Fic: Cellie
Mar. 28th, 2007 07:35 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 fine, Lincoln," Michael said into the phone. He tapped his fingers against the desk in front of him. "I got through the riot fine. Alex and I are okay."
"You rescued a CO? What were you thinking?" Lincoln demanded.
"I was thinking I wasn't going to let anyone die. Not if I could help it. Especially not anyone innocent."
"No one's innocent. You shouldn't have stuck your neck out. God. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you now?"
Michael sighed. The tapping became rubbing. "Doesn't matter. Alex and I are in protective segregation now. Safe. Warder expedited the paperwork. If we ever do go back to Gen pop. no one's even going to remember."
Lincoln snorted. "Oh, protective segregation. With the rape victims and the snitches. Just fucking great."
Michael hung up. Rose and stood. "All yours," he said to Alex, who was standing behind him waiting for the phone.
"That didn't sound like the end of a conversation. What happened?"
"What happened is my brother's an asshole. All yours." He tried to walk away, but Alex grabbed him by the collar. Pulled him back.
"Alex!"
Not listening, he shoved his commissary card through the slot and dialed. "Hi, Pam, it's me. Look, I...." He cut off whatever he was saying. Grinned wolfishly. "You know I love you, baby, right?" He laughed. Then he handed the phone to Michael. "Talk."
He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Jesus Christ." Alex pressed the phone up to Michael's ear.
He didn't say anything.
Silence on the other line. Breathing.
"Say something, you Goddamn asshole!" Michael heard Pam say.
A sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said... Implied what I did."
Michael tightened his jaw.
"It's safe for you... where you are. And I want you to be safe. And happy."
Another sigh. This one deep. "I know you've been through a lot. And that you're a good man. A, uh. Straight... shooting man? Honorable. And, uh, Gen pop really isn't the place for you. It's killing you, I know that. I hoped that Alex would be enough, but..."
"I didn't fail prison, Lincoln!" Michael shouted. "Gen Pop isn't where all the cool kids hang out. I'm not..."
"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm an ass."
"You are an ass."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He clenched his jaw again. Looked at Alex.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. "Fine." He sighed again. "Fine. I forgive you. I...."
A CO stuck his head into the phone room. "Scofield. Doc wants to see you."
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Just come."
"I gotta go, Linc. I'll talk to you later." He pressed his hand to Alex's, then followed the guard.
Dr. Parsons was waiting at the door between the cell block. He was pacing, but stopped when he saw Michael. "Michael. I'm so sorry, I have no right, but... but we can't... I'm afraid he's just going to die anyway. Of just not trying. This is the only thing I can think, and I'm afraid that..."
"What's going on?"
"Ricky tried to kill himself. He saw the guards moving your stuff out of the cell yesterday, and thought you'd been killed. And that, I guess, was the last straw. His cellmate found him early yesterday morning after slitting his wrists. He should be recovering better, but he just... keeps slipping. Insisting you're dead, insisting he screwed over his brother. He doesn't want to live." He stepped forward. Put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "This was not your fault. You had nothing to do with Ricky's decision. However, you might just help put something back into perspective for him."
He nodded, feeling shell shocked. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. I'll talk to him."
"Are you sure? Because I really don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Or for you to be set back in any way and... I really shouldn't have asked you."
"My brother just implied I wasn't cool enough to handle Gen Pop," Michael said wryly. "Believe me, talking to a suicide case would be an improvement on the day."
"Do I even want to know what that means?" Dr. Parsons asked as he and Michael left the cell block and walked toward the infirmary.
He shook his head. "Just my brother being stupidly thoughtless. Sticking his foot in his mouth. We've sort of sorted it out. Kind of. Alex and Pam made us."
Dr. Parsons shot Michael a look. "I heard rumor that your brother is dating Alex's ex-wife."
"Yeah. They're together. It's pretty serious."
"And Alex is okay with it?"
Michael shrugged. "You suggesting he shouldn't be?"
"There are men who wouldn't, even if they are divorced."
"Alex isn't one of them. Lincoln makes Pam happy. And he makes Cameron, Alex's son, happy. And Lincoln can't get angry that we're together this way."
"Would he have?"
"No. But still. Ammunition is always good to have."
Dr. Parsons smiled and nodded. "Here." He stopped in front of a door. Pushed it open. "Just... don't upset him."
"I'll try not to." Heart fluttering nervously in his chest, Michael stepped into the room.
Ricky was stretched out on the bed, restrained. He was pale, lifeless. The monitor tracked his heart, which seemed to Michael's untrained eye to beat slowly. His blood pressure was definitely low. Michael couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep.
"Ricky?" he said tentatively. He edged to the bed. Put his hand on Ricky's arm, above the bandages and restraints. "Ricky. It's me. It's Michael."
He inhaled shakily. "Go away."
"Ricky..."
He tried to pulled his hands up, but the caught on the restraints. A strangled cry was wrung from his throat. "I'm so sick of this. Being crazy. Haunted by my own stupid mind. Just go away and leave me alone."
"You're not crazy, Ricky. It's me. I'm not dead."
"You were killed in the riot. I looked for you. Couldn't find you. And then they cleared out your cell."
"I hid. I saved one of the guards and hid in the kitchens. Now I'm in protective custody."
Ricky laughed soundlessly. "Yeah. That sounds like something you'd do." Finally, he turned his head to look at Michael. "You look good for a dead guy."
"I'm not dead." Tentatively, he reached out to stroke Ricky's face. "Why were you looking for me?"
"Because I'm in love with you, dumbass. I didn't want you getting hurt. And I got you killed."
"I'm not dead." He fumbled a few seconds, then slipped his wrist underneath Ricky's hand. Pressed his fingers to his pulse. "Can you feel that?"
He sighed. Closed his eyes, then nodded. "Yeah, I feel that."
"How does a dead guy have a pulse?"
"I've heard that hallucinations sometimes do that to you."
"Ricky..."
"I'd believe you more if you kissed me."
Michael rolled his eyes. Leaned over and pressed his lips against Ricky's in a chaste kiss. "Satisfied?"
Ricky nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I'd believe you more if you blew me."
"Don't press your luck." He rubbed Ricky's arm. "I'm glad you can joke."
He opened his eyes again, sighing once more. "I'm not really feeling it. I'm glad you're alive." His hand twitched in Michael's. Tightened. "Really glad."
"Me, too. But I wish you weren't here. Ricky. What were you thinking?" He sat on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably; there wasn't much room. "Why?"
"Why do you think? I've got nothin' to live for, baby doll. I rolled over on my own brother. I'm stuck in here. I'm fucked for life." He sniffed. "Everything I wanted, it's gone. And when my family finds out what I did..." He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Michael. "The mob ain't so forgiving on that kind of stuff, you know?"
He rubbed his thumb over Ricky's knuckles. "You don't have to tell them. Alex didn't say where he got the tip from. He'd probably have figured it out anyway, sooner or later. I mean, he's very much a connect the dots type guy."
"Lucky you got a skin full of dots, right?"
"Ricky."
"I know. I shouldn't torture myself." He sniffed. "Seeing them clear away your stuff, thinking you were gone, I just... lost it. Didn't want to do it anymore. I just want *gone*."
Michael nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I've been... Ever since the riot, I've felt really hollowed out. Terrified and just unbelievably... sad. Not even just sad, but empty."
Ricky turned back. His eyes were bright, tear trails shining on his cheeks. "You too?"
"Yeah. I'm doing a little better in protective custody. And Alex is helping, of course. He's amazingly level headed sometimes." He squeezed Ricky's hand again. "Does your family know you're gay?"
"The mob doesn't do homosexuality. Don't you watch 'House'?"
He swallowed a laugh. "I was busy when it first came on."
"Right. Planning to break out your brother." A fresh wave of tears broke out. "You'd never give your brother up. Not like I did."
"Ricky," he said helplessly. "Yes, I would have. I was ready to. Everyone... everyone has this idea of what Linc and I are like. Were like. But it's not true, okay? It's not like some perfect brother relationship that involves him sacrificing his life for me so I did it right back. We're not, like, that committed to each other or anything." He sighed. Rubbed his head. "Lincoln borrowed ninety thousand dollars to send me to college. Never mind I was this completely disadvantaged kid who was a genius and would have gotten scholarships and financial aid with no problem, right? Lincoln wanted to make sure, so he borrowed the money. And he didn't tell me, just spent the rest of his life trying to pay it off. Stealing and selling drugs and getting fired from job after job. I was disgusted. I treated him with nothing but scorn. Derision. By the time the whole Steadman thing rolled around, I was ready to cut ties. Go on with my life and let him deal with the mess he'd made of himself."
"Yeah, but when it came to it..."
"My brother was innocent. Yours wasn't. I never would have done it had I not found evidence supporting what Lincoln was saying. That he was framed." Michael shrugged. "I would have kept my job. Kept looking out of his son. And just... waited until the execution day. Let them kill my brother for something he didn't do."
"But you didn't."
"Because he wasn't guilty. Nicky is. So very, very guilty."
"Yeah, well, that isn't going to matter so much to my family." He sniffed.
Michael grabbed a tissue from a nearby table. Wiped Ricky's nose. "So, don't tell them. Let them think the FBI got lucky. And you just... leave."
"And go where?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. Where do you want to go?"
"Space."
"Okay, besides space."
Ricky sighed. "I don't know. I don't know anything right now."
"That's okay." He stroked Ricky's face. "Just as long as you don't plan on going somewhere permanent. I don't want you to die."
"Maybe I won't."
"Promise me."
"Promise you'll visit me."
"If they let me, yeah."
Ricky nodded. Sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I won't try again. I promise."
* * *
It was a beautiful day. Not too hot, humidity low. There was a breeze. All was good.
Until the screaming started.
LJ looked up from the book he was reading. Cameron was on the playground. Underneath him was a boy. The boy had his hands in Cameron's hair. He was tugging, pulling, scratching at Cameron's face. Cameron was pounding the boy beneath him with his fists, screaming and crying.
"Aw, man!" He dropped his book and ran to the playground. "Cameron! Stop it!" He grabbed Cameron around the waist and yanked him off.
"Take it back!" Cameron screamed. "Take it back, liar! Stupid liar fathead!"
"Cameron!"
The other boy sat up and wiped his mouth. "No! You awe a fathead! And youw daddy is a bad man and he's dead!"
"No he's not!" Cameron shrieked. "LJ!"
"No. Cameron, no, you're daddy isn't dead. You know that. We're going to go see him in two days. He's not dead."
"But my mommy said," the other boy began, but LJ cut him off.
"She's wrong. Now get out of here. Go!"
The boy went wide eyed. He stared at LJ a moment, then jumped to his feet and ran.
Cameron began to cry. He wrapped his arms around LJ's neck and buried his face against it. "LJ," he wailed. "LJ, Brian said Daddy died in a wiot. That's not true, right, LJ? Daddy's not dead, right? And, LJ, what's a wiot?"
LJ hugged Cameron tightly. Stroked his back and hair as he rocked the little boy. "It's called a riot. Brian just can't say his 'r's'. A riots like a big fight with a lot of people involved. That's all. Just a big fight."
He sat back, looked up at LJ through leaky eyes. "Was Daddy in a big fight?"
"He was. But he's okay. He and Uncle Mike are fine. When we see them, they might be banged up a little, but that's okay. It happens. You're a little banged up right now, too."
"Is my daddy a bad man?"
"No. No, Cameron, he's not a gad man. He's not a bad man. Really. In fact, he saved someone during the riot. Found a guard who was hurt and kept him safe. So he's a hero. He did a really good thing."
"But he did a bad thing and he's in jail. Does that make him bad?"
"No. No. Sometimes good people do something not good." He kissed Cameron on top of the head. "What he did he did to keep people safe. And it was against the law, but it doesn't make him bad."
"What about Uncle Mike?"
"He did something to protect my dad. And, to do that, he had to break the law. But he's not bad either."
"Is he okay? He didn't get hurt in the big fight?"
LJ shook his head. "No. Maybe a few bruises, but he's okay."
Cameron nodded. Frowned. His small fingers traced the design on LJ's shirt. "I want to talk to Daddy. Can we call him?"
"No. We can't. We have to wait until Saturday."
Fresh tears welled up. "But I want to talk to him now!"
"I'm sorry."
"Why can't we go there? You and me can go now. You have the car."
LJ shook his head. "They won't let us in. I'm too young."
"It's not fair!"
"It's not." He kissed Cameron. Wiped away the tears. "It's not fair, I know." Kissed him again. "Do you want to go home and draw him a picture?"
"No!" Cameron wailed.
Okay. He was overtired. Time to go.
LJ picked Cameron up and stood. Cameron struggled a moment, but then wrapped himself, octopus-like, around LJ. His body shook as he sobbed, but he allowed LJ to carry him from the park and to the car.
"Excuse me," a woman's voice said as LJ buckled Cameron into the safety seat.
He turned. A woman was crossing the parking lot to him, dragging Brian along after her.
"Yeah?" he said tiredly.
"That boy attacked my son."
"Look." He closed the door. "He shouldn't have done it, I know. But Brain told him his dad was dead. That he was killed in a riot. He was upset."
"His father is a criminal. He's lucky I let Brian play with him in the first place."
LJ snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about, lady! His father is a fucking hero a thousand times over. You know the man he killed? Raped and murdered women like you. Dozens of them. You're lucky Alex killed that psycho before he got to you." He climbed into the car and slammed the door. He could hear the woman shouting at him, but he didn't care. He just roared off towards home.
It only took about ten minutes to get home. Cameron cried the entire time. When LJ pulled into the driveway and went to get him out, Cameron looked at him from sticky lashes and a snotty nose and said, "I can't walk."
He sighed. "Yes you can. Get out."
Cameron cried harder, his face twisted. "I can't walk! My leg hurts. It's broken. I can't."
"Cameron..."
"I can't!"
Jesus Christ. Cameron was an easy kid to baby-sit under most circumstances, but did he know how to throw a world class fit.
He pulled Cameron out of the seat and set him on the ground. "See, you're..."
Cameron fell to the ground. Just crumpled like a piece of paper. "It hurts!" he screamed.
"Fine!," LJ shouted. He checked himself. Took a deep breath, then said in a calmer voice, "Okay. I'll carry you." He picked Cameron up and carried him to the house.
Cameron wiped his nose on LJ's shoulder. "I need Nemo."
"You need a nap."
"No!" His body shook. "I'm not tired!"
"Yeah, right," LJ muttered, but he didn't say it too loudly. He was going to be patient and loving if it killed him. He remembered these moments from when he was a kid, when everything was against him and he just couldn't stop screaming or crying. When Uncle Mike had been his baby-sitter, he'd always been so perfect. He'd been calm and comforting to LJ, instead of yelling at him like the other baby-sitters and, sometimes, his own mom.
So, LJ was going to be like that for Cameron. He took Cameron inside the house and into the bathroom. While Cameron continued to cry and complain, LJ washed Cameron's face, cleaning away the sand, blood, and snot.
"There you are," he said when Cameron was clean. "I couldn't see you anymore under all that gunk."
Cameron just screwed his face into a grimace and dropped his head back. Another long wail wend its way from his throat.
LJ picked him back up. The song that Uncle Mike used to sing to him every night came back to him. Softly, under his breath, he hummed it. At first, there was no way Cameron could have heard over his own noises, but by the time they got back to the bedroom, he had calmed.
"Here we are," LJ said. He stretched out on the bed and settled Cameron next to him.
"No nap!"
"You don't have to take one, but I'm exhausted. I'm just going to close my eyes for a few minutes, okay?"
"No."
LJ began to hum the song again. He closed his eyes and reached out for Nemo. Hugging the fist against his face, he settled back.
It took a few minutes, but Cameron finally moved to snuggle against him. A few minutes later, he was asleep.
LJ opened his eyes. Cameron was conked out, lying across his chest. His mouth was open. Soft snores tumbled out of his mouth as he breathed. His long lashes were damp, stuck together.
He ran his hand through Cameron's hair. "Poor kid," he whispered. He stroked Cameron's hair. "It's gonna be okay. I promise." Then, because the fit really had taken a lot out of him, too, LJ closed his eyes and soon followed Cameron into the land of Lethe.
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 fine, Lincoln," Michael said into the phone. He tapped his fingers against the desk in front of him. "I got through the riot fine. Alex and I are okay."
"You rescued a CO? What were you thinking?" Lincoln demanded.
"I was thinking I wasn't going to let anyone die. Not if I could help it. Especially not anyone innocent."
"No one's innocent. You shouldn't have stuck your neck out. God. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you now?"
Michael sighed. The tapping became rubbing. "Doesn't matter. Alex and I are in protective segregation now. Safe. Warder expedited the paperwork. If we ever do go back to Gen pop. no one's even going to remember."
Lincoln snorted. "Oh, protective segregation. With the rape victims and the snitches. Just fucking great."
Michael hung up. Rose and stood. "All yours," he said to Alex, who was standing behind him waiting for the phone.
"That didn't sound like the end of a conversation. What happened?"
"What happened is my brother's an asshole. All yours." He tried to walk away, but Alex grabbed him by the collar. Pulled him back.
"Alex!"
Not listening, he shoved his commissary card through the slot and dialed. "Hi, Pam, it's me. Look, I...." He cut off whatever he was saying. Grinned wolfishly. "You know I love you, baby, right?" He laughed. Then he handed the phone to Michael. "Talk."
He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Jesus Christ." Alex pressed the phone up to Michael's ear.
He didn't say anything.
Silence on the other line. Breathing.
"Say something, you Goddamn asshole!" Michael heard Pam say.
A sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said... Implied what I did."
Michael tightened his jaw.
"It's safe for you... where you are. And I want you to be safe. And happy."
Another sigh. This one deep. "I know you've been through a lot. And that you're a good man. A, uh. Straight... shooting man? Honorable. And, uh, Gen pop really isn't the place for you. It's killing you, I know that. I hoped that Alex would be enough, but..."
"I didn't fail prison, Lincoln!" Michael shouted. "Gen Pop isn't where all the cool kids hang out. I'm not..."
"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm an ass."
"You are an ass."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He clenched his jaw again. Looked at Alex.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. "Fine." He sighed again. "Fine. I forgive you. I...."
A CO stuck his head into the phone room. "Scofield. Doc wants to see you."
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Just come."
"I gotta go, Linc. I'll talk to you later." He pressed his hand to Alex's, then followed the guard.
Dr. Parsons was waiting at the door between the cell block. He was pacing, but stopped when he saw Michael. "Michael. I'm so sorry, I have no right, but... but we can't... I'm afraid he's just going to die anyway. Of just not trying. This is the only thing I can think, and I'm afraid that..."
"What's going on?"
"Ricky tried to kill himself. He saw the guards moving your stuff out of the cell yesterday, and thought you'd been killed. And that, I guess, was the last straw. His cellmate found him early yesterday morning after slitting his wrists. He should be recovering better, but he just... keeps slipping. Insisting you're dead, insisting he screwed over his brother. He doesn't want to live." He stepped forward. Put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "This was not your fault. You had nothing to do with Ricky's decision. However, you might just help put something back into perspective for him."
He nodded, feeling shell shocked. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. I'll talk to him."
"Are you sure? Because I really don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Or for you to be set back in any way and... I really shouldn't have asked you."
"My brother just implied I wasn't cool enough to handle Gen Pop," Michael said wryly. "Believe me, talking to a suicide case would be an improvement on the day."
"Do I even want to know what that means?" Dr. Parsons asked as he and Michael left the cell block and walked toward the infirmary.
He shook his head. "Just my brother being stupidly thoughtless. Sticking his foot in his mouth. We've sort of sorted it out. Kind of. Alex and Pam made us."
Dr. Parsons shot Michael a look. "I heard rumor that your brother is dating Alex's ex-wife."
"Yeah. They're together. It's pretty serious."
"And Alex is okay with it?"
Michael shrugged. "You suggesting he shouldn't be?"
"There are men who wouldn't, even if they are divorced."
"Alex isn't one of them. Lincoln makes Pam happy. And he makes Cameron, Alex's son, happy. And Lincoln can't get angry that we're together this way."
"Would he have?"
"No. But still. Ammunition is always good to have."
Dr. Parsons smiled and nodded. "Here." He stopped in front of a door. Pushed it open. "Just... don't upset him."
"I'll try not to." Heart fluttering nervously in his chest, Michael stepped into the room.
Ricky was stretched out on the bed, restrained. He was pale, lifeless. The monitor tracked his heart, which seemed to Michael's untrained eye to beat slowly. His blood pressure was definitely low. Michael couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep.
"Ricky?" he said tentatively. He edged to the bed. Put his hand on Ricky's arm, above the bandages and restraints. "Ricky. It's me. It's Michael."
He inhaled shakily. "Go away."
"Ricky..."
He tried to pulled his hands up, but the caught on the restraints. A strangled cry was wrung from his throat. "I'm so sick of this. Being crazy. Haunted by my own stupid mind. Just go away and leave me alone."
"You're not crazy, Ricky. It's me. I'm not dead."
"You were killed in the riot. I looked for you. Couldn't find you. And then they cleared out your cell."
"I hid. I saved one of the guards and hid in the kitchens. Now I'm in protective custody."
Ricky laughed soundlessly. "Yeah. That sounds like something you'd do." Finally, he turned his head to look at Michael. "You look good for a dead guy."
"I'm not dead." Tentatively, he reached out to stroke Ricky's face. "Why were you looking for me?"
"Because I'm in love with you, dumbass. I didn't want you getting hurt. And I got you killed."
"I'm not dead." He fumbled a few seconds, then slipped his wrist underneath Ricky's hand. Pressed his fingers to his pulse. "Can you feel that?"
He sighed. Closed his eyes, then nodded. "Yeah, I feel that."
"How does a dead guy have a pulse?"
"I've heard that hallucinations sometimes do that to you."
"Ricky..."
"I'd believe you more if you kissed me."
Michael rolled his eyes. Leaned over and pressed his lips against Ricky's in a chaste kiss. "Satisfied?"
Ricky nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I'd believe you more if you blew me."
"Don't press your luck." He rubbed Ricky's arm. "I'm glad you can joke."
He opened his eyes again, sighing once more. "I'm not really feeling it. I'm glad you're alive." His hand twitched in Michael's. Tightened. "Really glad."
"Me, too. But I wish you weren't here. Ricky. What were you thinking?" He sat on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably; there wasn't much room. "Why?"
"Why do you think? I've got nothin' to live for, baby doll. I rolled over on my own brother. I'm stuck in here. I'm fucked for life." He sniffed. "Everything I wanted, it's gone. And when my family finds out what I did..." He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Michael. "The mob ain't so forgiving on that kind of stuff, you know?"
He rubbed his thumb over Ricky's knuckles. "You don't have to tell them. Alex didn't say where he got the tip from. He'd probably have figured it out anyway, sooner or later. I mean, he's very much a connect the dots type guy."
"Lucky you got a skin full of dots, right?"
"Ricky."
"I know. I shouldn't torture myself." He sniffed. "Seeing them clear away your stuff, thinking you were gone, I just... lost it. Didn't want to do it anymore. I just want *gone*."
Michael nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I've been... Ever since the riot, I've felt really hollowed out. Terrified and just unbelievably... sad. Not even just sad, but empty."
Ricky turned back. His eyes were bright, tear trails shining on his cheeks. "You too?"
"Yeah. I'm doing a little better in protective custody. And Alex is helping, of course. He's amazingly level headed sometimes." He squeezed Ricky's hand again. "Does your family know you're gay?"
"The mob doesn't do homosexuality. Don't you watch 'House'?"
He swallowed a laugh. "I was busy when it first came on."
"Right. Planning to break out your brother." A fresh wave of tears broke out. "You'd never give your brother up. Not like I did."
"Ricky," he said helplessly. "Yes, I would have. I was ready to. Everyone... everyone has this idea of what Linc and I are like. Were like. But it's not true, okay? It's not like some perfect brother relationship that involves him sacrificing his life for me so I did it right back. We're not, like, that committed to each other or anything." He sighed. Rubbed his head. "Lincoln borrowed ninety thousand dollars to send me to college. Never mind I was this completely disadvantaged kid who was a genius and would have gotten scholarships and financial aid with no problem, right? Lincoln wanted to make sure, so he borrowed the money. And he didn't tell me, just spent the rest of his life trying to pay it off. Stealing and selling drugs and getting fired from job after job. I was disgusted. I treated him with nothing but scorn. Derision. By the time the whole Steadman thing rolled around, I was ready to cut ties. Go on with my life and let him deal with the mess he'd made of himself."
"Yeah, but when it came to it..."
"My brother was innocent. Yours wasn't. I never would have done it had I not found evidence supporting what Lincoln was saying. That he was framed." Michael shrugged. "I would have kept my job. Kept looking out of his son. And just... waited until the execution day. Let them kill my brother for something he didn't do."
"But you didn't."
"Because he wasn't guilty. Nicky is. So very, very guilty."
"Yeah, well, that isn't going to matter so much to my family." He sniffed.
Michael grabbed a tissue from a nearby table. Wiped Ricky's nose. "So, don't tell them. Let them think the FBI got lucky. And you just... leave."
"And go where?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. Where do you want to go?"
"Space."
"Okay, besides space."
Ricky sighed. "I don't know. I don't know anything right now."
"That's okay." He stroked Ricky's face. "Just as long as you don't plan on going somewhere permanent. I don't want you to die."
"Maybe I won't."
"Promise me."
"Promise you'll visit me."
"If they let me, yeah."
Ricky nodded. Sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I won't try again. I promise."
* * *
It was a beautiful day. Not too hot, humidity low. There was a breeze. All was good.
Until the screaming started.
LJ looked up from the book he was reading. Cameron was on the playground. Underneath him was a boy. The boy had his hands in Cameron's hair. He was tugging, pulling, scratching at Cameron's face. Cameron was pounding the boy beneath him with his fists, screaming and crying.
"Aw, man!" He dropped his book and ran to the playground. "Cameron! Stop it!" He grabbed Cameron around the waist and yanked him off.
"Take it back!" Cameron screamed. "Take it back, liar! Stupid liar fathead!"
"Cameron!"
The other boy sat up and wiped his mouth. "No! You awe a fathead! And youw daddy is a bad man and he's dead!"
"No he's not!" Cameron shrieked. "LJ!"
"No. Cameron, no, you're daddy isn't dead. You know that. We're going to go see him in two days. He's not dead."
"But my mommy said," the other boy began, but LJ cut him off.
"She's wrong. Now get out of here. Go!"
The boy went wide eyed. He stared at LJ a moment, then jumped to his feet and ran.
Cameron began to cry. He wrapped his arms around LJ's neck and buried his face against it. "LJ," he wailed. "LJ, Brian said Daddy died in a wiot. That's not true, right, LJ? Daddy's not dead, right? And, LJ, what's a wiot?"
LJ hugged Cameron tightly. Stroked his back and hair as he rocked the little boy. "It's called a riot. Brian just can't say his 'r's'. A riots like a big fight with a lot of people involved. That's all. Just a big fight."
He sat back, looked up at LJ through leaky eyes. "Was Daddy in a big fight?"
"He was. But he's okay. He and Uncle Mike are fine. When we see them, they might be banged up a little, but that's okay. It happens. You're a little banged up right now, too."
"Is my daddy a bad man?"
"No. No, Cameron, he's not a gad man. He's not a bad man. Really. In fact, he saved someone during the riot. Found a guard who was hurt and kept him safe. So he's a hero. He did a really good thing."
"But he did a bad thing and he's in jail. Does that make him bad?"
"No. No. Sometimes good people do something not good." He kissed Cameron on top of the head. "What he did he did to keep people safe. And it was against the law, but it doesn't make him bad."
"What about Uncle Mike?"
"He did something to protect my dad. And, to do that, he had to break the law. But he's not bad either."
"Is he okay? He didn't get hurt in the big fight?"
LJ shook his head. "No. Maybe a few bruises, but he's okay."
Cameron nodded. Frowned. His small fingers traced the design on LJ's shirt. "I want to talk to Daddy. Can we call him?"
"No. We can't. We have to wait until Saturday."
Fresh tears welled up. "But I want to talk to him now!"
"I'm sorry."
"Why can't we go there? You and me can go now. You have the car."
LJ shook his head. "They won't let us in. I'm too young."
"It's not fair!"
"It's not." He kissed Cameron. Wiped away the tears. "It's not fair, I know." Kissed him again. "Do you want to go home and draw him a picture?"
"No!" Cameron wailed.
Okay. He was overtired. Time to go.
LJ picked Cameron up and stood. Cameron struggled a moment, but then wrapped himself, octopus-like, around LJ. His body shook as he sobbed, but he allowed LJ to carry him from the park and to the car.
"Excuse me," a woman's voice said as LJ buckled Cameron into the safety seat.
He turned. A woman was crossing the parking lot to him, dragging Brian along after her.
"Yeah?" he said tiredly.
"That boy attacked my son."
"Look." He closed the door. "He shouldn't have done it, I know. But Brain told him his dad was dead. That he was killed in a riot. He was upset."
"His father is a criminal. He's lucky I let Brian play with him in the first place."
LJ snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about, lady! His father is a fucking hero a thousand times over. You know the man he killed? Raped and murdered women like you. Dozens of them. You're lucky Alex killed that psycho before he got to you." He climbed into the car and slammed the door. He could hear the woman shouting at him, but he didn't care. He just roared off towards home.
It only took about ten minutes to get home. Cameron cried the entire time. When LJ pulled into the driveway and went to get him out, Cameron looked at him from sticky lashes and a snotty nose and said, "I can't walk."
He sighed. "Yes you can. Get out."
Cameron cried harder, his face twisted. "I can't walk! My leg hurts. It's broken. I can't."
"Cameron..."
"I can't!"
Jesus Christ. Cameron was an easy kid to baby-sit under most circumstances, but did he know how to throw a world class fit.
He pulled Cameron out of the seat and set him on the ground. "See, you're..."
Cameron fell to the ground. Just crumpled like a piece of paper. "It hurts!" he screamed.
"Fine!," LJ shouted. He checked himself. Took a deep breath, then said in a calmer voice, "Okay. I'll carry you." He picked Cameron up and carried him to the house.
Cameron wiped his nose on LJ's shoulder. "I need Nemo."
"You need a nap."
"No!" His body shook. "I'm not tired!"
"Yeah, right," LJ muttered, but he didn't say it too loudly. He was going to be patient and loving if it killed him. He remembered these moments from when he was a kid, when everything was against him and he just couldn't stop screaming or crying. When Uncle Mike had been his baby-sitter, he'd always been so perfect. He'd been calm and comforting to LJ, instead of yelling at him like the other baby-sitters and, sometimes, his own mom.
So, LJ was going to be like that for Cameron. He took Cameron inside the house and into the bathroom. While Cameron continued to cry and complain, LJ washed Cameron's face, cleaning away the sand, blood, and snot.
"There you are," he said when Cameron was clean. "I couldn't see you anymore under all that gunk."
Cameron just screwed his face into a grimace and dropped his head back. Another long wail wend its way from his throat.
LJ picked him back up. The song that Uncle Mike used to sing to him every night came back to him. Softly, under his breath, he hummed it. At first, there was no way Cameron could have heard over his own noises, but by the time they got back to the bedroom, he had calmed.
"Here we are," LJ said. He stretched out on the bed and settled Cameron next to him.
"No nap!"
"You don't have to take one, but I'm exhausted. I'm just going to close my eyes for a few minutes, okay?"
"No."
LJ began to hum the song again. He closed his eyes and reached out for Nemo. Hugging the fist against his face, he settled back.
It took a few minutes, but Cameron finally moved to snuggle against him. A few minutes later, he was asleep.
LJ opened his eyes. Cameron was conked out, lying across his chest. His mouth was open. Soft snores tumbled out of his mouth as he breathed. His long lashes were damp, stuck together.
He ran his hand through Cameron's hair. "Poor kid," he whispered. He stroked Cameron's hair. "It's gonna be okay. I promise." Then, because the fit really had taken a lot out of him, too, LJ closed his eyes and soon followed Cameron into the land of Lethe.
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Date: 2007-03-30 12:11 am (UTC)