A/N: Just a little thing I wrote one day. Not the first, I know, since there are many fics of this kind. Also, since I've never been in prison, I'm not sure if there are cells that ACTUALLY have bars, since all I have seen are cells with thick doors with narrow windows, but we'll just say that the bars are figurative.

Disclaimer: I do not own National Treasure or anything characters therein.

Behind These Bars

The sounds of prison were loud, echoing off of cold stone walls. Shouts from one cell to another, many people talking at once; the sounds of prison were far from a comfortably low hum.

One cell was silent, mockingly so.

Ian Howe sat, unmoving, staring at the ground, his chin resting in his hand. Lacking a cellmate, Ian spent many days in just such a position, thinking, reflecting, wishing.

Bloody stupid.

Part of him had already accepted prison life as a new lifestyle, but there was that part of him that refused to leave the past in the past. He spent hours remembering anything and everything, whole conversations running through his brain.

The prison had been buzzing with news of the Treasure, for it was a hard subject to avoid. Ian could not forget seeing Ben in Boston, and had even laughed about the irony of it all for a while afterwards. But eventually, the bitterness had overcome any humor that could be found in the situation.

He was extremely angry, but not only with Ben. No, he was angry with himself as well. He had been stupid to break the alliance with Ben, which had eventually driven the man to steal the Declaration himself, just to save it from Ian. While Ian had always considered himself smart, even clever at times, ultimately Ben was the key to unlocking the mystery. He had that talent of remembering every scrap of history that he had ever studied; that talent of figuring out riddles quickly and seemingly with ease.

And Ian couldn't help but hate him for it. Though he hated himself too.

Rising from his cot, he began pacing. He had become extremely good at pacing, and had completely memorized how many steps he could take in every direction.

One, two, three... He was lost in his thoughts.

Behind these bars, hope was gone. Behind these bars, all dreams of being wealthier and leading a happy life had disappeared. Behind these bars, contact with non-criminals was impossible.

Behind these bars, all you had were your thoughts and memories.