Fic: Cellie

[serafina20]

Title: 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.

Previous Parts



"I just... I don't get it, Alex," Travis said, stirring the leftover gravy around on his plate. "It's like it's written in a different language or something. I'm never gonna pass this class without any help. So. Could you help me?"

Alex shrugged. "I can try, sure. But I'm not that good of a teacher and, really, Michael is better at math than I am." He glanced over at Michael.

Michael wasn't paying attention. He was droopy-eyed over his coffee cup, half-asleep and on some other planet.

He kicked him under the table. "Michael."

"Yeah?" He blinked and looked up at Alex. Inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Oh. What kind of math is it, Travis?"

"Uh, like an introduction course? Through the community college. Just basic stuff."

Michael glanced over at Alex, one eyebrow raised.

Alex just gave him a smile. Yes, Michael was better at math and, yes, Michael had actual experience with tutoring. But that wasn't the reason he suggested Michael for the job, and they both knew it. He wanted to give Michael and Travis a chance to work together. To get to know each other a little better. If they still didn't like one another after that, it was fine, but at least they would have tried.

"Yeah, I can help you. How about later today we try working in the rec room? Before lunch?"

Travis gave a blinding smile. He looked relieved. "Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate it. My doc said I should really think about going to college when I get out, so I've been taking these community college courses. I have to pass this class. And I just can't. I'm taking this literature class too, and it's not easy, but I can do it. But math? I've always been so bad."

"Math is all about rules and processes. Once you learn them, it's pretty easy to just... apply old rules to new things. I just.... Okay, I'm sorry, but is it just me, or are all the guards talking about us?" Michael interrupted himself.

Alex frowned and looked where Michael was looking. Over by the wall was a group of four guards. Simms was in the middle, holding a paper. All the others were looking over his shoulder, reading. Talking, and looking up at different times at Michael and Alex.

He looked around. The other guards were doing the same things. Talking softly with one another and shooting looks in their direction.

"It's not paranoia if everyone's out to get you," he said.

"I don't think they're out to get us, but I would like to know what's going on. It can't be about going to count in our pajamas this morning; that wouldn't be in the paper."

"Yeah, but it was funny," said Travis.

"Wait until it happens to you one day," Alex said. "You don't wake up in time to dress or your towel disappears in the shower. Then you'll see how funny it is."

"I'll know who to come after it that happens. You think you're ready for war, old man?"

Alex flicked a piece of gravy soaked biscuit at Travis. "Who you calling old, pipsqueak?"

Travis laughed and threw a spoon of gravy at Alex. It fell short and fell to the table with a wet splash.

Michael sighed. "That's disgusting. Both of you." He grabbed a napkin and started soaking it up.

"Michael, Alex," Simms said, standing over their table.

"They started it," said Michael quickly. "I'm just cleaning up. I didn't throw any food."

That got a smile from the uncharacteristically somber Simms. "Nevertheless, the warden wants to see you two."

"What's going on?" Alex asked, standing. He winced as his leg twinged, but brushed it aside. He and Michael bussed their breakfast tray and followed Simms.

"Newspaper article about the two of you. Nothing bad, but, uh. Your brother's here, Michael. At least that's what Carl said. So. Probably has something to do with that group that wants to pardon you. There were some reporters at a bar a bunch of COs go to the other night, asking about what we thought about it."

"What did you say?" Alex asked. He slipped his hand into Michael's and squeezed.

"I said I thought you both should be pardoned. That you were good guys, you saved my life. You know, the truth."

Michael's hand was stiff in his. Cold. Alex had no idea how he did that. How emotional distress made his hands go ice cold and his palm sweat. It was uncomfortable, but Alex wasn't going to let go. Not now.

"Thanks, Simms. That means a lot."

Simms just shrugged. He opened the door to the warden's front office. "I've got Alex Mahone and Michael Scofield for the warden," he told the secretary.

"Go right in. The warden's waiting."

He opened the door and gestured them inside.

Lincoln was sitting in a chair across from the warden's desk. When they entered, he rose. "Hey." He frowned at the expression on Michael's face. "Mikey, it's okay. Nothing's wrong." He walked over and pulled his brother into a hug.

"He didn't sleep last night, and now he's moody because Simms was talking about the people pushing for him to be pardoned."

"I'm right here," Michael said. He pulled away from Lincoln and sat down.

"Why didn't you sleep?" asked Lincoln.

Michael shrugged. "Just couldn't."

"At all?"

"I fell asleep around four. It's no big deal."

"What time's wake up? Six? That's maybe two hours of sleep. You need to sleep, Mikey." Lincoln looked over at Alex. "You need to make sure he sleeps."

He gave Lincoln a thin smile. "Of course. I'll get right on that watching him twenty-four seven like he's a child."

"That's not what I mean."

"Guys, please." Michael rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine. Just one night."

"If you continue having sleeping problems, make sure you tell Dr. Parsons," the warden said.

"I will." He rubbed his eyes again. "So. What's going on?"

Lincoln picked a newspaper from the warden's desk and handed it Michael.

Alex leaned over Michael's shoulder.

Splashed across the Life and Times section was a picture of Michael and Alex.
The headlined read "An Unexpected Love Affair." Underneath that was written, "Former FBI Agent and his Quarry Make a Match in Prison."

Two years ago, Michael Scofield made headlines by getting himself committed to Fox River Penitentiary. He subsequently broke his brother, himself, and six other men out of the prison. Alexander Mahone was the FBI agent put in charge of bringing him back. For the past seven months, these two former enemies have been locked away together at Dixon Correctional Facility. And here, despite their history and despite a brutal attack that nearly result in Scofield's death, these two men have found love in one another.

"Jesus Christ," Alex muttered.

The article was very detailed. It was like she'd been in the prison, watching them. The way they always sat close together. How Alex would reach out all the time and hook his finger around one of Michael's. The smiles. The touching. Everything.

Simms was quoted, although not named. Like he'd said, his quote mentioned that he thought they should be pardoned. It also said he thought they were two of the nicest guys he'd ever met and it'd been an honor and pleasure to watch their romance blossom.

Alex was going to have words with Simms later.

"It was on the news this morning, too," Lincoln said. "I got a call to go on some interviews. Talk shows. People are really into this story."

"It's positive, at least," Alex said. "I mean, the reporter seems to think it's a good thing."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you've got the fundamentalists and stuff saying that this is sinful and everything, but a lot of people seem positive. The, uh, pardon group has jumped all over this. You know, if the FBI agent who was chasing you can get over it and fall in love, then you must be a really good guy." He smiled at his brother.

Michael stared at the desk, stone-faced.

"I received a call this morning from the writer of this article," the warden said. "She would like to do an interview."

"No," Michael said.

"It might help your cause," the warden said. "If you can get her to focus on the positive, and she already seems inclined, it might help you get your pardon or commutation sooner. If public opinion sways your way..."

Michael shook his head.

Alex and Lincoln exchanged looks.

"Mikey," Lincoln started, but Michael cut him off.

"I don't want to give an interview. It's my love life. Private. I don't want to talk about it with anyone, I don't want it fodder for the public." Michael set his jaw. Crossed his arms over his chest.

Alex ran his hand over his hair. "What if... what if we tell her we want to focus on the pardon effort? Focus on the riot? Get the message out that the two of us are rehabilitated and ready to move on with our lives on the outside. We'll limit questions about our private life to things that she already knows. I'll answer them." He put his hand on Michael's knee. "Michael. Publicity can be a good thing. We need to use it."

"I don't want to."

"Michael." He moved his chair closer and drew Michael into a hug.

After a moment of resistance, Michael moved. Lay his head on Alex's shoulder.

"Michael. It'd be a shame not to take the opportunity. To try."

"It won't do any good. It'll just... and homosexuality isn't exactly cheered and celebrated. Just because a reporter is positive, doesn't mean everyone else will be. It could really hurt any chance you have of getting a commutation."

His hand tightened on Michael's arm, but he let the comment be.

"Michael, I understand your reticence," the warden said. "But, as Alex said, publicity can be a good thing. And you don't need to convince the general public. It's the president who makes the final decision. And, currently, we have a liberal, gay-friendly president in office. It can't hurt."

Michael lifted his head. Rubbed his eyes looking weary. "I don't like having my private life set out there for public entertainment. It's bad enough that so much of it is. I mean, the goddamn movie on top of all the news stories..."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to break your brother out of prison," Alex said, digging his fingers lightly into Michael's knee.

The look Michael gave him could peel paint. "I'd planned to be out of the country, drinking beer on a beach with my family, completely oblivious to the media hype. But someone screwed that up for me."

He laughed. "As if you would ever have resigned yourself to drinking beer on the beach. You would have been reading ever newspaper and watching ever report about the search."

"He's got you there, Mikey," Lincoln said. "We'd barely set one foot in Panama before you were ready to go back and turn yourself in."

"You're supposed to be on my side." Then, he frowned and said, "No, wait. You're both supposed to be on my side. Is it really so hard to understand that I just want my private life to be my private life? That it's bad enough everyone in my current world knows everything about my life, and I don't want the scrutiny of thousands of eyes using me for entertainment? Is it really such an unreasonable thing?"

Alex exchanged looks with Lincoln.

Lincoln shrugged, a grim expression on his face. Of course he wanted nothing but the best for his brother. He wanted Michael out of this place, and Lincoln, like Alex, was willing to do whatever it took. They'd use any angle, any advantage. The riot, their marriage. Anything that might buy the sympathy of the public and the president.

Michael, however, wasn't so ruthless. He still clung to--naively, and without real hope--the belief that, one day, they'd be able to have a completely private life. That everyone would forget about them and leave them alone.

And, maybe, one day, everyone would forget them. But not yet. Not as long as Michael was selling his art, and the network wanted to make a sequel to "Break Out." Or as long as people still looked at what Michael had done and were overwhelmed by the idea that someone would give up everything like that. Not as long as it remained fresh in their minds.

Alex wanted to do the interview. He wanted to do as many interviews as were requested, to keep them in the public eye. To use it, manipulate it. To get Michael out of this fucking place before he self-destructed.

Michael wouldn't agree. He was all to willing to fade away to protect something he considered too sacred for public consumption. And while he was right, their relationship was special, was sacred, was something that the masses couldn't understand...

It could still be used.

He would just have to make Michael see that.

Alex looked at the warden. "I guess we're not doing any interviews."

Michael gave him a sharp look. Turned to Lincoln. "No talk shows," he said. "Nothing."

Lincoln frowned. Looked at Alex.

He shook his head.

The frown deepened, but Lincoln slowly nodded. "Um. Okay, Michael. If you insist."

"I do."

"I think you're making a mistake, Michael," the warden said. "I think you should try to use the press to help you."

"I understand, sir. But I can't."

The warden shook his head, looking grim and disappointed. "Very well, if that's what you want."

Michael nodded. Then he rose. "Linc."

Lincoln stood as well and drew his brother into a hug. "Stay safe, Michael."

"I will." Michael held onto Lincoln tightly, almost like he didn't want to let go.

"We'll come visit this weekend." Lincoln quickly pressed his lips to Michael's temple, then pulled away. Clapped him on the shoulder.

Michael smiled at his brother, then turned and walked to the door.

Alex shook hands with Lincoln. "I'll take care of it," he said softly.

Lincoln nodded.

"How'd it go?" Simms asked as he led them back to protective seg.

Alex opened his mouth, but Michael cut him off by saying, "Fine. It was fine."

"Oh, and by the way," Alex said. "Thanks for all the choice quotes about Mike and my relationship. It's been a pleasure to see it blossom?"

Simm's cheeks colored. "I didn't know I was on the record. I thought it was just going to be about getting you guys out of here." He shrugged. "But, yeah. It has been. I expect to be invited to the wedding."

Alex rolled his eyes. "We'll see. We haven't solidified the guest list, yet."

"Where are you registered, anyway?" He punched in the code to the lock, then slid his security card.

"I saw your code," Michael said as he slipped past Simms. "You should probably change it."

"What?"

Michael was already halfway down the hall, but he turned and said, "I've already got it memorized. I'm sure you don't want any doors being unlocked or anything and it be traced back to you. And resetting it to your birthday? That's just stupid."

"You're an ass, Michael!"

Alex laughed and pushed past Simms. "Michael, wait up."

Michael picked up speed.

"Hey! Stop."

"No. I'm not talking to you," Michael said, turning and walking backwards. "Go find someone else to play with."

"What? Slow down."

"You are going to try to manipulate me into doing what you want. I'm really not in the mood to listen to you wheedle and cajole me into doing something I don't want to. So. Go away and leave me alone."

His stomach tightened. He slowed his pace, feet heavy. "Michael..."

Michael stopped. Rubbed his hands over his head. "Look, just... just give me time to think, okay? To process this. On my own, on my own time. I'll... I'll listen to what you have to say later. Okay? Just... not now."

"Am I really..." He exhaled. Closed his eyes. "Am I really that bad? Do I...."

"No." Michael was closer now. Voice soft, less wild. "No, you're not that bad. But, when you want something, you don't let it go. You always think you're right. And I'm just..." Soft fingers curled around Alex's. "Can't you understand? I've given up everything. My career, my life, my body. And everyone knows. They all know all the details. They all know I was a whore for my brother, willing--completely and without second thought--ready to sell everything for him. To save him. To get him out." He licked his lips, eyes skirting away. "You know what people say. What they think. A guy who looks like me in prison. What they assume happened to me. And they know I knew going in that being raped was a possibility. That I was willing to let that happen."

"Michael..."

He shook his head. "I love you. And I want everyone to know. I want to marry you and wear a ring that you put on me. I want to walk outside these walls holding your hand and live with you for the rest of my life. If they know, fine. I want them to." Eyes, bright and huge, met his. "But I can't use our relationship. I can't exploit the way I feel about you. I just can't. Please don't ask me to."

Heart aching, Alex moved. Framed Michael's face with both his hands. Kissed him. Backed him against the nearest wall and kissed him, thumbs stroking those soft spot behind his ears. "You're not a whore," Alex whispered against Michael's lips. "Never were. You're not."

Michael gripped Alex's wrists. Held on. "Then what do you call someone who sold themselves? Because that's the definition of a whore."

He kissed Michael's jaw. "Then you need a new dictionary." He kissed the tip of Michael's nose, then pulled away. "I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. I'm sorry, Michael."

He shook his head. Threaded his fingers through Alex's and tightened his grip. "I think I'd rather... go back to the cell for a bit. See if I can get some sleep."

"Okay."

He licked his lips. "I sleep better when you're around."

Alex smiled. Leaned in and kissed Michael on the cheek. "All right." Kissed his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too, Alex."