A/N: I think I’ve been watching too much lawtube (court cases reviewed by lawyers on YouTube) because I suddenly had the need to write Deeks testifying in court after he shoots his dad. So, here you go. Have some angst. And please excuse the leading questions. I am obviously not a lawyer.
Also, I always refer to kid Deeks as Marty since I don’t picture him going by his last name just yet.
***
Judgment Day
He’s not ready. His entire body is trembling and he thinks he might throw up. No one is going to believe him. He’s just a kid. A kid everyone thinks is a troublemaker. He’s going to mess this up.
“Honey, are you ok?”
Marty freezes, nodding automatically without looking at the social worker sitting next to him. She’s a nice older lady, much kinder than the first one he’d been assigned a few months ago. His mom is somewhere else in the courthouse, probably being told what to say by their lawyer.
“Marty, it’s going to be ok,” she continues. “You just speak clearly and tell the truth. That’s all that anybody expects of you.”
“Not everybody believes the truth,” he mutters against his better judgment. Her hand settles on his shoulder. He tries not to flinch.
“I know you’ve had a hard time, but it’ll be all over after today.”
That’s what he’s afraid of. What happens after he’s done testifying. Hopefully, the judge will decide Gordon should stay in jail, but Marty doesn’t have much faith. Not after all the people who ignored his mom’s bruises and didn’t ask why he’d ended up in the ER again.
He’s plenty worried about what happens if his dad is set free.
“They’re ready for you now.”
That sick feeling returns as he followed the social worker into the courtroom. There’s half a dozen people sitting, watching like it’s some kind of TV show. He walks past them and past the two tables in front of the audience. A judge sits at the very front, expressionless, and intimating in the power he represents.
An officer swears him in. It’s the oddest feeling because he hears every word yet somehow doesn’t seem like he’s there at all. When he’s done, the judge tells Marty to sit and Roberta’s lawyer walks up.
He knows the questions that are coming, but they hadn’t actually practiced. Something about wanting an honest response. It makes this all feel like some kind of game instead of the most important day in Marty’s life. He looks beyond the lawyer
His dad is right there. Logically, he knows there’s a few yards between them, but it feels like Gordon could reach right out and touch him. They haven’t been in the same room since he shot him.
Marty’s heart starts to pound again.
The lawyer asks about Marty’s age, his parents, his favorite activities. Maybe it’s supposed to calm him down. It doesn’t work.
“Now Marty, I need to ask you some questions about your father. Have you ever seen him become violent before?” the lawyer asks.
“Yes, sir
“How?”
“He’d scream and shout, throw things, use his fists,” Marty answers. He doesn’t know how much he should say.
“He’d hurt your mother?”
“Yes. Sometimes by accident when he’d throw dishes or glass, but other times he’d hit her or kick her. Throw her on the ground.”
“Did this happen often?” the lawyer asks softly, compassionately, and that makes Marty’s throat tighten painfully.
“All the time,” he whispers. “Nearly every day at the end.”
“Did your dad hurt you too?”
Marty hesitates now. He looks at his dad; he can’t help it. Gordon glares back, rage and warning in his eyes. It’s probably supposed to scare Marty. To shut him up.
Instead, it lights a fire in his chest and makes his heart beat faster than ever, only this time it’s fueled by anger. He thinks of all the times he’d been told to shut up for just being a kid or that he was a screw up. How many times he’d crept around trying so hard not to make his dad mad.
“Yes, he did. The first time when I was only five.”
“And what happened that time?”
“He was drunk and I did something, I don’t even remember what, that made him mad. He me told me to shut up, and when I didn’t, he grabbed my arm.” Marty reflexively grabs his forearm. “It was the first time he dislocated my shoulder.”
“What happened the night you shot your father?” the lawyer asks. It takes all Marty’s effort not to react to the word “shot”.
“I, uh, I’d been out with my friend and heard shouting when I came home. I could hear it through the door. Like I said, it was nothing new. Dad shouted most nights over something. That night…” he shakes his head. “I could tell it was different. Mom kept begging him to stop and he just laughed at her. He sounded super drunk. She told him he’d kill her and he laughed again. So, I uh, I climbed up the side of the house and crawled through the window in my bed room.” He wipes under his nose, determined not to cry or show any weakness.
“A friend had given me a gun in case anything really bad happened. I got it and went into the kitchen where they were.” Here he couldn’t quiet a soft gasp at the memory. His mom bleeding on the floor while Gordon stood over her, swinging a shotgun around like he didn’t have a care in the world. “There was glass everywhere from a broken whiskey bottle. He’d hit her so hard her face was covered in blood. She was laying there crying and I don’t think she could get up. Dad had a shotgun.”
“What happened next, Martin?”
“I shouted at him to stop and ran over to mom to get in front of her. I said I’d shoot him if he didn’t leave mom alone. He just started laughing. Told me I’d never have the guts and he’d hit me before I could even try. Then he pointed the shot gun at us. And I…”
He exhales softly.
“I pulled the trigger. He fell on the ground screaming that he’d kill me. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Just all the blood,” Marty finishes. He looks up, and the lawyer nods reassuringly.
“Thank you, Marty. Those are all my questions.”
He sits back as Gordon’s lawyer goes to talk to the judge. His mom is in the front he sees now. Even from a distance, he sees her eyes are red and she looks terrified. He hopes he’s done enough for her.