Kelly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-04-23 02:38 pm
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-04-23 02:38 pm
Those Who Fear Life, Chapter Five
Title: Those Who Fear Life, Chapter Five
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: PG-13
Word Count (this chapter): 923
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): None.
Chapter Five
Sean got asked differently than Costigan. He’d only applied to be a state trooper, hadn’t even known he was accepted to the academy. He thought getting asked to come down there was all part of the same fucking thing, that he’d get an interview with someone new, told to expect a call soon but that things looked his way. If he was real fucking lucky, he might get told that he was in, right there, get to expect to join the next class at the academy.
But no. Completely fucking different. He got directions up to Queenan’s office, except it wouldn’t be Queenan’s for another year and a half. Queenan was a lieutenant then, and the captain was Henley. Ken Henley, Sean would remember for years, had the order completely fucking backwards. Henley had the hardass role, when he was the one his undercovers should want to go to, should really want to please. Undercovers should respect their captain and his second-in-command, best way to keep their trust and their loyalty, but Sean never actually respected Henley. Henley gave him shit, bullied him into it the same way Sean bullied Costigan, but Queenan was the one Sean looked to, the one who was understanding and quiet and calm. Queenan asked him, the same gentle way that he asked every other one Sean had the motherfucking privilege of witnessing, “Do this. For me,” and just like that, he was had. If he didn’t love and respect the man so much, he’d call him a manipulative bastard.
He didn’t even think about his own wife, even though he caught glimpses of the cheap gold band on his finger while he signed the papers, already filled out with his name. He had a badge number, even, already; they’d been that confident that he’d agree.
“This isn’t the normal way of doing things,” Henley told him, “but it’s difficult to get things past Costello. You’re a kid from the neighborhood. You applied to the academy. Most cops, they want to look like cops, and if they can’t, they turn criminal. It’s going to look like you were rejected.”
“You’ll be a real cop if you do this,” Queenan interjected. “This is the sort of thing that makes for the real thing. You have the potential to truly be a cop. You’ve worked your way out, and you want South Boston improved. The only way it’s going to actually be improved, though, is if we get rid of Frank Costello.”
These two men feeding his ego, Queenan already more of a father than his own father ever was, had Sean filling out the few blanks they hadn’t already prepared, signing his agreement to do this for who knew how long. Mary in her first year of teaching, the two of them socking away every penny to buy a house as fast as possible and stop having to rent shithole apartments or even crappy little houses like the ones they’d grown up in, and he was doing this. A cop and a teacher might not get a great house, not on their salaries, but it would be theirs. After that, they’d buy decent rings, and then they could start talking kids. And he didn’t even fucking think about telling Mary until after he signed his life away, after he got his first briefing.
He stood on the T, keeping his balance so the women in their heels could hold onto the poles and the old people and pregnant ladies could have the seats, and it hit him.
He wasn’t going to have a fucking chance to start getting in with Costello, because Mary was just going to fucking kill him.
She didn’t actually do it, but she came fucking close. “You’re fucking what?” she demanded.
He swallowed, because when Mary got that burning look, someone usually got hurt. Only person in the world to actually scare him, so of course he fucking married her. “I agreed to go undercover investigating Costello and his people.”
Not really a surprise when Mary’s glass of milk got knocked over with how fast she got up and how her knee slammed into the kitchen table. He guessed it could be worse and got up to clean up the spill before following her into the hall.
“Mary, there’s a bonus,” he coaxed. “We’ll get some good money soon, into your account, and I’ll be working my way in with Costello. I’ll be safe.”
“What if you’re fucking not?” Mary spun on, him, her eyes blazing hotter than even when he pulled her hair that first time they talked. “What if you’re fucking not okay, you stupid unthinking fucking bastard? What if something fucking happens to you, Sean? You even fucking think about that? Because ‘safe’ and ‘Costello’ do not belong in the same fucking thought, asshole, and you know that!”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” and he tried to keep himself convincing for both their sakes.
She pressed her mouth shut before saying, “He’s a mean, mean bastard. You know that, Sean. You know that sure as you know me. He gets even one hint that you’re not who you say you are, some washed-out wannabe cop, and he’ll make it fucking hurt before you die.”
Then she spun on her heel and slammed the bedroom door behind her. First time Sean wound up sleeping on the couch. They’d have to get a new one when they could if this turned into a pattern.
They kept that ugly, sagging couch another four years.
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: PG-13
Word Count (this chapter): 923
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): None.
Sean got asked differently than Costigan. He’d only applied to be a state trooper, hadn’t even known he was accepted to the academy. He thought getting asked to come down there was all part of the same fucking thing, that he’d get an interview with someone new, told to expect a call soon but that things looked his way. If he was real fucking lucky, he might get told that he was in, right there, get to expect to join the next class at the academy.
But no. Completely fucking different. He got directions up to Queenan’s office, except it wouldn’t be Queenan’s for another year and a half. Queenan was a lieutenant then, and the captain was Henley. Ken Henley, Sean would remember for years, had the order completely fucking backwards. Henley had the hardass role, when he was the one his undercovers should want to go to, should really want to please. Undercovers should respect their captain and his second-in-command, best way to keep their trust and their loyalty, but Sean never actually respected Henley. Henley gave him shit, bullied him into it the same way Sean bullied Costigan, but Queenan was the one Sean looked to, the one who was understanding and quiet and calm. Queenan asked him, the same gentle way that he asked every other one Sean had the motherfucking privilege of witnessing, “Do this. For me,” and just like that, he was had. If he didn’t love and respect the man so much, he’d call him a manipulative bastard.
He didn’t even think about his own wife, even though he caught glimpses of the cheap gold band on his finger while he signed the papers, already filled out with his name. He had a badge number, even, already; they’d been that confident that he’d agree.
“This isn’t the normal way of doing things,” Henley told him, “but it’s difficult to get things past Costello. You’re a kid from the neighborhood. You applied to the academy. Most cops, they want to look like cops, and if they can’t, they turn criminal. It’s going to look like you were rejected.”
“You’ll be a real cop if you do this,” Queenan interjected. “This is the sort of thing that makes for the real thing. You have the potential to truly be a cop. You’ve worked your way out, and you want South Boston improved. The only way it’s going to actually be improved, though, is if we get rid of Frank Costello.”
These two men feeding his ego, Queenan already more of a father than his own father ever was, had Sean filling out the few blanks they hadn’t already prepared, signing his agreement to do this for who knew how long. Mary in her first year of teaching, the two of them socking away every penny to buy a house as fast as possible and stop having to rent shithole apartments or even crappy little houses like the ones they’d grown up in, and he was doing this. A cop and a teacher might not get a great house, not on their salaries, but it would be theirs. After that, they’d buy decent rings, and then they could start talking kids. And he didn’t even fucking think about telling Mary until after he signed his life away, after he got his first briefing.
He stood on the T, keeping his balance so the women in their heels could hold onto the poles and the old people and pregnant ladies could have the seats, and it hit him.
He wasn’t going to have a fucking chance to start getting in with Costello, because Mary was just going to fucking kill him.
She didn’t actually do it, but she came fucking close. “You’re fucking what?” she demanded.
He swallowed, because when Mary got that burning look, someone usually got hurt. Only person in the world to actually scare him, so of course he fucking married her. “I agreed to go undercover investigating Costello and his people.”
Not really a surprise when Mary’s glass of milk got knocked over with how fast she got up and how her knee slammed into the kitchen table. He guessed it could be worse and got up to clean up the spill before following her into the hall.
“Mary, there’s a bonus,” he coaxed. “We’ll get some good money soon, into your account, and I’ll be working my way in with Costello. I’ll be safe.”
“What if you’re fucking not?” Mary spun on, him, her eyes blazing hotter than even when he pulled her hair that first time they talked. “What if you’re fucking not okay, you stupid unthinking fucking bastard? What if something fucking happens to you, Sean? You even fucking think about that? Because ‘safe’ and ‘Costello’ do not belong in the same fucking thought, asshole, and you know that!”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” and he tried to keep himself convincing for both their sakes.
She pressed her mouth shut before saying, “He’s a mean, mean bastard. You know that, Sean. You know that sure as you know me. He gets even one hint that you’re not who you say you are, some washed-out wannabe cop, and he’ll make it fucking hurt before you die.”
Then she spun on her heel and slammed the bedroom door behind her. First time Sean wound up sleeping on the couch. They’d have to get a new one when they could if this turned into a pattern.
They kept that ugly, sagging couch another four years.
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