about that? Why? Well, to satisfy my morbid curiosity. And also if you're feeling in any way suicidal I probably shouldn't leave you alone. It would look kinda bad on my record. Plus I think Claudette might end up killing me."

Or maybe:

"I know your secret, Dutch-boy. The one you've undoubtedly spent most of your life trying to keep people from figuring out. And now I need you to tell me just how bad you feel about it not being a secret any more. Is it just 'drink yourself into a stupor'-bad or is it more like 'drink myself into a stupor to get the guts to 'clean my gun''-bad?"

And, of course, the book he'd forced himself to read earlier to the cost of the mother of all headaches hadn't told him anything he didn't already know or as easily could have figured out for himself. Which just went to prove what he'd always known; book-knowledge really wasn't much use at all in his line of work.

Vic found himself wishing, not for the first time that night, that he had just told Claudette the truth and then let her take care of her partner instead. But oh, no... he had just had to be the good guy, telling Claudette that her partner was feeling kind of down and maybe she should let Vic take care of instead? Sometimes these things were so much easier to talk about man to man.

It had taken everything in him to persuade her and she had still demanded to speak to Dutch. Who, to Vic's annoyance, had been less than convincing with his monosyllabic answers and listless tone of voice.

Damn it all, he cursed before taking a deep breath and plunging himself into what he was sure would be one for the top ten list of the most tense and uncomfortable conversations in his life.

"You have a pretty huge book collection."

Dutch stared at him as if he'd just said that he was actually from the planet Mars or maybe a die-hard Telly-Tubby fan.

"That's quite a non sequitur," he then pointed out in the kind of voice police men usually spared for when dealing with crazy but dangerous -- possibly even armed -- people.

"Yeah, well... I read one of them. Hope you don't mind." As Dutch shook his head -- the pained grimace that immediately followed the movement reminding Vic that he was dealing with a highly hung-over person -- Vic continued: "It was about people who survived being sexually abused as children."

Now, Vic had anticipated some kind of reaction to that, that was true. Anger, denial or anything in between, really. If it was something he'd learned it was that people's reactions to surprises were seldom predictable. Dutch paling to the color of newly washed sheets and throwing up wasn't perhaps all that unexpected. But the strange smile on his lips as he turned around to face Vic again definitely was.

Cursing his own stupidity Vic pushed himself onto his feet and refilled the glass with cold water. As Dutch rinsed his mouth, still smiling that horrible eerie smile, Vic sank down again, forcing his face into donning a casual expression.

"You would have to be a pretty strong person to put that kinda shit behind you," he continued, trying to act as if nothing had happened and, quite likely, failing miserably. "That's certainly something I'd have to admire in a person."

"That's an interesting opinion," Dutch replied calmly, sounding like he thought quite the opposite. "Most people thinks that a strong person shouldn't have let something like that happen to them in a first place."

"Well, in that case most people are wrong and more than welcome to kiss my ass," Vic countered, frowning angrily at the man.

He just hated it when people put the guilt on the victim instead of the offender. "If you're in the wrong neighborhood you deserve to get mugged." or, his personal favorite, "If you wear a short skirt you deserve to get raped." He'd heard it all before from a number of shitheads. What he'd liked to ask them was if they would be as eager to sign their names after a statement such as: "kids who loves and trusts their parents unconditionally deserves to get molested"?

Somehow he didn't fucking well think so.

"I know you don't believe that shit, Dutch," he added. "Everybody knows that you're good with the victims."

Dutch snorted loudly.

"Yeah," he agreed in a voice heavily laced with irony, "I'm famous for my people-skills."

Vic had to smile slightly at that.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But you're still good with them. You work hard for them, everyone knows that. The victims are lucky if they get you working their case because you always give a hundred percent for each case."

But Dutch just shook his head.

"That's our job. We're supposed to give a hundred percent, always. That some of us don't doesn't mean that the ones that do are 'good' cops. Just that we're doing our job." Making eye contact with Vic, Dutch continued, his eyes hard and his mouth a thin red line in the pale face. "You're right though, the victims are lucky if they get me working their case. I am good at what I do. And don't you for a moment think that I need you to tell me that, Mackey."

"Whoa, Dutch-boy!" Vic exclaimed, raising his arms in a "don't shoot me!" gesture before adding in an amused voice: "I'm on your side here, okay?"

"Yeah, so I've noticed. I thought we agreed we weren't friends? Yet all of a sudden you're 'on my side'," Dutch quoted with a sneer, his entire body screaming defiance and contempt. "I can't help but to wonder why. Is it just because you think you know something about me? Because you, all of a sudden, think of me as a victim rather than a fellow cop?"

The tall man pushed himself onto unsteady legs, crossing his arms over his chest in what Vic guessed was an unsuccessful attempt to hide the tremors that went through the lithe body.

Vic quickly stood up himself, making sure to keep his distance to the agitated Detective. He'd noticed early on that Dutch was the kind of person who needed a lot of personal space under normal situations and he found it easy to imagine that that was something that became even more important when the man was feeling... unsafe.

"I'm not a victim," Dutch continued, mercifully unaware of the fact that his wavering voice and shaking body was making Vic highly doubt his words. "And you don't know anything about me. And we're not friends. Or on the same side. Okay?"

"I get you. You don't want me to pry. That's okay. I won't. I wish you'd tell me about what's bothering you though, I really do." Vic tried to let his eyes speak of how sincere he was, tried to let the honest emotions bleed through to his voice but if he succeeded it didn't seem to have any affect on Dutch. He continued still. "And if you do tell me I promise you, Dutch, I will make everything in my power to help you. And... and, just so you know, it's not a one time offer. If you change your mind I'll be there. I will."

The moments that followed his little speech felt much too long, each second dragged out into an eternity and Vic swore he could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his scalp. Dutch just stared at him silently, dark eyes unreadable and face set into a blank mask. For all Vic's experience reading bad guys he couldn't tell what was going on in Dutch's head.

He could just hope that the man had taken his words seriously.

"Are you done?" Dutch finally said, his voice void of any emotions.

And for a moment there Vic wanted nothing but to hurt the other man. Just slam him into the wall and pin him there and then make sure that he fucking payed attention when Vic spoke, the little ungrateful dick!

But, thankfully, the moment passed. The flare of red anger died out almost as suddenly as it had been born.

"Yeah. I'm done," he gritted out, exhaling explosively.

"Good. Then maybe you could leave my apartment?"

"Just two more things," Vic added after a few second, giving the other man his best 'I'm serious and won't take any crap!' look. "You do anything... stupid after I leave and I'm gonna kick your ass. And don't you ever go drinking alone again, Dutch. Especially not while you're on the job. I won't cover for you ever again."

"I don't expect you to," came the toneless reply.

"Good."

And with that Vic left.