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For as long as he could recall, Shane Madej has always been standing on the opposite end of a glass tank, looking in on civilisation behind a cold unyielding surface that he can’t quite breach. So close he pretends that he could brush the fingertips of others without feeling distance and the isolation that comes along with it. Growing up, he’s made aware of the differences between himself and the rest of his peers.
It’s not that he couldn’t feel anything, of course he could. He just couldn’t understand why others chose to be torn up over one matter for an extended period of time. Sure, he comprehends when situations are negative and unwelcome. He just doesn’t necessarily think dwelling on it for too long is any form of a recommended solution. And it’s uncomfortable, because what else was he supposed to say to make other people’s sadness, anger and the like go away? There’s no clear manuscript for that and he’d be lying if he said that continued distress of others doesn’t frustrate him. He wants it to stop. He cares enough to want it to stop but somehow whatever he says is misconstrued into not caring, or being inconsiderate.
Shane vividly remembers the time he had baby teeth knocked out when he got exasperated at one of his cousins over them crying about their deceased pet for an uncomfortably long time. “I don’t see why you can’t just get over it. It’s dead, it’s not coming back.” He’d tried to explain and before he knows it, teeth on the ground. His mother had broken up the brawl that ensued soon after and upon finding out what happened, tried to patiently explain that they were sad because they lost precious family. And Shane doesn’t get it. He doesn’t. He comprehends loss obviously, he just doesn’t understand why there’s anything wrong with speaking the truth. That day, he leaves with the knowledge that it was the wrong thing to say. It’s only years later, through watching boring drama shows on television, that he learns what he was supposed to do and say instead of speaking the truth.
But that was only one instance. There were many others that culminated into repeated visits to therapist after therapist. He doesn’t remember much afterwards, only the occasional memory of his mother crying and that sick feeling that something is wrong. He was a teenager when he finally comprehends what exactly was wrong. Apparently he doesn’t have the same empathy quotient as an average person. What bogus. He’s not a killer. He’s nothing like the criminals one sees in the news. Sure he’s had the occasional errant thought here and there but who hasn’t had inappropriate intrusive thoughts? Maybe he’s an alien, he theorised. And for a while that brings him a measure of comfort even though he knows that it couldn’t be further from the truth. At least he wouldn’t feel like the strangest thing around, what with plenty of other strange aliens around.
He’s probably 14 or 15 when he decides that blending in was a lot easier than getting people to see his point of view. There’s something beyond frustrating to feel like the only one studying people and their behavioral patterns but he makes do. He adapts and survives out of necessity. He picks up on verbal cues, facial expressions, body language and memorises the ‘right’ responses for each social situation, he learns even when he doesn’t understand why. Maybe if he faked it hard enough, it’d become something real. It never did become anything real.
Just another constant feeling like he’s walking on a tightrope. One misstep and he’d be sent plummeting into the deep end. Some days, he thinks maybe it’d be easier if he just let himself fall. Maybe it’d be easier to just…become the monster people seem to think he is. Maybe then he’d stop feeling like he’s in so much pain, maybe he’d stop resenting himself and others for having to do this when he can’t. Having to always pretend and give something he doesn’t have. He’s not a sham. Not a charlatan. At least it wasn’t a willing choice.
Throughout the course of his life, he’s done a pretty good job keeping his head on straight. He’s adapted. He’s got things under control. He’s doing fine. But as always, he has to ruin things for himself. That impulse. The ‘unacceptable’ streak in him that he tries to suppress. He slips up.
This time, it’s over budgeting disputes. During a meeting. With their superiors. Shane honestly didn’t mean to do what he did at all. But when faced with excuse after excuse, delay after delay, any sane rational human being would have seen red. The flow of conversation is briefly interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and a curse as he sets the remnants of what had been his own cup down on the table. He’s dimly aware that the room is deathly silent now and that everyone is currently eyeing him like he’s a ticking time bomb ready to go off. Shane wouldn’t fault them for that because for the first time in a good long while, he’s livid.
Movement in his peripheral vision tells him that Ryan’s shifting in his seat next to him, but he’s not interested in looking back. Not interested in anything else except the words that came out in a harsh clipped tone. “Of course you’re not going to give us the proposed sum we need. You’re going to hem and haw for an eternity but who the hell are we kidding? The answer’s always going to be no. Because we’re hunting ghosts and things that go fucking bump in the night. We’re not earning your company anymore money than we already are. This wouldn’t have been the case if we were-”
“SHANE!”
The rest of his words were cut off with a loud shout of his name and he finally turns around, shoulders tense, coiled tight. He’s yelling back before he could stop himself. “WHAT!!!” Ryan’s hands hovered in the air for a few brief moments, as if he’d been meaning to touch him, before he retracts them. Good, Shane catches himself thinking with viciousness. He’s not in the mood to be touched.
“Shane.” Ryan’s voice is quiet but firm when he addresses him again. Good ol reliable boogara. “It’s enough. I’ll handle this. You should get that treated.” Against his own volition, Shane followed the motioning to his own hand, blinking when he notices several cuts. Probably from the impact of glass shattering. It should alarm him that he hadn’t noticed that he’d been bleeding from his shaking hands. It doesn’t.
“Go. I got this. Trust me, alright?”
For a moment, he wants to rebel. He wants to continue yelling. But Ryan’s already moving to block him off from the meeting space with his own body and he’s not going to hurt Ryan. Hes not.
“Fine!” He finds his voice again enough to snap, making a beeline towards the door as he throws both his hands up in frustration. “Whatever, do what you want.” He leaves like Ryan wanted, locates the nearest washroom, sticks his hand under the running cold water and lets himself fall to pieces.
When Ryan finds him again, Shane is sat in one of the spare rest areas in the Buzzfeed office, unable to quite bring himself to return to his desk yet. He sees the other approach and tenses imperceptibly. Waits. He’s expecting anger. He’s expecting disappointment. He’s expecting a lot of things from him. Instead what he gets was a level “I cleaned up the rest of your coffee so you owe me a beer.”
"I’m not sorry.”
“I know.” The calmness in Ryan’s tone has Shane bristling yet again. This is wrong. He’s supposed to be the angry one. He has every right to be. “What the hell do you know?”
"I know you’re not really mad at me. And we’re not having a fight right now.”
“Oh? We’re not? Because that sure sounds like fighting words to me.”
“Shane-” He watches Ryan run a hand through his own hair, appearing a lot more tired in the aftermath of whatever went down in the office. “We’re not fighting. I’m not angry over you not being sorry even if you want me to be. Don’t get me wrong, I thought that was shitty and I disagree with what you did but I’m not mad at you. I just wanna know one thing.”
Shane had been about to needle him. Had been about to push and prod so that he could just explode on him so that it would have been the final blow. But the presence of a question has him pause, hesitate. “And what is that?”
“Do you have any…hang ups about the success of the Worth It boys, the Try Guys or you know…everyone else who has a series going? Do you think they don’t deserve what they have?”
“What? No! Of course not! Ryan, what the fuck.”
“So you agree that they’ve all worked hard to get to where they are. And they deserve all of what they’re currently getting.”
“Yeah. What does this have anything to do with-”
“You were going to use them as an example, weren’t you? With what you said back in the meeting. You were going to say that the execs wouldn’t have hesitated if we were any of those people.”
Fuck. It stung with how accurate Ryan was. Shane huffs out a deep breath to steady himself. He could lie, but Ryan knows him enough to see when he’s trying to bullshit his way through. And what was the point of lying now? It’s not going to redeem him. Ryan’s not going to feel sorry for him and excuse what he did.
“I was.” The admission was somehow a lot more painful than losing his teeth back then. “I.. just wanted to make them hurt… Unsolved is ours, Ryan. It’s our baby…I don’t hate any of those people. I’m proud of them for what they accomplished. I just-” Another deep breath. “I just wanted to hurt the execs so I said what I said. It’s not them, it’s just…about hurting the execs in the most effective way possible. That’s all. I know it’s a shitty thing to do but I’m not sorry about that. I’m just not.”
"I know.” The other end of the sofa dips with the weight of Ryan when he takes a seat beside Shane, their knees briefly knocking together. “That’s why I’m not angry. You didn’t do it out of intent to sabotage the rest- that I would have been pissed off about. And I’m not going to argue with you since you knew it’s a fucked up manipulative thing to do even if you don’t feel bad doing it. But Shane.”
Ryan held his gaze unflinchingly when he finally peels his line of sight off the floor to focus on him.
“It wouldn’t make me happy if we got a budget increase because of that. When we started Unsolved, we agreed that integrity would be our thing, didn’t we? No faking of evidence, no shady shit. If we were to get a budget increase because we guilt tripped the execs, that’d make us hypocrites. We’d be going back on our word. It wouldn’t make me happy and I don’t think you would feel like it’s something we earned together through our own efforts either. Would you?”
He’s forced to exhale when he untucks the bottom lip he’d been chewing on to reply.
“…Right. That’s fair. You…have a point.” It wouldn’t be their thing anymore. Ryan’s half right. Truthfully, Shane doesn’t give a shit about how they can acquire more for their spending budget. But he does…he gives a shit about Ryan. He gives a shit about their thing. He gives a shit about not ruining it. For himself. For Ryan. For them.
“So. No more, alright? No more of that whole fuckin dickery back then. I won’t force you to apologise but I trust you to make things right.”
“Yeah. I’ll…be more careful.”
“Good.”
A warm hand clasps his shoulder and squeezes. Shane wants to lean into his touch, he lets himself do so for a little while. Just for a little while.
“You know what? How about we look further into the regulations and rules of our contracts, big guy? That’ll at least refresh our memories on what we can and cannot do. Maybe we can find some loopholes. You know, in terms of getting external sponsors and such.”
The fact that Ryan could still be speaking to him so normally has Shane feeling like it’s a lot easier to breathe. And for one moment, he thinks he could cry. He doesn’t. Instead, he grins.
“Why colour me impressed! There’s that sharp Detective Bergara brain whizzing with sneaky ideas.”
“Shut up. Inspector Shane.”
Ryan’s grip is considerately gentle when he tugs at Shane’s hand in a motion to drag him to his feet so they could get started. And much like always, Shane follows. There were plenty of things he could have said. How could you accept me that easily? for one. What’s wrong with you? for another. Thank you, yet another.
He interlaces their fingers together and squeezes instead.