Title: Cellie
Feb. 4th, 2007 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Title: Cellie
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
Notes: I've made a slight change between the deal Michael and Martinez make. Martinez asks for twenty stamps and stamps are five dollars each, meaning Michael is paying a hundred dollars.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
"You've lost too much weight," Dr. Parsons said, looking at Alex's chart. "Ten pounds in three months. And you couldn't afford to lose that, since you were pretty thin to begin with."
Alex shrugged. "Didn't mean to." He coughed. Took as deep of breath as he could. "Been eating."
"Not enough." He clicked the top of his pen. "I'm going to put you on a diet until you gain the weight back once your better." He began scribbling.
"Fine." He closed his eyes. Everything hurt. His chest. His back. His head. The oxygen only helped so much because he was so congested. Breathing took a lot of concentration and effort.
Damn Michael and his stupid cold.
"I've put you on albuterol. Make sure you take two puffs of the inhaler every two hours. You know how to use it?"
Alex nodded. Forced his eyes open.
The doctor was holding out the inhaler. "Shake it first, then exhale all the air. Stick it in your mouth and push down, breathing in."
"I know how to work it," he said, annoyed. He took the inhaler and did as the doctor said.
"Make sure you hold your breath after inhaling for a few seconds. Give it time to work."
He held his breath until it was unbearable. Coughed as he exhaled.
"Good. Now wait a minute and take your second puff. I'm going to give you an expectorant, so expect to be coughing up phlegm for the next few hours. Around six you'll get some NiteQuil so you can sleep tonight. Make sure you drink plenty of water and orange juice. Get as much sleep as possible."
He coughed again and took his second puff. After he exhaled, he said, "My cellmate wasn't this sick. Why am I?"
"Your cellmate's Scofield?"
"Yeah."
"He's younger. He's currently in better health. He hasn't lost a lot of weight recently, nor getting into fights on an almost weekly basis. Plus, he's a different person, so he reacts to things differently. No two people will respond to a virus in the exact same way, Alex. It's that simple." He handed Alex a small cup of thick, syrupy liquid.
Nose wrinkled, he drank the noxious liquid down. Grabbed his water to wash it down. "Will I be able to see him?"
"Him who?"
"My cellmate. I need to make sure he's okay."
Parsons sighed. Pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "Alex," he said, voice earnest. "You need to stop. You can't be everyone's savior here. You have to start taking care of yourself. Looking out for yourself. It's great what you did for Travis, but you don't need to protect everyone. And right now, especially, you need to concentrate on beating this cold. Not stressing about someone else who probably doesn't give a damn about you."
Just go ahead and voice every insecurity I have, why don't you, Alex thought bitterly. Ever since they'd first kissed, first spent the night in each other's arm, he couldn't help wonder if this was all an act on Michael's part. A guise to get protection from Alex by using Alex's weakness against him. He knew Michael, after all. Michael wasn't afraid to use others in order to get what he needed. Right now, he needed protection. And he knew Alex was willing to give it to him.
On the other hand, Alex would protect Michael for free. He was pretty sure he'd made that clear. Michael didn't need to use him, which meant that, well. Maybe he wasn't.
"He's a friend," Alex finally said, voice graveled.
Parsons looked unconvinced, but let it slide. Instead, he said, "We've talked about this before. I know your counselor has talked to you about it too. Prison isn't like the rest of the world. You can't take on everyone else's problems in here. You have to look out for yourself. Do your own time. Not his. Yours."
"I'm not." He swallowed. "Not doing his time. Watching a friend's back. That's all." He coughed.
"The fact that one of the first things you've talked about is him suggests otherwise." Then, Parsons frowned. Tilted his head. "Unless... unless there's something else going on."
Alex kept his face impassive. Met Parsons's questioning gaze squarely, trying not to give anything away.
He sighed. "Whatever is going on between the two of you, be careful. In every way. Keep your head down, do your time, stop getting in fights. And really think about what you want in life. Your kind of on hold here right now. Time to think. To decide and make decisions. When you get out of here, what do you want to do with your life?"
"Thanks, Doc," Alex said, wanting the man to shut the hell up. "I'll think about what you said."
"I hope so. Now, rest. I'll be around in a few hours."
"Okay." Alex picked up the glass of water next to him and took a sip. When he lay back down, he closed his eyes again.
What did he want to do with his life? What kind of fucking joke was that? For the next ten years to fifteen years, he didn't have a life. His life would consist of routine and more routine. Up at seven for count. Breakfast. Back to the cell. Three days a week he'd have janitorial duty, usually in the infirmary and the restrooms in the east wing. Library time. Commissary. Anger management and relaxation classes. Fights in the yard and showers over Michael or just for being ex-FBI. Sleep, lethargy, depression, boredom. Lunch, dinner, count, lockdowns, endless nights, more boredom.
A lot of rape happened in prison for power issues, dominance. Consensual sex went on, too, of course. Late night fumbling between cellmates, mutual agreed upon meetings in whatever hidden space people could find. The more brazen, the queens and such, those who came looking for a daddy for protection or just to make time pass quicker. Most, though, hid what they were doing. Alex never failed to find it ironic that a place notorious for male rape, those who enjoyed sex with men were persecuted mercilessly. Healthy expressions of physical pleasure were looked down upon simply because so many of the men in here were complete homophobes.
What did he want with his life? He wanted out. He wanted freedom. To live somewhere quiet, without stress. To see his son grow up. Graduated from kindergarten, high school, college. He wanted to find something to do with his life he found as fulfilling as being an FBI agent had.
He wanted love. He loved Pam, always would, but that door had closed. Because of his actions, he'd slammed it shut and nailed it forever closed. They could love each other all they wanted now, it wasn't going to work.
He wanted love.
Men had never been part of his sexuality before. Not really. Yes, there'd been the occasional fantasy, the male faces and bodies that crept into his dreams, his masturbatory sessions. In the service, he'd come across a few men that'd made his heart skip a beat. Whom he'd worshipped, hung onto their every word. Same in the FBI. But he'd never really recognized it for what it was. Not as sexual attraction, but as admiration and awe.
Michael had, of course, been the worse. Obsession that bordered on stalkerish behavior. Alex had requisitioned the file the psychologist had on Michael. His medical records. Report cards. Work reviews. Anything he could find to unwrap the puzzle that was Michael Scofield. He dreamed about finding him. About pinning him to the wall. Patting him down. Placing him in cuffs. Feeling his hot breath against Alex's neck, his face. The purr of a voice in his ear.
And yet, until the showers, Alex had never put it together. Never realize what he really wanted.
What did he want out of life?
He wanted to know his mind. To not be taken by surprise by himself anymore. To be able to control the rage that sometimes overcame him, taking away his control, his sense. The extreme nervousness. The panic. The dark, fathomless depression.
To become a man his son could be proud of.
He wanted a lot. He wanted nothing. He wanted the impossible. He wanted....
He wanted Michael.
The expectorant began to do its job. For the next hour or so, Alex hacked and coughed in the quiet infirmary. The nurse came in and out, plying him with liquids, plumping pillows and straightening blankets, doing what he could to make Alex more comfortable.
His nose grew sore from the constant wiping. His chest burned. Throat ached. Head, neck, back all screamed in agony. He was given a pain killer. Heating pads.
The doctor came back. Checked him again, discovered he was running a fever. Oxygenigating poorly. He was giving a breathing treatment. More oxygen. Told to sleep.
He did, fitful and uncomfortable.
Time lost meaning. There was just now and now was agony. Until...
"Alex."
He was shaken gently.
"Alex," his name was whispered again.
He opened his eyes.
Michael was leaning over his bed. In his hand he held a stick. A mop. He was dressed in a janitorial coverall, hair newly shorn, eyes bright with concern and worry.
"Michael," Alex whispered.
Michael's face broken into a smile. "Hi." He bent over and kissed Alex. Once. Twice. Again, and Alex gripped the back of Michael's neck, holding him down, unwilling to let him go.
Finally, Michael pulled away. "I've been worried," he said, breathless. "You sounded so bad last night."
"I'm fine. Just sick. And old."
Michael snorted. "Hardly old." He kissed Alex again.
"Your hair," Alex said stupidly. He trailed his fingers over the short, spiky-silk strands.
"I had to. You know that. I'm too much of a target otherwise."
"I know." Alex sighed. "I'm worried about you."
He shook his head. "Don't be. I've got everything covered. I'll be fine. You just concentrate on getting better."
"Now you sound like my doctor." He rubbed Michael's hair morosely. "So, you're working janitorial?"
"Yeah. Infirmary, east wing bathrooms, the floor. You?"
"Same. I guess we'll be together, then."
"Hope you don't get sick of me," Michael said with a crooked smile.
He shook his head. "Never."
"Scofield! Keep it moving," a CO said from the door.
He pulled away quickly. "Yes, boss." He started pushing the mop around the floor in strong figure eights.
The CO stood in the door a few seconds, watching Michael. Then he moved away, calling another con's name.
Michael kept mopping. "Did the doctor say anything? About how long you'll be here?"
"No. Not for a few days, I think."
"Are you breathing any better?"
Alex shrugged. "I coughed up half a lung earlier. And got a breathing treatment. So a bit." He cleared his throat. "How are things for you? Anyone giving you any trouble?"
He shook his head. "No. McNab and Ricky are both sick. I'm hanging with Jacks's crew for right now, mostly. Just in case."
He frowned. "And they don't have a problem with this?"
"No."
There was a tone in his voice. One that Alex didn't quite trust.
"What are they asking of you?"
"Alex, seriously..."
"Tell me."
Michael sighed. Stopped mopping and leaned against the mop. "Commissary stamps. I have plenty of money, so it's no problem. I'm also going to ask Linc to put in some more, just in case. We didn't want to have too much in at one time to avoid trouble with the guards."
"How many?"
"Alex..."
He pushed himself up. "How many?"
Michael lowered his eyes. Cracked his jaw. "Twenty."
"That's a hundred dollars."
"I really don't want to be raped by McNab," Michael said quietly.
"And I really don't want you to become everyone's punk," Alex said. "It doesn't always start by being turned out in order to get protection. It can start like this. A hundred here. Two hundred. Your dessert, your food. Any commissary goods. Cleaning their cells. Then, before you know it, they're riding you. Pushing you for more. And it starts to seem reasonable."
"I won't..."
"You don't know, Michael," Alex interrupted, voice sharp. He struggled to sit up. Coughed and reached out a hand.
Michael came over right away. Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist and pulled him close.
"I have stamps in the cell. I tore open the upper right corner of the mattress; they're in there." He quirked an eyebrow at Michael's expression and said, "I'm cautious."
"I see that."
"Take twenty. Go to Martinez and tell him the deal's off. You've changed your mind, and you'll take your chances. Offer him ten for his troubles; if he protests, give him the rest and tell him that you're good for your word, but don't need help. Then leave. Go sit with Randall and O'Connell. Don't leave their sides, ever."
"Won't they..."
"Safety in numbers, Michael. And they're my friends. They may not fight for you, but they'll watch your back and let you hang around for free." Alex cocked his head. "I'm surprised at Jacks, though I thought he worshiped you."
Michael's cheeks colored. "He's not happy. But he can't say anything to Martinez. He gave me an earful though." He blinked. "I'm sorry."
Alex slid his hand behind Michael's head. Felt the short strands against the palm of his hand. "It's all right. I just... I need to know that you're no doing anything that will get you into more trouble while I'm in here."
Michael grabbed the chair nearby. Sank into it, head falling against Alex's thigh. "It's different, this time. Last time I was so focused on what needed to be done, you know? All that mattered was getting Linc out. That was it. I didn't matter. Getting hurt didn't matter. I didn't care. I mean, I didn't want to get raped, and did what I could to avoid it. But if it came down to if, if the only way to break him out was to give myself up." He stopped speaking.
"Life is easier when you live only for others," Alex said, caressing Michael's head. "But you can't do it forever."
"I'm a little bit... unnerved," Michael said softly.
"Yeah," Alex sighed. He lay back and closed his eyes, still stroking Michael's hair. "Yeah. So am I. But we'll get through this, Michael. I promise."
Michael lifted his head, took Alex's hand, and kissed his wrist. "I know. It's just... hard."
He smiled crookedly. "Sometimes, you have to struggle to hold onto your faith."
"Believe me, I know. I..."
"Scofield!" The CO stormed into the room, baton in hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Michael got to his feet quickly. Grabbed the mop. "I'm done in here, boss. I was just checking to make sure my cellie was all right."
The CO's expression didn't soften. "Move it, con. You got other rooms to clean."
"Yes, boss." Michael glanced back at Alex. Nodded and left.
"You. Sleep. Or whatever."
Alex fought not to roll his eyes and settled back into his bed. "Whatever you say, boss." Mouth still tingling from Michael's kiss, body warmed from the visit, Alex drifted off to sleep.
His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he hoped Martinez was as reasonable as Alex had always believed.
Author:
serafina20Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
Notes: I've made a slight change between the deal Michael and Martinez make. Martinez asks for twenty stamps and stamps are five dollars each, meaning Michael is paying a hundred dollars.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
"You've lost too much weight," Dr. Parsons said, looking at Alex's chart. "Ten pounds in three months. And you couldn't afford to lose that, since you were pretty thin to begin with."
Alex shrugged. "Didn't mean to." He coughed. Took as deep of breath as he could. "Been eating."
"Not enough." He clicked the top of his pen. "I'm going to put you on a diet until you gain the weight back once your better." He began scribbling.
"Fine." He closed his eyes. Everything hurt. His chest. His back. His head. The oxygen only helped so much because he was so congested. Breathing took a lot of concentration and effort.
Damn Michael and his stupid cold.
"I've put you on albuterol. Make sure you take two puffs of the inhaler every two hours. You know how to use it?"
Alex nodded. Forced his eyes open.
The doctor was holding out the inhaler. "Shake it first, then exhale all the air. Stick it in your mouth and push down, breathing in."
"I know how to work it," he said, annoyed. He took the inhaler and did as the doctor said.
"Make sure you hold your breath after inhaling for a few seconds. Give it time to work."
He held his breath until it was unbearable. Coughed as he exhaled.
"Good. Now wait a minute and take your second puff. I'm going to give you an expectorant, so expect to be coughing up phlegm for the next few hours. Around six you'll get some NiteQuil so you can sleep tonight. Make sure you drink plenty of water and orange juice. Get as much sleep as possible."
He coughed again and took his second puff. After he exhaled, he said, "My cellmate wasn't this sick. Why am I?"
"Your cellmate's Scofield?"
"Yeah."
"He's younger. He's currently in better health. He hasn't lost a lot of weight recently, nor getting into fights on an almost weekly basis. Plus, he's a different person, so he reacts to things differently. No two people will respond to a virus in the exact same way, Alex. It's that simple." He handed Alex a small cup of thick, syrupy liquid.
Nose wrinkled, he drank the noxious liquid down. Grabbed his water to wash it down. "Will I be able to see him?"
"Him who?"
"My cellmate. I need to make sure he's okay."
Parsons sighed. Pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "Alex," he said, voice earnest. "You need to stop. You can't be everyone's savior here. You have to start taking care of yourself. Looking out for yourself. It's great what you did for Travis, but you don't need to protect everyone. And right now, especially, you need to concentrate on beating this cold. Not stressing about someone else who probably doesn't give a damn about you."
Just go ahead and voice every insecurity I have, why don't you, Alex thought bitterly. Ever since they'd first kissed, first spent the night in each other's arm, he couldn't help wonder if this was all an act on Michael's part. A guise to get protection from Alex by using Alex's weakness against him. He knew Michael, after all. Michael wasn't afraid to use others in order to get what he needed. Right now, he needed protection. And he knew Alex was willing to give it to him.
On the other hand, Alex would protect Michael for free. He was pretty sure he'd made that clear. Michael didn't need to use him, which meant that, well. Maybe he wasn't.
"He's a friend," Alex finally said, voice graveled.
Parsons looked unconvinced, but let it slide. Instead, he said, "We've talked about this before. I know your counselor has talked to you about it too. Prison isn't like the rest of the world. You can't take on everyone else's problems in here. You have to look out for yourself. Do your own time. Not his. Yours."
"I'm not." He swallowed. "Not doing his time. Watching a friend's back. That's all." He coughed.
"The fact that one of the first things you've talked about is him suggests otherwise." Then, Parsons frowned. Tilted his head. "Unless... unless there's something else going on."
Alex kept his face impassive. Met Parsons's questioning gaze squarely, trying not to give anything away.
He sighed. "Whatever is going on between the two of you, be careful. In every way. Keep your head down, do your time, stop getting in fights. And really think about what you want in life. Your kind of on hold here right now. Time to think. To decide and make decisions. When you get out of here, what do you want to do with your life?"
"Thanks, Doc," Alex said, wanting the man to shut the hell up. "I'll think about what you said."
"I hope so. Now, rest. I'll be around in a few hours."
"Okay." Alex picked up the glass of water next to him and took a sip. When he lay back down, he closed his eyes again.
What did he want to do with his life? What kind of fucking joke was that? For the next ten years to fifteen years, he didn't have a life. His life would consist of routine and more routine. Up at seven for count. Breakfast. Back to the cell. Three days a week he'd have janitorial duty, usually in the infirmary and the restrooms in the east wing. Library time. Commissary. Anger management and relaxation classes. Fights in the yard and showers over Michael or just for being ex-FBI. Sleep, lethargy, depression, boredom. Lunch, dinner, count, lockdowns, endless nights, more boredom.
A lot of rape happened in prison for power issues, dominance. Consensual sex went on, too, of course. Late night fumbling between cellmates, mutual agreed upon meetings in whatever hidden space people could find. The more brazen, the queens and such, those who came looking for a daddy for protection or just to make time pass quicker. Most, though, hid what they were doing. Alex never failed to find it ironic that a place notorious for male rape, those who enjoyed sex with men were persecuted mercilessly. Healthy expressions of physical pleasure were looked down upon simply because so many of the men in here were complete homophobes.
What did he want with his life? He wanted out. He wanted freedom. To live somewhere quiet, without stress. To see his son grow up. Graduated from kindergarten, high school, college. He wanted to find something to do with his life he found as fulfilling as being an FBI agent had.
He wanted love. He loved Pam, always would, but that door had closed. Because of his actions, he'd slammed it shut and nailed it forever closed. They could love each other all they wanted now, it wasn't going to work.
He wanted love.
Men had never been part of his sexuality before. Not really. Yes, there'd been the occasional fantasy, the male faces and bodies that crept into his dreams, his masturbatory sessions. In the service, he'd come across a few men that'd made his heart skip a beat. Whom he'd worshipped, hung onto their every word. Same in the FBI. But he'd never really recognized it for what it was. Not as sexual attraction, but as admiration and awe.
Michael had, of course, been the worse. Obsession that bordered on stalkerish behavior. Alex had requisitioned the file the psychologist had on Michael. His medical records. Report cards. Work reviews. Anything he could find to unwrap the puzzle that was Michael Scofield. He dreamed about finding him. About pinning him to the wall. Patting him down. Placing him in cuffs. Feeling his hot breath against Alex's neck, his face. The purr of a voice in his ear.
And yet, until the showers, Alex had never put it together. Never realize what he really wanted.
What did he want out of life?
He wanted to know his mind. To not be taken by surprise by himself anymore. To be able to control the rage that sometimes overcame him, taking away his control, his sense. The extreme nervousness. The panic. The dark, fathomless depression.
To become a man his son could be proud of.
He wanted a lot. He wanted nothing. He wanted the impossible. He wanted....
He wanted Michael.
The expectorant began to do its job. For the next hour or so, Alex hacked and coughed in the quiet infirmary. The nurse came in and out, plying him with liquids, plumping pillows and straightening blankets, doing what he could to make Alex more comfortable.
His nose grew sore from the constant wiping. His chest burned. Throat ached. Head, neck, back all screamed in agony. He was given a pain killer. Heating pads.
The doctor came back. Checked him again, discovered he was running a fever. Oxygenigating poorly. He was giving a breathing treatment. More oxygen. Told to sleep.
He did, fitful and uncomfortable.
Time lost meaning. There was just now and now was agony. Until...
"Alex."
He was shaken gently.
"Alex," his name was whispered again.
He opened his eyes.
Michael was leaning over his bed. In his hand he held a stick. A mop. He was dressed in a janitorial coverall, hair newly shorn, eyes bright with concern and worry.
"Michael," Alex whispered.
Michael's face broken into a smile. "Hi." He bent over and kissed Alex. Once. Twice. Again, and Alex gripped the back of Michael's neck, holding him down, unwilling to let him go.
Finally, Michael pulled away. "I've been worried," he said, breathless. "You sounded so bad last night."
"I'm fine. Just sick. And old."
Michael snorted. "Hardly old." He kissed Alex again.
"Your hair," Alex said stupidly. He trailed his fingers over the short, spiky-silk strands.
"I had to. You know that. I'm too much of a target otherwise."
"I know." Alex sighed. "I'm worried about you."
He shook his head. "Don't be. I've got everything covered. I'll be fine. You just concentrate on getting better."
"Now you sound like my doctor." He rubbed Michael's hair morosely. "So, you're working janitorial?"
"Yeah. Infirmary, east wing bathrooms, the floor. You?"
"Same. I guess we'll be together, then."
"Hope you don't get sick of me," Michael said with a crooked smile.
He shook his head. "Never."
"Scofield! Keep it moving," a CO said from the door.
He pulled away quickly. "Yes, boss." He started pushing the mop around the floor in strong figure eights.
The CO stood in the door a few seconds, watching Michael. Then he moved away, calling another con's name.
Michael kept mopping. "Did the doctor say anything? About how long you'll be here?"
"No. Not for a few days, I think."
"Are you breathing any better?"
Alex shrugged. "I coughed up half a lung earlier. And got a breathing treatment. So a bit." He cleared his throat. "How are things for you? Anyone giving you any trouble?"
He shook his head. "No. McNab and Ricky are both sick. I'm hanging with Jacks's crew for right now, mostly. Just in case."
He frowned. "And they don't have a problem with this?"
"No."
There was a tone in his voice. One that Alex didn't quite trust.
"What are they asking of you?"
"Alex, seriously..."
"Tell me."
Michael sighed. Stopped mopping and leaned against the mop. "Commissary stamps. I have plenty of money, so it's no problem. I'm also going to ask Linc to put in some more, just in case. We didn't want to have too much in at one time to avoid trouble with the guards."
"How many?"
"Alex..."
He pushed himself up. "How many?"
Michael lowered his eyes. Cracked his jaw. "Twenty."
"That's a hundred dollars."
"I really don't want to be raped by McNab," Michael said quietly.
"And I really don't want you to become everyone's punk," Alex said. "It doesn't always start by being turned out in order to get protection. It can start like this. A hundred here. Two hundred. Your dessert, your food. Any commissary goods. Cleaning their cells. Then, before you know it, they're riding you. Pushing you for more. And it starts to seem reasonable."
"I won't..."
"You don't know, Michael," Alex interrupted, voice sharp. He struggled to sit up. Coughed and reached out a hand.
Michael came over right away. Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist and pulled him close.
"I have stamps in the cell. I tore open the upper right corner of the mattress; they're in there." He quirked an eyebrow at Michael's expression and said, "I'm cautious."
"I see that."
"Take twenty. Go to Martinez and tell him the deal's off. You've changed your mind, and you'll take your chances. Offer him ten for his troubles; if he protests, give him the rest and tell him that you're good for your word, but don't need help. Then leave. Go sit with Randall and O'Connell. Don't leave their sides, ever."
"Won't they..."
"Safety in numbers, Michael. And they're my friends. They may not fight for you, but they'll watch your back and let you hang around for free." Alex cocked his head. "I'm surprised at Jacks, though I thought he worshiped you."
Michael's cheeks colored. "He's not happy. But he can't say anything to Martinez. He gave me an earful though." He blinked. "I'm sorry."
Alex slid his hand behind Michael's head. Felt the short strands against the palm of his hand. "It's all right. I just... I need to know that you're no doing anything that will get you into more trouble while I'm in here."
Michael grabbed the chair nearby. Sank into it, head falling against Alex's thigh. "It's different, this time. Last time I was so focused on what needed to be done, you know? All that mattered was getting Linc out. That was it. I didn't matter. Getting hurt didn't matter. I didn't care. I mean, I didn't want to get raped, and did what I could to avoid it. But if it came down to if, if the only way to break him out was to give myself up." He stopped speaking.
"Life is easier when you live only for others," Alex said, caressing Michael's head. "But you can't do it forever."
"I'm a little bit... unnerved," Michael said softly.
"Yeah," Alex sighed. He lay back and closed his eyes, still stroking Michael's hair. "Yeah. So am I. But we'll get through this, Michael. I promise."
Michael lifted his head, took Alex's hand, and kissed his wrist. "I know. It's just... hard."
He smiled crookedly. "Sometimes, you have to struggle to hold onto your faith."
"Believe me, I know. I..."
"Scofield!" The CO stormed into the room, baton in hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Michael got to his feet quickly. Grabbed the mop. "I'm done in here, boss. I was just checking to make sure my cellie was all right."
The CO's expression didn't soften. "Move it, con. You got other rooms to clean."
"Yes, boss." Michael glanced back at Alex. Nodded and left.
"You. Sleep. Or whatever."
Alex fought not to roll his eyes and settled back into his bed. "Whatever you say, boss." Mouth still tingling from Michael's kiss, body warmed from the visit, Alex drifted off to sleep.
His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he hoped Martinez was as reasonable as Alex had always believed.
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no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:32 am (UTC)Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 06:21 am (UTC)Just go ahead and voice every insecurity I have, why don't you, Alex thought bitterly.
Awww. *hugs him* It's okay, Alex. Michael loves you.
About pinning him to the wall. Patting him down. Placing him in cuffs. Feeling his hot breath against Alex's neck, his face. The purr of a voice in his ear.
HELL YEAH.
How much do I love this fic? Way too much for my own good, really. I loved the interaction at the end, and I was just waiting for a CO to come in and catch them. Thank goodness they weren't kissing at the time ;)
This is so weird. They're like a fully fledged couple, just in a strange situation. Exceptionally strange.
Thank you for such a quick update!! You're so brilliant. *feels selfish for asking but...* more?? :D
no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:35 am (UTC)I almost didn't want to. But I figured I'd just tease that scene. :)
I loved the interaction at the end, and I was just waiting for a CO to come in and catch them. Thank goodness they weren't kissing at the time ;)
Maybe another time. Right now, it's still a secret.
This is so weird. They're like a fully fledged couple, just in a strange situation. Exceptionally strange.
They're both so used to secrets and strangeness, i think they could make it work. At least they better. I want a happy ending. :)
THank you!
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Date: 2007-02-05 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-06 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 11:16 am (UTC)I am getting a little confused with all the the other characters now like Jacks and Ricky and who is more dangerous than the other. Any chance of a character list with who's good and who's bad in relation to Michael and Alex?
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Date: 2007-02-06 03:50 am (UTC)Not really dangerous: Jacks, Sammy, Randall, and O'Connell
Undetermined: Martinez and his gang
Thank you for the feedback!!!
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Date: 2007-02-05 03:52 pm (UTC)And some part of me hopes that maybe Martinez isn't as reasonable, so Alex will have to go in and save Michael.
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Date: 2007-02-05 06:00 pm (UTC)I really want Michael to toughen up, he's been in jail...he punched Abruzzi. Mikey needs to show Alex he's a man.
that all was said of course to get Alex more turned on so that *I* can get my slashy fix, lol.
I love this story :)
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Date: 2007-02-06 06:11 am (UTC)*hugs poor Alex* *reassures him of Michael's somewhat insane and undying love*
And pushing him up against the wall and patting him down (in cuffs!)...I'm going to have to go with
Excellent installment. Loved the cute interaction. More? :)
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Date: 2007-02-06 11:37 pm (UTC)hope you had a good day :D
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Date: 2007-02-07 03:47 am (UTC)