It was the second riot Em City had seen in four years. Though not nearly as bad as its predecessor (no lives had been lost this time) the act of rebellion still caused enough damage on the unit. Miguel Alvarez for instance had been found unconscious in the laundry room with his pants around his ankles. Though bleeding had been minimal, Murphy, the CO who'd found him had noticed semen around his buttocks thighs.

"We'll keep this between us," McManus decided when he'd been alerted.

"Miguel's been having a rough time readjusting to life outside of solitary. I'd hate for the other inmates to harass him."

Murphy nodded, well aware of the kid's struggles since his return. He'd once been a part of the Latino gang but they seemed to have cast him out when Hernandez had arrived and taken over the operation. Now that Hernandez was dead and Morales was the new head, they still didn't seem to want Miguel.

"Where is he now?" McManus asked.

"I took him to the infirmary myself. He doesn't seem to remember what happened though. Just says he got clocked behind the head and woke up to me shaking him."

McManus raised a brow suspiciously.

"You believe him?"

He wouldn't be the first inmate to play that card, try to pretend like nothing happened. Peter Schibetta had told the same story when he'd been raped by Adebesi. But the evidence had been too overwhelming to deny it.

"You know Alvarez," Murphy noted.

"Not exactly the most stable mind but easy to read. I think if he knew what had happened he'd be losing his shit."

McManus had to agree. He'd been trying to help the young con with his rehabilitation, offering him a spot in Em City, talking with him about his progress. Miguel seemed intent on turning himself around this time. As long as the Latinos left their cast-off alone he should be fine.

"You said there was almost no blood?"

Murphy nodded.

"Just a little bit. On the back of his thigh. Whoever did it wasn't too brutal. If that makes sense."

In Oz it did. Just ask Schibetta. The two surveyed the now empty unit with appraising eyes. The damage was minimal. Just a few broken tables, chairs. Inmate injuries were non-critical. They still weren't sure how it started but McManus was going to find out.

"I'll go talk to Sister Pete," he commented.

"Miguel will need her counseling. And Father Mukada as well. Other than that no one gets word of this, okay? Not even the other COs."

Murphy nodded his compliance. He knew his coworkers held no love for the Latino loner. In fact a few would revel in his misfortune. Considering what he'd done to one of their own, who could blame them?

"What about Dr. Nathan? I already took him. She's examining him as we speak."

His best friend didn't seem too bothered.

"She's trustworthy. But I'll talk to her too."

Murphy glanced back at the scene of the crime, thoughtful.

"You really think we can keep a lid on this, Tim?" he asked.

"I mean, even if we keep it quiet on our part, the inmate that did it is going to brag. It'll get out."

McManus considered it.

"Then that'll make it easier to catch him. But what I don't want is for things to get harder for Miguel right now. We'll talk later though. I'm going to catch up with Dr. Nathan."

Murphy watched his friend and Unit Manager as he passed through the gates, still thoughtful of the Alvarez situation. It looked like Tim had found him another pet project. He hoped this one wouldn't end in disappointment like the others.

_

Alvarez was lying in the infirmary, a vacant look in his eye. A few other inmates glanced his way curiously, all had been knocked around during the riot but none knew the extent of his injuries. He'd only let on about the knot in the back of his head. It was all he remembered. Murphy had woken him, asking him what happened and who "did this" to him. It was as he'd try to get up that he'd noticed the sting in his ass. The sticky feeling down his thighs. His pants around his ankles. But his head had hurt too bad for it all to register.

Now it did and it was taking everything in him not to leap from the bed and scream. He'd been shanked three times, beaten, starved and made to drink his own piss but never had he taken it up the ass. Not from anyone. He was no fucking fag.

But without the protection of El Norte the sharks had begun to circle. His crazy rep had held them off for a bit but obviously that was off. Someone had gotten to him. He just hoped that word didn't spread.

But of course it would. It always did. He used to work in the infirmary, he'd been guilty of spreading it a few times himself. Peter Schibetta came to mind. Forever crowned as Adebesi's bitch. That shit had been brutal. It had followed him even when the Aryans had gang-raped him. Once a prag you were everyone's prag. But after a private examination Dr. Nathan hadn't found much bleeding or even tearing so he'd need no stitches. The culprit, whoever he was, had applied a liberal amount of lubricant. Which told him that other than the awkward sting he should be okay.

Except now he'd been made somebody's bitch and he had no idea who.

"Miguel, can I see you for a minute?"

He climbed out of bed and followed Dr. Nathan to her office. Along the way he passed a few familiar faces but no one taunted him. So far the secret was still safe. Inside her office he was surprised to find McManus standing by the desk. Dr. Nathan shut the door behind them before signaling for Miguel to take a seat. His ass still stung but not enough to prevent him from saving face.

"Miguel," she began in that sympathetic tone she took when delivering bad news.

She was nicer than that dude doctor. Old white fart. And easier on the eyes.

"Are you sure you don't remember what happened? Anything at all? Maybe someone entering the laundry room after you?"

He shook his head, nothing coming to mind. He just remembered doing his laundry.

"I want you to know that we're keeping this quiet," McManus assured him.

"The only people who know are me, Dr. Nathan, obviously CO Murphy, Sister Pete and Father Mukada. No one else—CO or otherwise has a clue. Not even the warden."

The first thankful moment in the entire fucked up day hit him and Miguel almost teared. Warden Glenn was just about the last person he wanted to know about this. After the way he'd treated him when his daughter had been raped by Latinos …he'd had it in for any inmate with brown skin and Miguel had fit the bill.

"I umm…" he didn't know what to say.

Dr. Nathan spoke softly.

"In the meantime we're going to have to test you for the usual. You already know the drill. Then again in three months. Just to be sure that you're clean."

His heart skipped nervously at the reality of her statement. He swallowed.

"You, umm, you don't think I got AIDS do you?"

That was worse than being shanked. He'd die a slow fag's death. And everyone would know. McManus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Dr. Nathan spoke slowly.

"Miguel…whoever did this to you didn't use a condom. The amount of semen we found suggests that he ejaculated multiple times—"

Inside him? Fuck! The idea of some bastard having fun, cumming inside him was enough to make him sick. His hands began to shake, his head swam and suddenly he felt the urge to hurl. McManus seemed to notice and quickly grabbed the wastebasket from behind the desk. Miguel snatched it and lost his entire stomach's contents immediately. He hovered, retching even when there was nothing left to lose until finally he was able to set the basket down and shudder. McManus handed him some tissue and he wiped his mouth. His hands, just as everything inside him, still shook.

"Miguel?" Dr. Nathan.

He couldn't face her. Or anyone suddenly. So he stared at the far wall.

"I'm not a fucking maricón," he snapped.

"I don't..."

Take it up the ass. Except he had. Apparently multiple times. Like a bitch. He was nobody's bitch!

"Hey, we know you didn't ask for this," McManus was closer now but thankfully didn't touch him.

He couldn't deal with another man's touch at the moment.

"We're going to do everything we can to find this guy and to keep it under wraps. Nobody is going to know, Miguel. Okay?"

He still couldn't look at him or anyone for that matter. Miguel felt his eyes brimming with tears that he refused to allow them to see. He wouldn't cry. Not like some bitch. Shit, he'd already been made into a bitch.

"I have to check on some other patients," Dr. Nathan announced.

"I'll let you have some privacy okay Miguel?"

He nodded, still refusing to face her. But one of the tears had come down. He hoped she hadn't spotted it.

"Tim?"

McManus was hesitant to leave but perhaps realized that he needed to be alone.

"I'll be back later," he promised before leaving with Dr. Nathan.

Once alone Miguel bit into his fist, fighting the urge to scream. Instead he allowed his tears to violently fall, collapsing to the floor with the tide.