So I probably shouldn't be starting any stories but I couldn't resist. Morgan/Reid jailhouse love. This prison isn't strictly modelled after real ones.
ΩΩΩ
Ainsley State Correctional Facility houses 3821 prisoners. These are the important ones.
Prisoner number: 94R861 David Rossi Convicted May 12th 1994, 3 counts of Conspiracy to commit murder Sentence: Life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Prisoner number 02P501 Emily Prentiss Convicted August 4th 2002, 2 counts of first degree murder Sentence: Death
Prisoner number: 03H375 Aaron Hotchner Convicted January 29th 2003, Murder in the second degree Sentence: 20 years, up for parole in 12.
Prisoner number 06H842 Rodney Harris Convicted December 1st 2006, 4 counts of Murder in the second degree Sentence: Life imprisonment up for parole in 88 years.
Prisoner number 07M449 Derek Morgan Convicted April 23rd 2007, 14 counts of kidnapping and illegal imprisonment, Felony Manslaughter Sentence: 64 years, up for parole in 20.
Prisoner number 10L006 William Lamontagne Convicted November 30th 2010, Defeating the ends of justice Sentence: 10 years, up for parole in 6
Prisoner number 12B554 James Barfield Convicted February 22nd 2012, Grand larceny Sentence 5 years up for parole in 2
Prisoner number 12R430 Spencer Reid Convicted February 22nd 2012, Criminally negligent homicide, distribution of a controlled substance Sentence: 49 years, up for parole in 15
JJ, Garcia and Lynch are guards
ΩΩΩ
"Here comes the bus," Penelope looked out of the barred window.
"Oh joy," Kevin got out of his chair. It was his turn to receive the newcomers. "Break is over," he called over his shoulder to the others out of spite.
"If you hadn't decided to be an ass just then I'd have helped you collect the animals," Garcia called to him.
"Instead you get to walk around between their cells, enjoy," he sneered. Garcia and JJ made a sound of disgust and went to general population. The prisoners were in their cells but were about to be let out. "Open thirty two and forty," Lynch called as he entered Gen-Pop, "Morgan, Hotchner," he called and waited. The men exited their cells and went to meet the guard in silence. Kevin turned and the two followed him. Morgan and Hotchner were forces to be reckoned with on both sides of the bars but they didn't fuck around with the guards, at least not directly.
"12R430 Spencer Reid," Kevin called. A tall, skinny, nervous looking being stood from the hard bench and looked at the guard at an angle, like he didn't want the older man to see he was looking at him. "This is your sponsor, Aaron Hotchner. He'll help you get acclimated to life in a maximum security prison."
Hotch snorted. Great, he had to look after this tall glass of water for the next two weeks. "Snort all you want," Lynch leveled his eyes at him, "Just keep him out of trouble for the next two weeks."
"It's your show boss," Aaron gave him cold smile.
"12B554 James Barfield," Kevin called out. Up stood a tall lean black boy who could not possibly be eighteen. "This is your sponsor Derek Morgan," Lynch stopped there. "Move out," he motioned with his head.
"Sup Derek," James extended a hand. Derek just stood and glared for a moment. He'd run with the kid's older brother until the latter died in prison. This was infuriatingly tragic. He turned and followed Lynch.
"Hello," Spencer smiled tentatively at Hotchner.
"Don't smile," Aaron replied. Spencer's face fell. "This is prison, maximum security prison," the older man explained, "You're a slim kid with long hair and big brown eyes. Walking around here smiling is not something you should be doing."
Spencer kept quiet. There wasn't much he could do to stay out of that kind of trouble. "Rec Time," a guard announced and rang an annoying bell.
"Come on," Aaron tipped his head at Spencer, who obediently followed. "How old are you?" he had to ask.
"Twenty four," Reid answered, "You?"
"Ten years older than you," Hotch answered, "How long are you serving?"
"Forty nine years," Reid said grimly, "I'm up for parole in fifteen."
"What the hell could you have done to be shipped to this place for almost half a century?" Hotch wondered out loud. Spencer did not answer him. "This is your cell," Hotch stopped, "You're sharing with Morgan."
Reid entered the sad little room. The top bunk seemed unused so he put the pillow and the other things he'd been given there.
"The tour is far from over," Hotch said when Reid sat in a chair that was bolted to the floor. The young man stood and followed as Aaron walked out. Four feet out of the door and someone whistled at Spencer. He cowered towards Aaron. "He's a Jew," Hotch announced.
"I am?" Spencer asked in a small voice.
"That's Tobias Hankel," Hotch told him, "He and those fine men surrounding him are Nazis."
"Thanks," Spencer gave a small smile.
"Don't thank me. It might not work," Hotchner kept an impassive expression, "The Nazi's run the mail room so they smuggle contraband," he went back to being informative. Spencer wrapped his arms around his torso like that would keep the leader of the Nazis from making him his bitch. They walked through a door to the Rec Room. "The guy with the salt and pepper beard in the card game is David Rossi: Mob boss. The Italians are old school mafia. Officially they run the kitchen, in reality they run the biggest drug cartel in this place. In their spare time host poker games. From me to you, whether you fall into dept or you win big it doesn't matter. Pissing people off about their money in a room full of knives is always a bad idea."
Spencer scratched the inside of his elbow and breathed deeply through his nose. He could get into a lot of trouble here. "The guy sitting next to Rossi looking like the Terminator is his enforcer, Bosola. He's in the garbage business," Hotch exchanged a nod with Rossi.
"Garbage business?" Reid's brow furrowed.
"He kills people," Hotch clarified, "Moving on," they walked through to the gym.
"That's Morgan," Reid spotted him pumping iron.
"He's the leader of the home boys, or at least half of them," Hotch continued, "They run contraband. Over there is Rodney Harris. He leads the other half of the home boys. They run drugs."
"So half the black guys are in competition with the Nazis, the other half with the Italians. Wouldn't it be wiser to be united?" Reid tried to puzzle this place out.
"Morgan's against drugs," Hotch left the bad blood out of the explanation. He went about showing Reid the facilities. "Shower room," he pointed, "You don't go in there without me. Note: your survival is tied to me for a while but my protection order expires in two weeks. Find a way to keep from being raped by then."
Reid was already trying to find a way out of that one. It hadn't come to him yet so he was grateful he had time. "Who's that?" Reid asked when he saw a woman in a fenced in part of the prison.
"Emily Prentiss, death row inmate," Hotch informed him, "Two counts of first degree murder, seven year old boy and his nanny. She gets to walk around during Rec time, smoke and few other privileges you get when you come from power that don't come easy to death row."
A loud noise pierced the air. "Supper," Hotch told the kid.
"At four?" Reid squeaked.
"Yes at four, evening count is at five then you don't go outside your cell till morning count at six," Hotch made for the dining hall with Reid in tow.
"What are you supposed to do in a two by four for thirteen hours?" Spencer blurted.
"Time," Hotch replied. They walked in silence for a while.
"What do you run?" Spencer asked after chancing a glance at his sponsor.
"Nothing," Aaron answered, keeping his face impassive.
"You seem like something of a big shot," Spencer said. People, important people acknowledged him.
"I give sound legal advice," Hotch told him, "Some of the more influential prisoners practically have me on retainer."
"You're untouchable," Spencer mentally kicked himself for not going into law.
"There's no such thing in prison," Hotchner shook his head, "I do business with Morgan so I don't work with the Nazis. Naturally they want me dead but they can't afford to piss off the Italians. As soon as they find a way to kill me without having the trail lead back to them I'm getting shanked."
"You seem oddly calm," Spencer observed.
"Prison 101," Hotch picked up a tray and Reid followed suit, "You have to know, not fear, know that the very breath you're drawing could be your last. Accepting that might actually keep you alive."
Someone made kissing noises at Spencer, heightening his discomfort. "Come on," Hotch pulled Spencer out of his terrified little trance. "Remain standing," he advised then went over to sit in front of Rossi.
"Aaron, what can I do for you?" Rossi asked. Spencer noticed that Rossi wasn't eating the slop everyone else was.
"I'm babysitting for the fortnight," he tilted his head toward Reid.
"That looks set to be a difficult task," Rossi looked at the young man standing by his table. He didn't miss all the attention he'd been getting.
"I could use help," Aaron admitted.
"You have it," Rossi nodded.
"I'll leave you to your meal," Hotch nodded back. Rossi nodded farewell as Hotch left.
"I don't suppose this arrangement could be made permanent, could it?" Spencer looked pleadingly at Hotch.
"I was a prosecutor on the outside," Hotch told him, "First month here I was hospitalized six times. Being in a career where I was loathed by dangerous people I'd learned to defend myself but that doesn't matter in prison. It's a numbers game in here. Rossi has numbers and he warned me right off not to 'abuse his good nature'."
"I get it," Spencer nodded. He put a morsel of food in his mouth and almost gagged. "This is swill," he dropped his spoon.
"Yes it is," Hotch ate it anyway.
"Your girlfriend has fans," a man with a thick southern accent sat across from Reid and Hotchner.
"Will Lamontagne," Hotch pointed with his spoon.
"Nice to meet you," Spencer extended his hand.
"Aren't you teaching him anything?" Will asked his friend.
"Fresh fish have a predisposition to be polite," Hotch shrugged, "This place will get it out of him soon enough."
During the meal Reid was enlightened on the rest of the groups and gangs in the prison. He thought of joining one but he had to kill someone to be accepted into a gang so that was out. One death marking his soul was enough. The 'fairies', as they were called, had no joining fee but they cross dressed and Reid just knew he would be inviting trouble with that one. Also he was not about to divulge that was gay, not in here. If he could somehow be useful to a powerful person then he could be like Hotchner.
"How do you keep out of trouble?" Reid asked Will.
"I pay the hack in charge," he answered casually, "He looks so shocked it's comical," Will laughed.
"The guards are the dirtiest gang in this place," Hotch told him, "Don't fuck with their operations."
The more Reid heard the smaller, the more vulnerable he felt. When evening count rolled around he was so nervous he was ready to throw up. "Go stand in front of your cell," Hotch went up to their floor and stood in front of his own, "Move it."
Someone tripped Reid but he stumbled on to stand in front of his own cell. A guard walked by calling them out by their numbers. After that they were locked up for the night. "I don't know if you remember me from before, I'm Spencer Reid. Your friend Aaron Hotchner's my sponsor."
"Do I look friendly to you?" Derek glared, scaring Spencer into silence for the rest of the night. He crawled into bed and watched the ceiling, his heart pounding the entire time. What restless sleep he got was in his prison uniform on top of his blanket and even that was interrupted by nightmares of a eighteen year old girl dead on her bathroom floor.
"Count," a loud buzzer went off as he lay there drenched in sweat. And that was just the first day in fifteen to forty nine years.