Belfast Child
Summary: Victor Hesse reflects on what his life has become. Set in Season 1.
Victor Hesse stared at the gloomy Belfast horizon. The fog was rolling in from the docks, creating a shadow across the city. It had been over 10 years since he had last seen the grey skies of his hometown. He had left on the eve of the ceasefire agreements. He knew his services were no longer needed in Northern Ireland. With the Royal Ulster Constabulary and the British Army around the country, it was safer and more profitable to establish his base of operation outside Northern Ireland.
Since the ceasefire agreements, he had come back to visit a handful of times. The most recent was after the Good Friday Agreement. He had unfinished business from his time as a UVF operative. A bullet in the back of the head had sorted that out quickly.
In the past 20 years, much had changed in Belfast. The British Army checkpoints were a memory of the past. Mandatory searches were no longer required to walk into a pub. Yet, remnants of Belfast's troubled history remained. The murals were still proudly displayed around the city. Peace walls, erected to voluntarily separate Protestant and Catholic communities, still remained standing. They were symbols of an era of violence.
Victor shivered as a cold breeze blew past him. He looked at his watch. It was slightly past 6pm. The army checkpoints would have closed by now, trapping those in the city centre. Victor looked around him. The streets were deserted save for a group of teenagers with skateboards and a young couple chatting quietly with each other. The couple were clearly tourists. Victor found himself glancing at the man's socks. White. His socks were white. Americans, he quickly summarised. Only Americans ever wore white socks. During his time in the US, he had seen enough white socks.
The abandoned streets of Belfast in the evening were another remnant of the Troubles. Even though the checkpoints were long gone and people were free to leave after the 6pm curfew, shops and businesses still operated on the historic schedule. The only people out in Belfast after 6pm were teenagers and tourists.
Letting out a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an aging photo. It was a picture of two smiling boys. It was him and Anton.
Anton.
Victor felt his breath hitch at the memory of his younger brother he had done so much to protect. He had tried so hard to shield him from the life of violence he led. He had promised his mother as she lay dying in bed that he would protect Anton. He failed.
Anton was dead now. Dead because Steve McGarrett had let him die.
When he had heard a SEAL detachment had captured Anton, he knew he had to save his little brother. Like so many times before, it was up to him to get him out of trouble.
Victor reminensed at the memory of covering for Anton when he had broken the neighbour's window by kicking a football through it. Victor had gotten a stern spanking from his mother that day. That evening he had found Anton crying in his bedroom. Victor had spent the night comforting Anton. He has promised Anton that he would always look out for him. That's what older brothers do.
He had thought that this time would be no different. He found out the name of the detachment commander, Steve McGarrett, and quickly found the address of his father, John, in Hawaii. It was supposed to be a simple exchange. McGarrett's father for his brother. But, something had happened. McGarrett didn't listen.
Victor made good of his agreement; an eye for an eye. He pulled the trigger without thinking. He watched as John McGarrett's lifeless corpse slumped over. The gunshot rang out. He knew McGarrett had heard it through the phone. He knew McGarrett had heard his father die.
In the heat of the moment, it felt good. Yet, it did little to quench the anguish he felt over Anton's death. Nothing he could do would ever. Anton's death left a large void in Victor's soul. He would spend the rest of his life desperately trying to fill that void with violence and revenge.
Victor ran his thumb over the face of the angelic boy.
His life was marked by one tragedy after another. First, it was his father, murdered in cold blood by Irish Republicans when he was just a boy. Then it was his fiance Anne, kidnapped and killed by the Provisional IRA because she had fallen in love with a UVF operator. Finally, there was Anton. His baby brother. His best friend.
How did life end up like this?
For the first time since he was a boy, he let his tears flow.
A/N: UVF - Ulster Volunteer Force. A Loyalist paramilitary terrorist organisation in Northern Ireland during the Troubles.