Fic: Cellie
May. 26th, 2008 09:23 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.
Previous
Anger took a lot out of him. Michael was always so tired lately. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he didn't have the luxury. He was too busy keeping up the pretense of being okay for Lincoln, Cameron, and the press.
And Alex. Just in the afternoons, when he called. In those times, it was easy to summon up the energy to be cheerful. Pleasant. Happy. Because Alex needed that right now. In addition to the blow over his commutation (which had been resubmitted, without much hope) he had to get bifocals. And, just like that, he was fretting about getting old. Again.
Michael put up with the fretting as patiently as he could. He understood it wasn't exactly about Alex getting older as this idea he had that Michael was young and beautiful and perfect and wouldn't want Alex when he finally got out. Which was ridiculous. Michael couldn't imagine not wanting Alex. Not loving him. Not needing him at Michael's side for the rest of his life.
It would get easier. Michael was sure of that. He'd get Alex out of there. After all, Alex may have broken the law. Done wrong. But he was a good man. Done so much to atone for his sins. He was through being rehabilitated. Through being punished. He deserved to be out.
He closed his eyes and tugged his comforter up to his chin. Pam's comforter. She'd left her bed, some of the bedding. It was weird, being over here. Pam and Cameron had moved across the street four days ago. The next day, Pam had signed the house over to Michael, who'd promptly paid off what was owed on the house and then... and then just sort of left it alone. Today was the first day he'd really come over, and that was to work. It was just too crowded over at Linc's; too many people for him to think.
So, over here he came. And started working on a piece that'd come to him the night before while he tried to sleep. About prison, yes, but more than that. It was about Alex. About love. About them.
And the prison wasn't even the whole thing. It was going to be an amalgamation of their relationship: Fox River, Bolshoi Booze, the boarder crossing, Panama. Everything. Everything that had made them them would go into it.
It wasn't an escape plan. It couldn't be used as a map. Well. It could, but just of the areas where the inmates were permitted. Michael didn't have access to anything else. Nor did he have need. It wasn't that kind of piece.
But Lincoln didn't want to listen to him. He never listened. He always treated Michael like an idiot child and he was sick of it.
His stomach cramped. Groaning softly, he rolled onto his stomach. Pulled the pillow over his head.
A door slammed downstairs.
"Uncle Mike!"
He closed his eyes and pretended he was invisible.
Loud, stompy teenage steps on the stairs. Doorknob turning. A body falling on the bed.
The TV clicked on. "Oh, cool.Toy Story," LJ said happily. "I know Cameron likes Nemo, but I've always liked this one. Woody's cool. And I always kind of thought that my toys were off playing while I was out of the room."
"Lincoln sold my toys for food and drugs," Michael said, not pulling his head out from under the pillow.
LJ sighed.
The movie played on. The air under the covers grew hot and stuffy. Sweat dripped down Michael's forehead. He felt like he was suffocating.
Defeated, he shoved the covers off his head. Lay on top of the pillow.
"I brought some clothes over," LJ said. "I figure we can order a pizza for dinner or something."
"You don't live here."
"Technically, neither do you."
"Just go home, LJ."
"Naw." He put his hands behind his head. Kept his eyes on the screen.
Michael rubbed at his forehead. He had a headache. Maybe he needed glasses now. Maybe getting glasses would make Alex feel better about his. Of course, Michael wouldn't look sexy in them like Alex did, so maybe it'd just turn him off.
He hoped he didn't need glasses.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want to be alone?" Michael asked. "I like being alone. I haven't been alone in almost... Christ. Two years." He was sort of gob smacked by that realization.
Two years. Two years of communal showers, or showers with Lincoln either in the next room or under the same hose. Two years of mess halls and cell mates. Of living with the stink of fear, the stink of oppression, or just stink. Two years of having a toilet in the same room he slept in. Of needing to get permission to call home, to buy something, to visit the doctor. Of being watched twenty-four hours a day and knowing that it was going to last until someone else said you were free.
Two years, gone. Wasted. Given away, gladly, callously. Willingly and now they'd always be there. Watching him. Imprinted on his skin, and...
"Here. Drink this."
A glass was pressed into his trembling hands. Something cold and wet was draped on his neck, and a warm hand rubbed his back.
He gratefully sipped at the water, feeling it slide down his dry, cracked throat. His lungs were tight, heart pounding, but as LJ rubbed his back, it slowed. Breathing eased. The black wave of panic receded.
"Sorry," he rasped.
"You just got out of prison. I think I'd be more worried if you didn't have the occasional freak out moments. I did. Dad did. You should."
"Lincoln would never freak out."
LJ snorted. "Oh, yeah, 'cause Dad is the soul of tranquility. He's never anything but totally calm." LJ squeezed the back of Michael's neck. "He freaked out a lot about you."
Michael rolled his eyes. Shook his head.
"Oh, come on, Uncle Mike. The one thing that Dad's always done was worry incessantly about you. It's how you all got into this mess, right?"
"I guess." He sniffed. Took another drink and swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"I told you, it's cool. You should be freaking..."
"No," Michael interrupted. "I'm sorry. Lincoln should have been more focused on you, not me. Especially after everything that happened. And..."
"Oh, God. Uncle Mike!" LJ flopped back on the bed. Threw his arm over his eyes. "When he wasn't there for me, you were. You were like... like a surrogate. And Dad wasn't not there because he was worried about you, but because he couldn't pull his life together."
"Because of me."
"No, because of him. Why are we having this conversation? Are you, like, trying to annoy me into leaving or something?"
Michael bit his lip. "No?"
LJ sat up and smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop it. Look, I get that you might want to be alone. And I totally understand, too. I don't blame you. But, right now, I don't think you should be alone. Not completely." He shrugged. "There are other rooms. And I've got homework I can do." He slid off the bed.
"LJ." Michael reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. "It's fine. Stay."
LJ gave him a brilliant smile. Crawled back on the bed and stretched out.
Michael stretched out next to him. The movie went on. It was all very familiar, sitting here with LJ, watching cartoons. LJ still laughed at all the same parts. He did that nose crinkle when something made him happy, and his feet came up and pressed into the mattress, fingers bunching in the covers when Buzz and Woody were left alone in Sid's room.
Michael resisted the urge reach over and squeeze LJ's hand. Sid's mutant toys had terrified LJ when he was a kid, even after he knew they were good. The buildup had always gotten to him.
They lay there and watched the movie until it ended. Then LJ rolled over. Looked at him.
He sighed. "You know I've been contacted by five different prisons? They want me to go over their plans to find security weaknesses."
"They gonna pay you?"
"Of course. Except Fox River. They offered, but I told them it was complementary."
"Cool. How much?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. I'm not exactly sure what's customary in cases like this. Don't really know who to ask, either."
"What about your old bosses? You know, at Middleton, Maxwell and... and..."
"Schaum. I thought about that, but I'm not sure if they'd be willing to help. What I did, it kind of cast them in a bad light. Not just because I worked for them, but because I used the ghostwritten plans. No one was supposed to know. I only knew because the guy who did them told me one day over lunch." He shrugged. "I guess I can ask the guy who does the accounting for the art. Or something. I don't know." He sighed. "The thing is... it's not really... I mean, what I did.... Only, like, one in a hundred people or something could have done it the way I did. It wasn't just looking at the plans and seeing the infirmary. It was seeing the infirmary in relation to the guard towers, to the walls, to the ground, to everything. I see it all at once, in one glance. Most people can't. Won't. They'll be paying me for something that might never happen."
"Did you tell them that?"
"Of course. But they still want me to look."
"So do it."
"I will. As soon as I figure out what to do about Alex."
LJ sighed. Traced the pattern on the comforter. "You going to break him out?"
"No. God, no. It's art. Plus, it won't work. If I committed a crime, they'd either stick me in another prison or a mental institution. Not back with Alex. They're not stupid."
"I guess."
"There is no way in hell the Warden will let me back into his prison. And I can't go back to Fox River, either. Besides, if I commit a crime, everyone will know why. They'll send me to a doctor to assess my mental capacity. In addition to prosecuting me and sending me to a prison I haven't already been in or tattooed on my skin. I understand all t his, so I'm not sure why Linc is convinced I'm going to do something stupid."
"Explain it like that, maybe he'll get it. Or, maybe he won't. Just, you know. Try not to fight."
Michael wrinkled his nose. "It'd be easier not to fight if he wasn't a jerk."
"I guess."
He sighed. Closed his eyes. "I wish I knew what to do about Alex. Wish I could break him out. Or that the President would just... ignore his scruples or morals or whatever and just... listen to reason. Do what's right without the paperwork."
LJ crawled closer to Michael. Head butted him lightly.
Michael smiled. Rubbed LJ's head, ruffling his hair.
"So. It's just this Sullins guy who mucking everything up, right?"
"That's what we think, yeah. Messing around with the paperwork. Maybe telling the President not to free Alex."
"Well, why don't you try talking to him? I mean, Alex said that he's a good man, right? All into honor and justice?"
"That's what he said. I'm not entirely sure I believe him. He's probably some last remnant of the Company, left undetected and doing its dirty work."
"I'd say you were a crazy conspiracy theorist, but I got thrown in jail because of that crazy conspiracy crap, so..." LJ shrugged. "Still. Alex believes in him. And what do you really have to lose?"
"By what?"
LJ blinked. "Oh. Talking to him. Didn't I say that?"
"No."
"Yeah. I think, maybe, you should go and, you know. Talk to him. Appeal to reason. And kindness and all that. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried."
Michael stared at him until LJ blushed and squirmed.
"What?" LJ asked, face bright red. "Am I just being a stupid kid?"
"No. You're a genius." Michael kissed LJ on the forehead and sat up. His cell phone was on the nightstand; he grabbed it and thumbed down to the number he wanted. "Hi, David? It's Michael Scofield. I need you help."
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
Anger took a lot out of him. Michael was always so tired lately. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he didn't have the luxury. He was too busy keeping up the pretense of being okay for Lincoln, Cameron, and the press.
And Alex. Just in the afternoons, when he called. In those times, it was easy to summon up the energy to be cheerful. Pleasant. Happy. Because Alex needed that right now. In addition to the blow over his commutation (which had been resubmitted, without much hope) he had to get bifocals. And, just like that, he was fretting about getting old. Again.
Michael put up with the fretting as patiently as he could. He understood it wasn't exactly about Alex getting older as this idea he had that Michael was young and beautiful and perfect and wouldn't want Alex when he finally got out. Which was ridiculous. Michael couldn't imagine not wanting Alex. Not loving him. Not needing him at Michael's side for the rest of his life.
It would get easier. Michael was sure of that. He'd get Alex out of there. After all, Alex may have broken the law. Done wrong. But he was a good man. Done so much to atone for his sins. He was through being rehabilitated. Through being punished. He deserved to be out.
He closed his eyes and tugged his comforter up to his chin. Pam's comforter. She'd left her bed, some of the bedding. It was weird, being over here. Pam and Cameron had moved across the street four days ago. The next day, Pam had signed the house over to Michael, who'd promptly paid off what was owed on the house and then... and then just sort of left it alone. Today was the first day he'd really come over, and that was to work. It was just too crowded over at Linc's; too many people for him to think.
So, over here he came. And started working on a piece that'd come to him the night before while he tried to sleep. About prison, yes, but more than that. It was about Alex. About love. About them.
And the prison wasn't even the whole thing. It was going to be an amalgamation of their relationship: Fox River, Bolshoi Booze, the boarder crossing, Panama. Everything. Everything that had made them them would go into it.
It wasn't an escape plan. It couldn't be used as a map. Well. It could, but just of the areas where the inmates were permitted. Michael didn't have access to anything else. Nor did he have need. It wasn't that kind of piece.
But Lincoln didn't want to listen to him. He never listened. He always treated Michael like an idiot child and he was sick of it.
His stomach cramped. Groaning softly, he rolled onto his stomach. Pulled the pillow over his head.
A door slammed downstairs.
"Uncle Mike!"
He closed his eyes and pretended he was invisible.
Loud, stompy teenage steps on the stairs. Doorknob turning. A body falling on the bed.
The TV clicked on. "Oh, cool.Toy Story," LJ said happily. "I know Cameron likes Nemo, but I've always liked this one. Woody's cool. And I always kind of thought that my toys were off playing while I was out of the room."
"Lincoln sold my toys for food and drugs," Michael said, not pulling his head out from under the pillow.
LJ sighed.
The movie played on. The air under the covers grew hot and stuffy. Sweat dripped down Michael's forehead. He felt like he was suffocating.
Defeated, he shoved the covers off his head. Lay on top of the pillow.
"I brought some clothes over," LJ said. "I figure we can order a pizza for dinner or something."
"You don't live here."
"Technically, neither do you."
"Just go home, LJ."
"Naw." He put his hands behind his head. Kept his eyes on the screen.
Michael rubbed at his forehead. He had a headache. Maybe he needed glasses now. Maybe getting glasses would make Alex feel better about his. Of course, Michael wouldn't look sexy in them like Alex did, so maybe it'd just turn him off.
He hoped he didn't need glasses.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want to be alone?" Michael asked. "I like being alone. I haven't been alone in almost... Christ. Two years." He was sort of gob smacked by that realization.
Two years. Two years of communal showers, or showers with Lincoln either in the next room or under the same hose. Two years of mess halls and cell mates. Of living with the stink of fear, the stink of oppression, or just stink. Two years of having a toilet in the same room he slept in. Of needing to get permission to call home, to buy something, to visit the doctor. Of being watched twenty-four hours a day and knowing that it was going to last until someone else said you were free.
Two years, gone. Wasted. Given away, gladly, callously. Willingly and now they'd always be there. Watching him. Imprinted on his skin, and...
"Here. Drink this."
A glass was pressed into his trembling hands. Something cold and wet was draped on his neck, and a warm hand rubbed his back.
He gratefully sipped at the water, feeling it slide down his dry, cracked throat. His lungs were tight, heart pounding, but as LJ rubbed his back, it slowed. Breathing eased. The black wave of panic receded.
"Sorry," he rasped.
"You just got out of prison. I think I'd be more worried if you didn't have the occasional freak out moments. I did. Dad did. You should."
"Lincoln would never freak out."
LJ snorted. "Oh, yeah, 'cause Dad is the soul of tranquility. He's never anything but totally calm." LJ squeezed the back of Michael's neck. "He freaked out a lot about you."
Michael rolled his eyes. Shook his head.
"Oh, come on, Uncle Mike. The one thing that Dad's always done was worry incessantly about you. It's how you all got into this mess, right?"
"I guess." He sniffed. Took another drink and swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"I told you, it's cool. You should be freaking..."
"No," Michael interrupted. "I'm sorry. Lincoln should have been more focused on you, not me. Especially after everything that happened. And..."
"Oh, God. Uncle Mike!" LJ flopped back on the bed. Threw his arm over his eyes. "When he wasn't there for me, you were. You were like... like a surrogate. And Dad wasn't not there because he was worried about you, but because he couldn't pull his life together."
"Because of me."
"No, because of him. Why are we having this conversation? Are you, like, trying to annoy me into leaving or something?"
Michael bit his lip. "No?"
LJ sat up and smacked him on the shoulder. "Stop it. Look, I get that you might want to be alone. And I totally understand, too. I don't blame you. But, right now, I don't think you should be alone. Not completely." He shrugged. "There are other rooms. And I've got homework I can do." He slid off the bed.
"LJ." Michael reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. "It's fine. Stay."
LJ gave him a brilliant smile. Crawled back on the bed and stretched out.
Michael stretched out next to him. The movie went on. It was all very familiar, sitting here with LJ, watching cartoons. LJ still laughed at all the same parts. He did that nose crinkle when something made him happy, and his feet came up and pressed into the mattress, fingers bunching in the covers when Buzz and Woody were left alone in Sid's room.
Michael resisted the urge reach over and squeeze LJ's hand. Sid's mutant toys had terrified LJ when he was a kid, even after he knew they were good. The buildup had always gotten to him.
They lay there and watched the movie until it ended. Then LJ rolled over. Looked at him.
He sighed. "You know I've been contacted by five different prisons? They want me to go over their plans to find security weaknesses."
"They gonna pay you?"
"Of course. Except Fox River. They offered, but I told them it was complementary."
"Cool. How much?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. I'm not exactly sure what's customary in cases like this. Don't really know who to ask, either."
"What about your old bosses? You know, at Middleton, Maxwell and... and..."
"Schaum. I thought about that, but I'm not sure if they'd be willing to help. What I did, it kind of cast them in a bad light. Not just because I worked for them, but because I used the ghostwritten plans. No one was supposed to know. I only knew because the guy who did them told me one day over lunch." He shrugged. "I guess I can ask the guy who does the accounting for the art. Or something. I don't know." He sighed. "The thing is... it's not really... I mean, what I did.... Only, like, one in a hundred people or something could have done it the way I did. It wasn't just looking at the plans and seeing the infirmary. It was seeing the infirmary in relation to the guard towers, to the walls, to the ground, to everything. I see it all at once, in one glance. Most people can't. Won't. They'll be paying me for something that might never happen."
"Did you tell them that?"
"Of course. But they still want me to look."
"So do it."
"I will. As soon as I figure out what to do about Alex."
LJ sighed. Traced the pattern on the comforter. "You going to break him out?"
"No. God, no. It's art. Plus, it won't work. If I committed a crime, they'd either stick me in another prison or a mental institution. Not back with Alex. They're not stupid."
"I guess."
"There is no way in hell the Warden will let me back into his prison. And I can't go back to Fox River, either. Besides, if I commit a crime, everyone will know why. They'll send me to a doctor to assess my mental capacity. In addition to prosecuting me and sending me to a prison I haven't already been in or tattooed on my skin. I understand all t his, so I'm not sure why Linc is convinced I'm going to do something stupid."
"Explain it like that, maybe he'll get it. Or, maybe he won't. Just, you know. Try not to fight."
Michael wrinkled his nose. "It'd be easier not to fight if he wasn't a jerk."
"I guess."
He sighed. Closed his eyes. "I wish I knew what to do about Alex. Wish I could break him out. Or that the President would just... ignore his scruples or morals or whatever and just... listen to reason. Do what's right without the paperwork."
LJ crawled closer to Michael. Head butted him lightly.
Michael smiled. Rubbed LJ's head, ruffling his hair.
"So. It's just this Sullins guy who mucking everything up, right?"
"That's what we think, yeah. Messing around with the paperwork. Maybe telling the President not to free Alex."
"Well, why don't you try talking to him? I mean, Alex said that he's a good man, right? All into honor and justice?"
"That's what he said. I'm not entirely sure I believe him. He's probably some last remnant of the Company, left undetected and doing its dirty work."
"I'd say you were a crazy conspiracy theorist, but I got thrown in jail because of that crazy conspiracy crap, so..." LJ shrugged. "Still. Alex believes in him. And what do you really have to lose?"
"By what?"
LJ blinked. "Oh. Talking to him. Didn't I say that?"
"No."
"Yeah. I think, maybe, you should go and, you know. Talk to him. Appeal to reason. And kindness and all that. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried."
Michael stared at him until LJ blushed and squirmed.
"What?" LJ asked, face bright red. "Am I just being a stupid kid?"
"No. You're a genius." Michael kissed LJ on the forehead and sat up. His cell phone was on the nightstand; he grabbed it and thumbed down to the number he wanted. "Hi, David? It's Michael Scofield. I need you help."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-05-27 09:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-27 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 01:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-27 05:34 pm (UTC)I did that!! Oh, that brought back memories and made me giggle! :)
Lincoln sold my toys for food and drugs
That stopped me giggling though. It's such a sad statement. :(
Maybe getting glasses would make Alex feel better about his. Of course, Michael wouldn't look sexy in them like Alex did, so maybe it'd just turn him off.
Michael doesn't understand just how gorgeous he is, does he? Glasses or not, he'd never turn Alex off!!
Wonderful chapter, sweetheart! I think LJ is right and Michael doesn't need to be totally alone. And it looks like he's just come up with a brilliant plan!!
I'm really looking forward to the next part! *ponders* I probably say that about every part, don't I? But I do look forward to every update so much.
Are you feeling okay now, love? I was worried last week, not just because I love Cellie so much but because you were hurting so I hope the pain has passed and you realise how much we want you around.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 03:15 am (UTC)I did that!! Oh, that brought back memories and made me giggle! :)
Me, too. And then I'd tried to catch them still moving around. Of course, if I was inadvertently mean to any of them, I'd feel horribly guilty, so there was a downside, too. :)
Michael doesn't understand just how gorgeous he is, does he? Glasses or not, he'd never turn Alex off!!
He really doesn't get it. He can use it if he wants/needs to, but he doesn't trust it.
Are you feeling okay now, love?
Not really. I'm super stressed because of work and depressed on top of that... or because of that, and just generally feeling crappy. Thanks for the concern, though.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-31 04:23 pm (UTC)Our imaginations when we're young knows no bounds, does it? Everything seems possible...and I get the feeling of guilt too!
He really doesn't get it. He can use it if he wants/needs to, but he doesn't trust it.
Michael is sometimes a silly boy, right? Awwwww, but it just makes me love him more!
I'm sorry to hear you're still feeling stressed about work and depressed in general. It's a dreadful feeling I know because I've kind of been there. I wish I could do something to help but when you feel crappy like that words alone seem empty. But I can carry on caring at least.
Take care, sweetheart. There really is a lot of love around here for you, you know.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-27 09:44 pm (UTC)Oh, Michael has no idea how wrong it is. And I don't think that anything would ever turn Alex off of him. I love Michael and LJ together, LJ is just so cute. They're so cute together; Michael is the greatest uncle ever.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 03:20 am (UTC)Thank you. :)