P is for…

CHAPTER I

P is for Prison.

"Lisa can you look after LJ for me? And no I'm not criticising you as a mom, I'm asking you not to judge me too harshly because I love my son and I'm gonna need you to be everything to him and try not to bias him against me while I'm… inside." Lincoln told his ex-girlfriend Lisa Rix who was also the mother of his child; fifteen year old Lincoln Junior, thanks to one drunken night when they had been eighteen.

Lisa nodded and hugged him but said "I think you going away to prison for possession of cocaine will be more damaging than anything I could say, Linc!"

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Just tell him I love him." He said as he was led away from the court room.

Twenty hours later and he was processed through Fox River State Penitentiary, a level one facility in Joliet, Illinois. Lincoln had always lived in Chicago; the city had seen him at his all time lows such as snorting cocaine and beating up strangers who had given him the wrong look at the wrong time – to his highs such as his relationship with Veronica Donovan and his weekends with his son LJ. But now he was at a different low in a different town. He was in jail with the only woman he ever loved having turned her back on him and now she was marrying another man, and his son was an angry, disappointed mess.

For the next seven years this would be his home. Iron bars and mouthy inmates. Shanks and rape and victims. Lincoln didn't care about the stigma that would attach itself to him once he was free of these walls – after all he had spent most of his teenage years in and out of juvenile centres – but he cared about how it would affect LJ, who hadn't been acting himself since shortly before Lincoln's arrest. Ever since Lincoln had been caught LJ had not called or visited.

"I'm Fernando Sucre." The Puerto Rican in Cell 40 introduced himself from the top bunk where he was sprawled and reading a magazine.

"Lincoln Burrows." He said shortly, and looked out of the bars to the rest of the prison. It was a gray depressing sight. Prisoners were caged, some were singing, most were talking. Many were smoking despite the 'no smoking' signs posted above each cell. Some were reading or playing cards. There was nothing interesting. Lincoln turned away but just as he did something – or should he say someone – caught his eye.

In a cell opposite on the level above was a… pretty (for lack of a better word) inmate with his dark hair short as it could get and tattoos covering his fit torso and arms. Lincoln couldn't make out what the tattoos were of but he was fascinated by the man. Lincoln wasn't gay – he had never fooled around in college (well, he had never made it to college) or had a crush on any guys he knew but something about this guy made his heart speed up and his dick pay attention.

"Hey, Sucra!" Lincoln said, not taking his eyes off of the man opposite him so he missed Sucre's eye roll at the mispronunciation of his name.

"It's Sucre." He corrected the large white guy.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Soo-cray. Who is that guy?" He asked, pointing to the tattooed man.

Sucre's eye brows shot up. He hadn't pegged the big man for a gay and it was only his first day, it seemed a little soon to be seeking out the comfort of a warm body. But then Sucre didn't know what the man was in for – or if he had a prior criminal record. Besides, it wasn't none of his business as long as the big guy stayed away from Sucre! "He's untouchable." Sucre told him.

Lincoln frowned. "No, I wasn't gonna- I'm not- I just like his tatts that's all!" Lincoln defended himself poorly.

"Uh huh. Well if I was you I'd like someone else's 'tatts'. Maybe one of those little fishes who came in same time as you. Because that man, my friend, he belongs to T-Bag."

Lincoln ignored Sucre's assumptions about his sexuality and watched as a slimy looking man with scraggly facial hair and a swagger in his walk approached the tattooed man in the cell and put a hand on his shoulder before dropping a sheet in front of the bars, obscuring Lincoln's view. "And T-Bag is?" He asked. The Puerto Rican had said it as if he should know, which meant the little man was really a big man inside.

"Theodore Bagwell. Kidnapped half a dozen boys and girls in Alabama before getting caught. Rumour mill says he raped and killed them, and wasn't too picky which way around that was. Man gives me the creeps. And he is a white supremacist too." Sucre shivered and went back to his magazine.

"Trailer Park Trifecta? Racist, paedophile, and stupid." Lincoln said, watching the sheet even though he couldn't see anything through it. Not from this far away.

"Nu uh. T-Bag isn't stupid. He's cunning. Least that is what the guards call him. I call him a bastard. But he owns the man so I'd stay away unless you want him to shank you."

"Thanks, Suckrey." Lincoln said absent mindedly as the lights went off in the Cell block with Lincoln still leaning against the bars watching the sheet.

(More with Michael next time!)