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gonerunningaway) wrote2012-04-23 12:47 pm
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-04-23 12:47 pm
Those Who Fear Life, Chapter Two
Title: Those Who Fear Life, Chapter Two
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: PG-13
Word Count (this chapter): 1,497
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): None.
Chapter Two
Sean’s back at work the day after Mary’s funeral. He hasn’t been in much in weeks, and now Queenan’s not even asking questions, just handing over a stack of trainee files. He doesn’t need directions on what he’s doing. He’s done it enough times.
Most of these kids won’t work for them, not with Costello. They’ll stick out in that part of Boston, wrong names, wrong color, that kind of shit. They’ve got others they need to handle, too, but Costello’s the big one. They can get him, his organization, and the city will have that space pretty clean for a while. It takes time to get as big, as powerful, as Costello, thank fucking God—fuck, took that bastard forty years—and if someone’s got to build up to that, the state police might be able to stop it before it gets too huge.
But first, they have to take down Costello.
Only one real possibility catches his eye. He’ll have the accent, maybe the savvy, for it. Costigan might be a wild card, but he’s got the family background for it. Uncle worked for Costello, kid has his own expulsion for violence under his belt, there’s a fucking stupid cousin barely worth busting working the drug trade down there, but the kid has that North Shore breeding too, the way to play nice with people above him if he has to. Mommy Winchester must’ve slummed it to get with Daddy Costigan.
He sets that file aside to look at more closely. They only need one right now to get in with Costello, and that’s the only project he’s focusing on for now. Queenan’s not coddling him or some shit—no matter how much he respects the man, loves him like a father, he might punch him for it if he was—it’s just that he’s been mostly out a fucking long time, almost four months, and actually needs briefings on some things. He’ll run his choice by Queenan, but he likes the looks of Costigan. They arrange it right, that past assault and battery is enough to work things in their favor to make it look good. Costigan’s just as fucking smart as a guy he glanced at last year, motherfucking Colin Sullivan, according to their educational histories, even smarter if Costigan’s SAT score can be believed.
Queenan’s call goes his way, and when they meet trainees before the kids finish training, before they even start testing and evaluations, Costigan is the only one they invite to sit.
They check in with Sullivan before him, one of Sean’s two possible candidates from the year before, and Sean didn’t like him then, doesn’t like him now. He’s a slimy little shit, almost smarmy, acting like he’s the smartest fucking person in the room while he still defers to Queenan, and it’s fucking difficult to resist smacking him for it. They’re fucking cops, they see through that pisspoor acting, and besides, Sean would like to see him up against Queenan in a battle of wits. He’s fucking glad they didn’t take Sullivan last year. This kid would just piss Costello off, get himself shot fucking fast. Instead, he’s a rank-climbing prick, going to kiss Ellerby’s ass until his lips fall off, and Ellerby’s going to eat that shit right up. Arrogant fucking dick loves getting that from his division. Part of why Sean’s sticking with the better captain, no matter what opportunities come up. Plus, he doesn’t have to deal with the goddamn FBI nearly as much here.
Then Costigan comes in, last of the trainees, and Sean’s a dick to the kid. More than usual, that is, picking at old wounds and insulting him and his family right out until he can see the kid wants to hit him. He thinks of telling it to Mary when he gets home and how she’ll laugh, and then his heart rips because no, she will not fucking laugh. When they’re building to the offer, he gentles, pointing out that the kid’s smart, too smart to be a Statie. He’s been in that chair. He knows what works. He knows they nailed it when the kid slips from North Shore posh to Southie in his accent when Sean says something about how the kid’s done the hiding in Southie act before, and then Queenan asks, “For me,” and there it is, the thing that seals the deal every goddamn time they bring some poor kid who just needs some daddy figure to make happy into Queenan’s office for this kind of question. Sean should know. Fucking worked on him.
By the time Costigan is released from his jail sentence for assault (no battery; they’re not cruel enough to send him to prison to make it look even more real, just cruel enough to send him to try to take down Frank Costello without any help he knows about), Sean knows that Sullivan’s going to be higher up, think he’s so fucking special, all because he’s good at ass-kissing.
Sean never was. Neither was Mary. There’s a reason Mary was a teacher and Sean has no interest in getting anywhere that would take him out of running undercover cops.
He shakes his head after the kid finally leaves from signing the goddamn papers that are probably going to get him killed and says to Queenan, “Kid’s gonna wash out.”
“Give him a chance, Sean.” Queenan’s watching the door thoughtfully. “He might surprise you. You surprised me.”
Sean laughs, shaking his head. “I was nothing like that kid.”
“Not two-faced in the same way, but you still were, and you had a chip on your shoulder, too.”
“Captain, I was a fucking choir boy.”
“The Church wouldn’t let you be a choir boy, Sean, and it had nothing to do with your singing abilities. You told Elizabeth and me the story.” Captain Queenan finally looks away from the door and at him to say, “I still don’t know about Sullivan.”
“I don’t like him,” Sean says bluntly. “Reminds me too much of Costello.”
That gets Queenan’s attention. Sean doesn’t say that shit lightly. He was in with Costello for four fucking years. Four years, three months, and a fucking day, and that last fucking day almost got a hole in his fucking head. So he knows Costello too well to say it like it’s fucking nothing. In his opinion, Costello’s worse than fucking Lucifer himself, and Queenan knows that damn well. “Is there a reason you say that?”
“I called Costigan a snake because he is. Sullivan’s ass-kissing slime, except he’s a smarmy shit who thinks he’s smarter than you and me combined and thinks he can control everyone around him.” No fucking way that shit’s controlling Sean, that’s for damn sure, and Queenan won’t let it happen, either.
“Play nice, Sean.”
“I played nice when he was in here.”
Queenan dryly says, “That crack about a twelve-year-old’s dick is going to make you into best friends.”
“Hey, I didn’t hit him. I played nice. Besides, no one likes a new kid who rises fast. They’re useless.”
“Which is where the twelve-year-old’s dick part came from, I take it.”
Sean grins. “See, Captain, this kind of thing is why I like you so much.”
Queenan reaches for a pen as he turns back to his desk. “Elizabeth wants you to come over for supper tonight if nothing comes up here.” Very nice, that non-question, like he wasn’t going to catch it.
“I’m okay, Captain.” Which is a flat-out fucking lie, but he doesn’t want the Queenans worrying about him like this, like he’s going to fucking fall apart if he’s alone too much. That, he won’t do.
“Come to supper and tell Elizabeth that.”
He can’t, of course, because Mrs. Queenan will see right through him if he can actually manage to lie to her face. Right now, he’s only managing with his captain because they’re not looking at each other. Stayed undercover with fucking Costello, and can’t get anything by the Queenans, especially not if he’s making eye contact. “Seven?”
“Good kid.” Sean chooses to believe he’s referring to the one they just conned into working undercover. “Take off early. Come at six.”
Sean laughs despite himself. “Just jinxed supper, Captain.” With that, he leaves for his own office, newly-signed paperwork tucked into the stack of trainee folders. He has an incredible amount of shit to shovel.
Sean calling it a jinx must have counter-jinxed it, some shit like that, because hardly fucking anything happens. He processes the paperwork for the new undercover, sets up part of the bonus to slip through to his accounts after the farce of a trial goes through and Costigan starts his sentence, and then moves on to all the other crap, expecting the phone to ring the whole fucking time, another undercover to need a meeting right fucking then or one to turn up dead, and it doesn’t at all, not once.
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: PG-13
Word Count (this chapter): 1,497
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): None.
Sean’s back at work the day after Mary’s funeral. He hasn’t been in much in weeks, and now Queenan’s not even asking questions, just handing over a stack of trainee files. He doesn’t need directions on what he’s doing. He’s done it enough times.
Most of these kids won’t work for them, not with Costello. They’ll stick out in that part of Boston, wrong names, wrong color, that kind of shit. They’ve got others they need to handle, too, but Costello’s the big one. They can get him, his organization, and the city will have that space pretty clean for a while. It takes time to get as big, as powerful, as Costello, thank fucking God—fuck, took that bastard forty years—and if someone’s got to build up to that, the state police might be able to stop it before it gets too huge.
But first, they have to take down Costello.
Only one real possibility catches his eye. He’ll have the accent, maybe the savvy, for it. Costigan might be a wild card, but he’s got the family background for it. Uncle worked for Costello, kid has his own expulsion for violence under his belt, there’s a fucking stupid cousin barely worth busting working the drug trade down there, but the kid has that North Shore breeding too, the way to play nice with people above him if he has to. Mommy Winchester must’ve slummed it to get with Daddy Costigan.
He sets that file aside to look at more closely. They only need one right now to get in with Costello, and that’s the only project he’s focusing on for now. Queenan’s not coddling him or some shit—no matter how much he respects the man, loves him like a father, he might punch him for it if he was—it’s just that he’s been mostly out a fucking long time, almost four months, and actually needs briefings on some things. He’ll run his choice by Queenan, but he likes the looks of Costigan. They arrange it right, that past assault and battery is enough to work things in their favor to make it look good. Costigan’s just as fucking smart as a guy he glanced at last year, motherfucking Colin Sullivan, according to their educational histories, even smarter if Costigan’s SAT score can be believed.
Queenan’s call goes his way, and when they meet trainees before the kids finish training, before they even start testing and evaluations, Costigan is the only one they invite to sit.
They check in with Sullivan before him, one of Sean’s two possible candidates from the year before, and Sean didn’t like him then, doesn’t like him now. He’s a slimy little shit, almost smarmy, acting like he’s the smartest fucking person in the room while he still defers to Queenan, and it’s fucking difficult to resist smacking him for it. They’re fucking cops, they see through that pisspoor acting, and besides, Sean would like to see him up against Queenan in a battle of wits. He’s fucking glad they didn’t take Sullivan last year. This kid would just piss Costello off, get himself shot fucking fast. Instead, he’s a rank-climbing prick, going to kiss Ellerby’s ass until his lips fall off, and Ellerby’s going to eat that shit right up. Arrogant fucking dick loves getting that from his division. Part of why Sean’s sticking with the better captain, no matter what opportunities come up. Plus, he doesn’t have to deal with the goddamn FBI nearly as much here.
Then Costigan comes in, last of the trainees, and Sean’s a dick to the kid. More than usual, that is, picking at old wounds and insulting him and his family right out until he can see the kid wants to hit him. He thinks of telling it to Mary when he gets home and how she’ll laugh, and then his heart rips because no, she will not fucking laugh. When they’re building to the offer, he gentles, pointing out that the kid’s smart, too smart to be a Statie. He’s been in that chair. He knows what works. He knows they nailed it when the kid slips from North Shore posh to Southie in his accent when Sean says something about how the kid’s done the hiding in Southie act before, and then Queenan asks, “For me,” and there it is, the thing that seals the deal every goddamn time they bring some poor kid who just needs some daddy figure to make happy into Queenan’s office for this kind of question. Sean should know. Fucking worked on him.
By the time Costigan is released from his jail sentence for assault (no battery; they’re not cruel enough to send him to prison to make it look even more real, just cruel enough to send him to try to take down Frank Costello without any help he knows about), Sean knows that Sullivan’s going to be higher up, think he’s so fucking special, all because he’s good at ass-kissing.
Sean never was. Neither was Mary. There’s a reason Mary was a teacher and Sean has no interest in getting anywhere that would take him out of running undercover cops.
He shakes his head after the kid finally leaves from signing the goddamn papers that are probably going to get him killed and says to Queenan, “Kid’s gonna wash out.”
“Give him a chance, Sean.” Queenan’s watching the door thoughtfully. “He might surprise you. You surprised me.”
Sean laughs, shaking his head. “I was nothing like that kid.”
“Not two-faced in the same way, but you still were, and you had a chip on your shoulder, too.”
“Captain, I was a fucking choir boy.”
“The Church wouldn’t let you be a choir boy, Sean, and it had nothing to do with your singing abilities. You told Elizabeth and me the story.” Captain Queenan finally looks away from the door and at him to say, “I still don’t know about Sullivan.”
“I don’t like him,” Sean says bluntly. “Reminds me too much of Costello.”
That gets Queenan’s attention. Sean doesn’t say that shit lightly. He was in with Costello for four fucking years. Four years, three months, and a fucking day, and that last fucking day almost got a hole in his fucking head. So he knows Costello too well to say it like it’s fucking nothing. In his opinion, Costello’s worse than fucking Lucifer himself, and Queenan knows that damn well. “Is there a reason you say that?”
“I called Costigan a snake because he is. Sullivan’s ass-kissing slime, except he’s a smarmy shit who thinks he’s smarter than you and me combined and thinks he can control everyone around him.” No fucking way that shit’s controlling Sean, that’s for damn sure, and Queenan won’t let it happen, either.
“Play nice, Sean.”
“I played nice when he was in here.”
Queenan dryly says, “That crack about a twelve-year-old’s dick is going to make you into best friends.”
“Hey, I didn’t hit him. I played nice. Besides, no one likes a new kid who rises fast. They’re useless.”
“Which is where the twelve-year-old’s dick part came from, I take it.”
Sean grins. “See, Captain, this kind of thing is why I like you so much.”
Queenan reaches for a pen as he turns back to his desk. “Elizabeth wants you to come over for supper tonight if nothing comes up here.” Very nice, that non-question, like he wasn’t going to catch it.
“I’m okay, Captain.” Which is a flat-out fucking lie, but he doesn’t want the Queenans worrying about him like this, like he’s going to fucking fall apart if he’s alone too much. That, he won’t do.
“Come to supper and tell Elizabeth that.”
He can’t, of course, because Mrs. Queenan will see right through him if he can actually manage to lie to her face. Right now, he’s only managing with his captain because they’re not looking at each other. Stayed undercover with fucking Costello, and can’t get anything by the Queenans, especially not if he’s making eye contact. “Seven?”
“Good kid.” Sean chooses to believe he’s referring to the one they just conned into working undercover. “Take off early. Come at six.”
Sean laughs despite himself. “Just jinxed supper, Captain.” With that, he leaves for his own office, newly-signed paperwork tucked into the stack of trainee folders. He has an incredible amount of shit to shovel.
Sean calling it a jinx must have counter-jinxed it, some shit like that, because hardly fucking anything happens. He processes the paperwork for the new undercover, sets up part of the bonus to slip through to his accounts after the farce of a trial goes through and Costigan starts his sentence, and then moves on to all the other crap, expecting the phone to ring the whole fucking time, another undercover to need a meeting right fucking then or one to turn up dead, and it doesn’t at all, not once.
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