Fic: Cellie
Jun. 29th, 2007 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Title: Cellie
Author: serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
"I'm bored."
Next to him, Alex only snored softly.
Michael sighed. "Me too," he said in a high voice, moving the mouth of his puppet. "This sucks." He idly rubbed at the rash that'd spread along his side. "Yeah," he agreed with himself.
Then he sighed again and let his hand drop. The amusement of the puppets had worn thin. Without an audience, he was just a crazy man talking to his hands.
He closed his eyes and snuggled against Alex's shoulder. What he wanted was for Alex to wake up. Wake up and kiss him. To slide his hands underneath Michael's shirt and scratch the damn rash that was driving Michael insane.
With a groan, he rolled onto his back. Began to wiggle around, trying to get some relief from the eternal itching.
The door opened. "Still itchy?" Dr. Parsons asked.
"No. I'm dancing."
Dr. Parsons smiled. "Sit up. I'm going to give you an antihistamine and then put some compresses on the rash. That should help."
Michael did as he was told. The doctor handed him a couple pills and a cup of water. "Did Nicky crack yet?"
Dr. Parsons frowned at him.
"What?"
"Um. Michael," he said, clearly awkward. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Grabbed the thermometer from the machine next to the bed and stuck it in Michael's ear.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Then he realized what he said. His body heated, face feeling like it was on fire. Michael ducked his head and mumbled, "I meant Paul. I just, uh, you know. Slip of the tongue. I meant Paul."
"I know." But he still looked worried.
"I'm not delirious!"
Alex snorted, body jerking at Michael's exclamation. Michael glanced at him, but Alex just rolled over and fell back asleep.
Michael turned back to Dr. Parsons. "It was a mistake. I meant Paul."
"A Freudian slip, maybe," Dr. Parsons said. "You're still a little feverish, but I'm not worried. But, uh... Chase told me about last night. That you were really scared of Paul."
"No I wasn't."
Dr. Parsons raised an eyebrow.
"I was sick. That's all."
He sighed and pulled a chair from the wall to the bed. "Why didn't you tell anyone it was Paul who hit you?"
He shrugged and rubbed his hand over his arm. "He's mob. I don't want to get involved with them any more than I have to. And he didn't attack me. I said the wrong thing."
"Were you abused as a child?"
Michael swallowed. Shifted in the bed. Scratched at his neck. "I, uh. I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"You just excused Paul's behavior by blaming yourself. That's fairly common among those who have been abused. I was just wondering."
"I just... He came in to ask me how to break into the psych ward. I said something, he got mad. Up until then, he was civil. I'm not afraid of him, but I'm afraid of what he can do. He got at me once, he could do it again. Only worse. If I just kept my mouth shut, there'd be no need."
"You're in protective segregation, Michael."
"Obviously it's not safe enough," he shot back, scratching his leg furiously.
Dr. Parsons rose and went to the sink. He pulled a towel from a drawer and stuck it under the faucet. "Did you just remember that Paul was with Nicky last night?"
He didn't answer. Just rubbed his hands all over his stomach.
"Okay, stop it. Stop it, Michael." Dr. Parsons was at the bedside again. In one hand, he held the wet towel; he used the other to pull Michael's hand from under his shirt. "Take off your shirt."
He sighed and did as told.
"Lie back."
When he did, Dr. Parsons placed the cold, wet towel over the worst of Michael's rash. The water soothed the itch, cooled the fire crawling over his skin.
He sighed.
"Just relax," Dr. Parsons said, voice soft and soothing now. "I won't ask you any more questions. I don't want you to think about Paul Rossi or Nicky or anything. Just close your eyes and relax." He went back to the sink and got out another towel.
"I'm not scared."
"No, but you're stressed. I can't tell if you're scratching because you're itchy or because you're upset. Or if you're itchy because you're upset. In any case, I think it's best if we stop talking about them and you concentrate on relaxing." He came back and draped the second towel over Michael's abdomen.
Michael exhaled and let his eyes fall shut. "I didn't start it," he said.
"I know. But Dr. Juarez isn't here, and Chase said you seemed really upset. And I like talking with you. Treating you. You're human. I mean, no matter what, you're a good man. Not a criminal. And while there are men in here I like more than others, I like you and Alex the best. So I want to do more for you."
He opened his eyes again. "How did you end up here?"
The doctor shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do. I wanted to work somewhere I could make a difference. This paid more than a clinic, and I'm not totally without self-interest. The warden hired me on when he was making the first round of his changes. I was here before the infirmary was. Before it was a room and some cots. A few cells at the end of the hall for those who needed more confinement. Then, the warden wrote a grant, got state funding, and boom. Best prison medical facility in the state." He smiled. "I do like it here. I just, well. Make less of a difference than maybe I'd like."
"I'm sorry." Michael licked his lips. "I appreciate the work you do."
"Thanks."
The door opened and a nurse stuck his head in. "Doctor, we need you."
"Okay." He looked down at Michael. "Just relax and I'll be back in about twenty minutes so we can do your back."
"Okay. Thank you."
Dr. Parsons smiled and left.
Michael closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. The towels were soothing the itch on his side and stomach. It even made his back feel less itchy. The drugs were kicking in, too, making him dizzily sleepy. Floaty.
Without opening his eyes, he poked Alex in the side.
Alex snorted. Rolled onto his side to face Michael. "Hey," he muttered without opening his eyes.
"Hey." Michael turned his head and brushed his lips over Alex's forehead. "You feeling any better?"
"Yeah. My head is cotton, but it's better than being in pain." He moved closer and kissed Michael on the neck. "What about you?"
"I'm itchy," he said, knowing he was whining.
"Poor baby."
Michael sighed. Rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired of being in here. I want to walk around or something. Except that I'm tired and need to sleep." He sighed again. "I hate being sick."
"No kidding." Alex stretched. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"
"No."
Alex shoved him gently. "Earlier, when Dr. Hulbert was here, when you asked about visiting Ricky. When you looked at me, you weren't asking my permission, right?"
"Why? Would you have given it to me?"
He propped himself on an elbow. "Michael."
"No, I wasn't asking for your permission." He wanted to roll to face Alex, but he couldn't risk the towels becoming dislodged. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to freak or get cranky or anything. Especially since Travis tried what he did. I thought you might be on alert." He bit his lip, then added, "And, because, you know. Because of what Paul did."
"Ricky isn't Paul." He took Michael's hand and kissed the back of it, sock and all. "Or Travis. He's respectful. Understands that we're together, even if he wishes differently. He's... I don't know." He squeezed Michael's hand. "Travis never had that perspective. He always viewed you as an obstacle and me as something he needed. Ricky wouldn't move on you. He's not that stupid."
Michael quirked a smile. "And, even if he would have, he wouldn't now. Not after what happened with his brother." He snuggled against Alex again.
"You're getting me wet." Gently, he shoved Michael away.
"Sorry." He licked his lips. "Sara's coming to town. She wants to visit me."
"I saw the envelope in the room. I wondered what she'd written."
His heart fluttered in his chest. "I don't know what she wants. She didn't say. Just that she was coming. And she wanted to see me and that she feels weird that we've been distant and formal in our letters." He exhaled. "I don't know what she wants."
"Maybe she wants to see you."
"Or yell at me for ruining her life."
"That doesn't sound like her."
Michael shook his head. "No." He sighed. "She's probably coming to get closure or something. To say she forgives me or that she needed to see me so she can move on with her life. To tell me that she's seeing someone, or getting married or... Or, what if she got pregnant when we slept together?"
"You don't think she would have told you?" Alex traced Michael's eyebrows with a fingertip. "Before now."
"Maybe. Or maybe she thought I was too busy, what with going to prison and all." He rubbed his eyes, irritably batting Alex's hand away. "It could be anything."
"Or it could be nothing. Please don't get all worked up. Please."
He sighed. "Maybe I should ask your permission to see her. Or at least say that you won't let me."
"Yes, because I want our relationship to look codependent and fucked up. Please, call your brother right now."
He wrapped his arm around Alex's neck and tugged him until he rolled on top of Michael.
"You're getting my clothes wet," he complained, but he settled against Michael. "What's with the towels?"
"To help stop the itch." He pulled Alex down and kissed him. Once. Twice. Slow and lingering, his tongue stroking at Alex's top lip. "We're not fucked up. We're not codependent."
"I know."
"I love you." He kissed Alex again. "I don't look to you for permission to do things. But if something is going to bother you, I am going to reconsider it. You're my first priority. If me seeing Ricky makes you uncomfortable, then I wouldn't do it. Not because I don't want to make you angry, but because Ricky doesn't mean that much to me. If you seriously told me not to see Sara, then we'd have a problem. Because even if I'm nervous, I need to see her." He brushed his lips against Alex. "But, on the other hand, I know you'd never do that. So we're okay. And if you need to me talk to Dr. Hulbert and convince him of that, I will."
Alex shook his head. Moved so he could kiss Michael. His hand traveled over Michael's stomach, the side with no rash. Traced his fingers over the tattoo he'd long memorized, at least that patch. Raised goosebumps over Michael's skin. "I would never do anything to restrict your freedom," he whispered, lips moving over Michael's neck.
"I know." His hands slid underneath the waistband of Alex's pants. He shuddered when Alex stroked along his hipbone through his thin pajamas.
"Hey!"
Alex pulled away abruptly. Sat up. "Uh. Yes?" he said sheepishly to the nurse in the doorway.
He looked at Alex, wide-eyed and pointed to the window. "We don't need a free show, boys. Keep the hands above the waist and... the mouths not so, you know. You're in the infirmary, not a hotel room."
Michael's face was hot. His entire body was hot, in fact, pickling with embarrassment. "Okay. Uh, sorry."
The nurse just nodded and closed the door.
"Sorry," Alex said, stroking Michael's arm. "I know you get embarrassed about this kind of thing."
He shrugged. "It's not your fault. I kind of forgot, too." He groaned and leaned his head against Alex's shoulder. "I am so bored. Itchy and hot and bored."
"Next time someone comes in, we'll ask for something to do. Movie or books or something."
"And until then?"
"I don't know. Relax?"
Michael snorted. "Do you know how?"
"Good point." He rubbed Michael's neck and picked up the remote control buried in the sheets. "Let's numb our brains on bad TV," he said, turning it on.
Michael sighed and nodded. "It's better than nothing, I guess."
Author: serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
"I'm bored."
Next to him, Alex only snored softly.
Michael sighed. "Me too," he said in a high voice, moving the mouth of his puppet. "This sucks." He idly rubbed at the rash that'd spread along his side. "Yeah," he agreed with himself.
Then he sighed again and let his hand drop. The amusement of the puppets had worn thin. Without an audience, he was just a crazy man talking to his hands.
He closed his eyes and snuggled against Alex's shoulder. What he wanted was for Alex to wake up. Wake up and kiss him. To slide his hands underneath Michael's shirt and scratch the damn rash that was driving Michael insane.
With a groan, he rolled onto his back. Began to wiggle around, trying to get some relief from the eternal itching.
The door opened. "Still itchy?" Dr. Parsons asked.
"No. I'm dancing."
Dr. Parsons smiled. "Sit up. I'm going to give you an antihistamine and then put some compresses on the rash. That should help."
Michael did as he was told. The doctor handed him a couple pills and a cup of water. "Did Nicky crack yet?"
Dr. Parsons frowned at him.
"What?"
"Um. Michael," he said, clearly awkward. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Grabbed the thermometer from the machine next to the bed and stuck it in Michael's ear.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Then he realized what he said. His body heated, face feeling like it was on fire. Michael ducked his head and mumbled, "I meant Paul. I just, uh, you know. Slip of the tongue. I meant Paul."
"I know." But he still looked worried.
"I'm not delirious!"
Alex snorted, body jerking at Michael's exclamation. Michael glanced at him, but Alex just rolled over and fell back asleep.
Michael turned back to Dr. Parsons. "It was a mistake. I meant Paul."
"A Freudian slip, maybe," Dr. Parsons said. "You're still a little feverish, but I'm not worried. But, uh... Chase told me about last night. That you were really scared of Paul."
"No I wasn't."
Dr. Parsons raised an eyebrow.
"I was sick. That's all."
He sighed and pulled a chair from the wall to the bed. "Why didn't you tell anyone it was Paul who hit you?"
He shrugged and rubbed his hand over his arm. "He's mob. I don't want to get involved with them any more than I have to. And he didn't attack me. I said the wrong thing."
"Were you abused as a child?"
Michael swallowed. Shifted in the bed. Scratched at his neck. "I, uh. I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"You just excused Paul's behavior by blaming yourself. That's fairly common among those who have been abused. I was just wondering."
"I just... He came in to ask me how to break into the psych ward. I said something, he got mad. Up until then, he was civil. I'm not afraid of him, but I'm afraid of what he can do. He got at me once, he could do it again. Only worse. If I just kept my mouth shut, there'd be no need."
"You're in protective segregation, Michael."
"Obviously it's not safe enough," he shot back, scratching his leg furiously.
Dr. Parsons rose and went to the sink. He pulled a towel from a drawer and stuck it under the faucet. "Did you just remember that Paul was with Nicky last night?"
He didn't answer. Just rubbed his hands all over his stomach.
"Okay, stop it. Stop it, Michael." Dr. Parsons was at the bedside again. In one hand, he held the wet towel; he used the other to pull Michael's hand from under his shirt. "Take off your shirt."
He sighed and did as told.
"Lie back."
When he did, Dr. Parsons placed the cold, wet towel over the worst of Michael's rash. The water soothed the itch, cooled the fire crawling over his skin.
He sighed.
"Just relax," Dr. Parsons said, voice soft and soothing now. "I won't ask you any more questions. I don't want you to think about Paul Rossi or Nicky or anything. Just close your eyes and relax." He went back to the sink and got out another towel.
"I'm not scared."
"No, but you're stressed. I can't tell if you're scratching because you're itchy or because you're upset. Or if you're itchy because you're upset. In any case, I think it's best if we stop talking about them and you concentrate on relaxing." He came back and draped the second towel over Michael's abdomen.
Michael exhaled and let his eyes fall shut. "I didn't start it," he said.
"I know. But Dr. Juarez isn't here, and Chase said you seemed really upset. And I like talking with you. Treating you. You're human. I mean, no matter what, you're a good man. Not a criminal. And while there are men in here I like more than others, I like you and Alex the best. So I want to do more for you."
He opened his eyes again. "How did you end up here?"
The doctor shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do. I wanted to work somewhere I could make a difference. This paid more than a clinic, and I'm not totally without self-interest. The warden hired me on when he was making the first round of his changes. I was here before the infirmary was. Before it was a room and some cots. A few cells at the end of the hall for those who needed more confinement. Then, the warden wrote a grant, got state funding, and boom. Best prison medical facility in the state." He smiled. "I do like it here. I just, well. Make less of a difference than maybe I'd like."
"I'm sorry." Michael licked his lips. "I appreciate the work you do."
"Thanks."
The door opened and a nurse stuck his head in. "Doctor, we need you."
"Okay." He looked down at Michael. "Just relax and I'll be back in about twenty minutes so we can do your back."
"Okay. Thank you."
Dr. Parsons smiled and left.
Michael closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. The towels were soothing the itch on his side and stomach. It even made his back feel less itchy. The drugs were kicking in, too, making him dizzily sleepy. Floaty.
Without opening his eyes, he poked Alex in the side.
Alex snorted. Rolled onto his side to face Michael. "Hey," he muttered without opening his eyes.
"Hey." Michael turned his head and brushed his lips over Alex's forehead. "You feeling any better?"
"Yeah. My head is cotton, but it's better than being in pain." He moved closer and kissed Michael on the neck. "What about you?"
"I'm itchy," he said, knowing he was whining.
"Poor baby."
Michael sighed. Rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired of being in here. I want to walk around or something. Except that I'm tired and need to sleep." He sighed again. "I hate being sick."
"No kidding." Alex stretched. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"
"No."
Alex shoved him gently. "Earlier, when Dr. Hulbert was here, when you asked about visiting Ricky. When you looked at me, you weren't asking my permission, right?"
"Why? Would you have given it to me?"
He propped himself on an elbow. "Michael."
"No, I wasn't asking for your permission." He wanted to roll to face Alex, but he couldn't risk the towels becoming dislodged. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to freak or get cranky or anything. Especially since Travis tried what he did. I thought you might be on alert." He bit his lip, then added, "And, because, you know. Because of what Paul did."
"Ricky isn't Paul." He took Michael's hand and kissed the back of it, sock and all. "Or Travis. He's respectful. Understands that we're together, even if he wishes differently. He's... I don't know." He squeezed Michael's hand. "Travis never had that perspective. He always viewed you as an obstacle and me as something he needed. Ricky wouldn't move on you. He's not that stupid."
Michael quirked a smile. "And, even if he would have, he wouldn't now. Not after what happened with his brother." He snuggled against Alex again.
"You're getting me wet." Gently, he shoved Michael away.
"Sorry." He licked his lips. "Sara's coming to town. She wants to visit me."
"I saw the envelope in the room. I wondered what she'd written."
His heart fluttered in his chest. "I don't know what she wants. She didn't say. Just that she was coming. And she wanted to see me and that she feels weird that we've been distant and formal in our letters." He exhaled. "I don't know what she wants."
"Maybe she wants to see you."
"Or yell at me for ruining her life."
"That doesn't sound like her."
Michael shook his head. "No." He sighed. "She's probably coming to get closure or something. To say she forgives me or that she needed to see me so she can move on with her life. To tell me that she's seeing someone, or getting married or... Or, what if she got pregnant when we slept together?"
"You don't think she would have told you?" Alex traced Michael's eyebrows with a fingertip. "Before now."
"Maybe. Or maybe she thought I was too busy, what with going to prison and all." He rubbed his eyes, irritably batting Alex's hand away. "It could be anything."
"Or it could be nothing. Please don't get all worked up. Please."
He sighed. "Maybe I should ask your permission to see her. Or at least say that you won't let me."
"Yes, because I want our relationship to look codependent and fucked up. Please, call your brother right now."
He wrapped his arm around Alex's neck and tugged him until he rolled on top of Michael.
"You're getting my clothes wet," he complained, but he settled against Michael. "What's with the towels?"
"To help stop the itch." He pulled Alex down and kissed him. Once. Twice. Slow and lingering, his tongue stroking at Alex's top lip. "We're not fucked up. We're not codependent."
"I know."
"I love you." He kissed Alex again. "I don't look to you for permission to do things. But if something is going to bother you, I am going to reconsider it. You're my first priority. If me seeing Ricky makes you uncomfortable, then I wouldn't do it. Not because I don't want to make you angry, but because Ricky doesn't mean that much to me. If you seriously told me not to see Sara, then we'd have a problem. Because even if I'm nervous, I need to see her." He brushed his lips against Alex. "But, on the other hand, I know you'd never do that. So we're okay. And if you need to me talk to Dr. Hulbert and convince him of that, I will."
Alex shook his head. Moved so he could kiss Michael. His hand traveled over Michael's stomach, the side with no rash. Traced his fingers over the tattoo he'd long memorized, at least that patch. Raised goosebumps over Michael's skin. "I would never do anything to restrict your freedom," he whispered, lips moving over Michael's neck.
"I know." His hands slid underneath the waistband of Alex's pants. He shuddered when Alex stroked along his hipbone through his thin pajamas.
"Hey!"
Alex pulled away abruptly. Sat up. "Uh. Yes?" he said sheepishly to the nurse in the doorway.
He looked at Alex, wide-eyed and pointed to the window. "We don't need a free show, boys. Keep the hands above the waist and... the mouths not so, you know. You're in the infirmary, not a hotel room."
Michael's face was hot. His entire body was hot, in fact, pickling with embarrassment. "Okay. Uh, sorry."
The nurse just nodded and closed the door.
"Sorry," Alex said, stroking Michael's arm. "I know you get embarrassed about this kind of thing."
He shrugged. "It's not your fault. I kind of forgot, too." He groaned and leaned his head against Alex's shoulder. "I am so bored. Itchy and hot and bored."
"Next time someone comes in, we'll ask for something to do. Movie or books or something."
"And until then?"
"I don't know. Relax?"
Michael snorted. "Do you know how?"
"Good point." He rubbed Michael's neck and picked up the remote control buried in the sheets. "Let's numb our brains on bad TV," he said, turning it on.
Michael sighed and nodded. "It's better than nothing, I guess."
