A/N: Strong Language, Adult scenes. The lyrics are in Italics.

I believe I can see the future
Cause I repeat the same routine
I think I used to have a purpose

Scrub, Scrub, Scrub, if Trevor was in his own home, this would have been paradise. Scrubbing his bathroom with bleach always gave him a sense of accomplishment. He enjoyed the strokes of the toothbrush brushing against his white tiles taking all the grey crud away. Trevor always needed to have the bathroom clean, he took two showers a day, both for one hour at one in the morning and one O' clock at night.

Now Trevor was scrubbing a dirty bench covered in pigeon shit. With no gloves no bleach, just kitchen cleaner. Trevor took a truck-load of shit in prison, because of what he did. All of the inmates thought he wasn't sorry, that he was a backtracking cowardly piece of shit. He'd kept in the secret for long, so long it almost killed him. Now he could get beaten to death in prison, but he didn't care about that. The only thing he cared about right now was scrubbing this bench with gloves on. Trevor needed gloves. The dirty sponge was making him sick. Trevor wanted to cut his fingers off in disgust.

He'd wake up in the morning at eight. Do laundry at nine. Have lunch at Twelve Thirty. Watch the other guys work out at two, Tidy his cell at five, get a snack at Six-Thirty. Get reviewed at Seven. Have Dinner Seven-fifty. Get locked up at nine and were told to sleep at Eleven. Trevor's mind called those grey four walls home. He was as guilty as sin, but he wasn't insane. His heart was back in his one bedroom apartment, with clean carpets, swept floors, washed sofas and a full fridge of food...that was all past it's sell-by date, because Trevor before prison hadn't eaten a full meal or slept in a whole year.

But then again
That might have been a dream
I think I used to have a voice

In the year before jail Trevor never slept. He walked on the railway tracks of life, slipping on them, but never falling off and breaking. He drifted at work trying to fit in, with his colleagues. Trevor never really succeeded, but they didn't mind and played along. Trevor never caused any trouble, there was no need for colleagues to worry about him- Until Ivan.

All Trevor could remember was Ivan's grin. The wicked cackle that swanned around his workplace like thunder. Trevor had no idea who Ivan was, he wished he'd never known him, set eyes on him, sensed him. While Trevor looked at Ivan Trevor didn't have his eyes on his job, and it cost a colleague an arm. That's when Trevor's colleagues and his boss really started noticing him, but not in the way Trevor wanted. His bosses first words to him in Three years was:

"Do you have any mentally ill people in your family? Undiagonsed or not we really have to know"

Charming. Trevor was sure that he saw Ivan as clear as day. Everyone was doing their job with their machines, they didn't notice Ivan creep in with his leather jacket and small shades that covered his greedy eyes. Trevor told his bosses what he'd seen but they looked at him like he had a ferret balancing a chicken egg on his head. They told him to take some time off, he refused, but they ordered him too. Trevor was determined to get to the bottom of Ivan no matter what it cost him.

The Ivan-Tracking was one of his many, many mistakes.

Now I never make a sound
I just do what I've been told
I really don't want them to come around, oh no

"You've been paired up with KJ"

"Whatever" Nick said as he turned his phone off. He had a huge fucking problem with it. KJ was pompus arrogant asshole, they'd never liked each other. KJ was the face of EliteXC, Nick was tired of seeing his shit-eating grin everywhere. He wanted to change that grin. Nick would enjoy making that snobby fucker cry. He couldn't prove it, but he suspected that KJ had been talking shit about him for years. This win would finally shut him up. After his win Nick promised himself that he'd drink a gallon of water and piss in KJ's locker. Revenge was best served cold...with a bladder full of piss.

Back to the gym, back on the pads, back to normal. Nick didn't mind training students, people that really wanted to learn, but fighting was something he had to do, and it wasn't just a bill-paying job, he just told interviewers that keep them quiet. After the gym, his legs were exhausted, but he challenged himself to run up the stairs, not stopping for a full breath. It was hard, but Nick ran up Three flights of stairs. To his annoyance he was out of breath, and banged his fist on wall when he got to his door. He'd almost forgotten he'd been at the gym, and it didn't matter to Nick, he wanted to be unstoppable, and that meant he could never be tired.

Nick put his key in the lock when he heard the owner of the building talking. "Yeah...the one next to Nick's...yeah...I'm cleaning all that loser's stuff out...right burning it" Nick got in his apartment, took a shower and watched TV. Nate was still at Training camp, so Nick couldn't call him yet. Nick had literally packed Nate's bags for him and paid for his coach ride. Nick knew how much Nate wanted to improve his stand up, so when Junior Dos Santos offered Nate a helping hand or punch, Nick made Nate jump at the chance. Now Nate was gone for a while all Nick did most of the time was worry about him.

Fuck it, he'd call Nate, check the coast was clear next door and make his own entertainment.

Every day is exactly the same
Every day is exactly the same
There is no love here and there is no pain.

Trevor didn't pat himself on the back too often, but every now and again he'd congratulate himself for being able to deal with prison, it was the way he handled his work on the outside. Work, Prison they were pretty much the same place, only prison didn't have clean toilets and Trevor could never go home at the end of the night. During break-time at the yard, he'd got a message from someone who'd just had his prison visit. His visitor was living around Trevor's neighbour-hood and told this guy Trevor's place was getting ripped and stripped apart.

Trevor could accept that, but he'd didn't want to let go of his old apartment without saying goodbye. He needed to, he'd lived a crappy mal-nourished life in there, but he'd also had some good times in that place too. Boiling but keeping it bottled up inside, he talked to a friendly prison guard called Larry who told him he could tell a few lies, and pull some strings. Trevor went back to old habits, he didn't sleep a wink that night, but the next day, he'd got the green light. Larry was going to drop him off at night and pick him up in the morning. He Trusted Trevor not to scarper, but Trevor couldn't trust himself.

Trevor touched the front door of his apartment running his hand down the wood while Larry ran down the steps coughing with every breath. Trevor pushed open the door. He'd packed his own things away, gave them away before prison, but other than that his furniture was still there. The carpet still looked in great condition. Nothing looked touched or marked. With a dark long Jacket covering his prison wear Trevor couldn't help it. He sat on the floor, but ended up lying on it. The wool tickled his fingertips welcoming him by sneaking through each finger, each wool tip stroking his palm. Trevor unbuttoned his jacket, laid back down and closed his eyes ready to sleep in his apartment for the last time.

Every day is exactly the same
I can feel their eyes are watching
In case I lose myself again...

Nick walked back into the apartment and was met with a shock. Some guy was lying on the floor deadly still. Nick turned the light on and crept closer to the figure. He could have been sleeping, he could have been dead. He could have been working for Ashton Kutcher and they could both be "punking" him out. Nick didn't know, he didn't wanna know this weirdo until he saw the state of this guy. This stranger's ribs were sticking out his shirt, his body didn't look like it was breathing. His collarbone looked like it was about to waddle out of his skin. In the warm apartment lights Nick was alarmed at how pale this man was. He got out his phone ready to call an ambulance. Being in contact sport, Nick had seen digusting injuries and heard vile trash talk, but standing in- front of this shadow "ghost" he could hear voices telling him that there was something sick in just watching, just doing nothing at all.

Nick dialled the first nine, but then stopped.

"No" Trevor yelled trying to stand up. "Fuck" Nick said. "You ill?" He asked. "No" Trevor said leaning up and crossing his legs. "You look ill" Nick said telling him the obvious. "Don't...don't call the cops" Trevor asked wild eyed. "This was my apartment" Trevor said holding out his thin arms. "Oh" Nick said, but he was still puzzled. "I got stuff...like food...want some?" He asked. Trevor nodded. Nick went into the bare kitchen and looked at the salad and called for some fast food instead. He brought out his bowl of salad and put it in front of Trevor. Trevor looked at him nervously. Nick recognised that look. Nate had had that same look when he was sixteen at the dinner table. Mom was trying to make him eat her cooked food, but Nick's little brother was cutting weight secretly for a fight that their mom knew nothing about.

Nick could remember stuffing macaroni cheese down his own pants so that Nate could leave the table quickly. It wasn't gonna happen this time. Back in the early days of his career he and Nate knew about guys like Trevor, heck, Nick and Nate watched guys on TV and made notes on how to lose the most weight in a day. There were all kinds of diets but the answer was mainly the same, stay off food, stick to water and piss the weight away. Nick wasn't going to let Trevor do that. He told himself he'd shove the chinese down Trevor's throat. When the Chinese take-away came Nick didn't have to force Trevor to do anything.

Trevor used the plastic fork and twirled Chow mein around it. "You want any?" Trevor asked. Nick shook his head and turned on the TV. "You gonna take this place back?" Nick asked. "No...I just umm...wanted to see it before I went home" Trevor said. Nick nodded. He hadn't heard much about Trevor, Nick didn't really speak to the other people in the building and he was training all the time, he didn't have time to care. "Your new place better?" Nick asked. "No" Trevor said, getting up from the floor and sitting on the sofa. This was the only person he'd spoken to outside of Prison, there was no harm in telling a stranger he was never gonna see again.

"My place at this moment is...jail" Trevor said as Nick picked a carrot piece out of the salad container. "OK...what did you do?" Nick asked not really paying attention.

"Well...I did something...really bad...to a kid...and I..." Trevor said as Nick got up.

Trevor wasn't able to get anything else out as Nick muttered that he was a sick bastard and reached again for his phone. Trevor took it from him which lead Nick to punch him in the face. Staggering and bloodied on his knees, Trevor raised his hands pleading for Nick to let him explain. "No...not like that...not...it was a hit and run" Trevor said, it was the first time he'd admitted out loud. "My cigarette wouldn't light, before I knew it...I'm going back to prison, I just wanted to see this place...one last time...Promise you won't call the cops?" Trevor asked.

"Can't promise shit" Nick said. "Dicks like you are just...sick"

"I make myself sick...why do you think I'm this thin?" Trevor asked. "I just wanna stay the night...can I?" Trevor asked.

"It's your place" Nick said moving away from him. Trevor went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on the bruise. He dabbed wet toilet roll on his cheek. Trevor didn't mind this guy touching him, but he wanted Nick's actions to change. Trevor wanted Nick to treat him as living breathing person rather than a sicko like his fellow inmates did. Nick had brought him food, he'd paid for a stranger. The least Trevor could do was tell him the whole story...all of it.