They put him back with the general population shortly after lunch. Diego sleepwalked through the rest of the day. No-one menaced him, and distantly he realised that Tigre was still in the infirmary (or perhaps doing a spell in solitary of his own) but most of his thoughts were focussed on the bunkbeds. On Manfred von Karma with his eyes bulging and his cock sticking out of his pants. And if a demonic whore awaited him instead of Mia's faithful arms, so be it. There was nothing he could do to change that now.

He waited until the guard who escorted him to his cell was out of sight, and moved to the back of the cell just to be safe. He took off his pants and laboriously tied a slipknot in one leg. Diego glanced around, then slipped the loop over his head, making sure it would pull tight. He took his makeshift noose off and gazed up at the bunkbeds.

He tossed the noose up first, then grasped the mattress of the top bunk and tried to pull himself up. He wound up with his good elbow on the mattress, his bad arm too weak to do much good.

And now he had a problem. He couldn't pull himself straight up, because he was unbalanced. His bad leg was too weak and the brace was too heavy to swing onto the bunk. And he was depending on his good arm to hold onto the mattress, so he couldn't swing his good leg up. Diego dropped to the floor and tried again. He tried almost half a dozen times – pushing off with his good leg, trying to push off (and failing) with his bad leg, jumping, clawing, using the frame for support. Each time, failure. Diego slumped on the floor, tears of disbelief starting down his cheeks. This really was the end. After all he'd been through, after every single thing he'd ever enjoyed had been taken away from him, he couldn't even kill himself. He tossed his visor on his bunk and buried his face in his hands, the concrete floor chilling him through his boxers.

He didn't know how long he sat there before he heard the cell door slide back on its tracks.

"Jesus Christ." The guard sounded bored rather than shocked or concerned, and Diego felt relief. He didn't want some nosy screw sending him to the shrink. "Kid, help him put his pants on, will ya?"

Kid…? Diego picked up his visor and put it on. The boy from the exercise yard stood over him, wearing a nervous expression and carrying his spare clothes.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then the boy put his things on the top bunk and reached for Diego's pants.

Diego tried to get there before the boy, but it always took him a few seconds to get up from sitting on the floor, and by the time he was on his feet the boy had drawn the pants off the bunk and was looking at the knot in the leg. Diego snatched them out of his hands and turned away, untangling the cloth as fast as he could before pulling his pants back on.

When he turned back around the boy was sitting contritely on the floor by the bunks, his hands in his lap.

"My name Machi," he said hesitantly. "What I call you?"

Diego looked away. He couldn't pronounce his own name properly any more. The vowel sounds ran together and it came out as an ethnic slur. His mouth twitched into a bitter smirk – it was about on par with losing the ability to see his favourite colour.

Machi shifted nervously. "I hear what they call you," he said, nodding vaguely in the direction outside the cell. He tried to smile and it came out pained. "But I don't think you like it."

Diego smirked at him briefly. He tried to quell the unease he felt at suddenly having company. Machi expected him to talk – or at least communicate. He'd been put on the spot and he didn't like it.

"I get here yesterday," Machi said after a few moments of silence. "From Juvenile Hall. I finish my jail here."

He rubbed his arms and looked away. Diego leaned against the wall and gazed at him. Sitting on the floor like that, he looked even younger than he had in the exercise yard. After the ruckus yesterday, the top brass probably figured the safest place for a baby-faced kid was with the half-dead cripple. He found himself wondering what Machi had done that warranted graduating from juvie to prison. Most juvenile offenders were in for petty stuff, and had their records sealed once they turned eighteen. Kid didn't look like a killer, but looks could be deceiving.

Machi looked up at him again, and tilted his head slightly to the side. "You are blind?"

Well, at least he could answer that question. Diego nodded. Blind, dumb and lame, kid. I'm a triple threat.

"I live with blind woman when I boy," Machi replied. He drew his knees closer to his chest. "She treat me like her son. But then –"

Diego gestured at him to shut up. The boy's face fell a little, a dark blush flooding over his cheeks as he put a sock in it. Diego felt guilty, but it was for his own good. You couldn't afford to start blabbing personal stuff in the big house, even to the prison dummy.

An awkward, heavy silence descended. Finally Machi looked up at him again.

"You don't want to talk to me?" It was soft and lonely, like the mew of a kitten lost in the dark. "I thought – out there –"

And suddenly Diego didn't want to listen any more. He limped to his bunk and lay down, rolling over to face the wall. Damn it, he was supposed to be done with the world. He didn't need some stray following him around because he thought they were friends.

After a few minutes, he heard Machi get up and clamber effortlessly into the top bunk. Diego lay in the dark and hated him for it.

xxx

Diego stared into his cereal, waiting for the milk to soak in so it was soft enough for him to eat. He was supposed to be dead by now. He would have been if it wasn't for this useless wreck of a body that stubbornly kept on living. His mouth twitched briefly into a smile. Well, maybe Tigre would finish him off, once he could fit his balls back in his underpants.

"I sit here?"

Diego looked up. Machi was standing above him, tray in his hands, wearing an expression that was both guarded and hopeful. Diego stared at him for a few seconds. Don't you understand, kid, I can't protect you. This place is a circus and I'm the clown.

Machi's face fell. He cast a nervous look at the prisoners sitting at the next table. Richard Wellington blew him a kiss and patted the vacant chair beside him.

Diego sighed. He reached up and grasped Machi's sleeve as the boy turned to walk away. Machi looked at him hopefully. Diego nodded.

Eagerly Machi grasped the back of the chair next to Diego. Diego shook his head and gestured for him to move down. He didn't stop pointing until Machi was two seats away. The boy gave him a warm, grateful smile as he sat down, and Diego quickly looked back at his cereal. Machi would probably still see the mess he made when he ate, but at least now he wasn't right on top of him. He got enough of that from –

Diego closed his eyes briefly as Gavin arrived, taking the seat directly opposite from him. Gavin usually saved his petty cruelty for dinner time, and Diego could guess what had prompted the change in his routine.

"Well, Armando, it seems you've got yourself a dining companion." Gavin pushed his glasses up his nose, that nasty little smile that Diego used to be able to wipe away with a crude remark playing on his face. "Makes sense, I suppose – he can barely speak English, and you can't speak at all."

Diego didn't look up. He focussed on spooning soggy cereal into his mouth, chewing it just enough that he could swallow it, then taking in the next mouthful. Mechanical. He hadn't had a decent appetite for years, and he sure as hell didn't feel like eating with Gavin sitting there lording it over him. All he could do was pretend that the taunts and mockery didn't bother him.

"Of course, maybe if you opened your mouth properly –" Gavin's perfectly manicured fingers seized his jaw. Diego froze, fighting the urge to pull away. Couldn't give him the satisfaction –

"Sit down, Wingdings, if you know what's good for you."

Diego lifted his gaze as much as he could. Machi was standing up, both hands planted on the table as he leaned towards them.

"You let go."

Jesus, kid, if you want a target on your back that badly, there's paint in the supply room. Diego's gaze flicked between Gavin and Machi. Gavin's calm expression carried an undercurrent of menace. Machi wore the glare of a young lion challenging his elder for a fresh kill.

"Or what?" Gavin asked. He squeezed Diego's jaw more tightly, and Diego bit his lip.

Machi didn't move. A faint smile appeared on his face, and Diego suddenly realised what he was up to. Standing like that, he could be seen above the other prisoners, and the screws – yep, here they came, drawn by Machi's stance, expecting trouble. Gavin abruptly released him and sat back in his seat.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing, boss," Gavin replied. He made eye contact with Diego for a split second. "Is there, Armando?"

Diego shook his head.

"No trouble," Machi agreed, sitting back down.

The guard who'd spoken looked at the three of them with disdain. "Hurry up and finish your food," he warned. "You don't have all day."

The guards all went back to their posts except for one, who hovered nearby, walking up and down between the tables. Gavin gave a wistful sigh and picked up his tray.

"I suppose we'll have to pick this up later," he said, getting up from the table. Diego didn't look up. He could still feel Gavin's fingers on his jaw. Bastard probably left bruises. Gavin turned to leave, pausing to address Machi. "And you, sir, made a foolish mistake this morning. A very foolish mistake."

Diego could feel Machi's eyes on him as he resumed eating. He refused to look at him. Call me an ungrateful bastard if you want, kid, whatever it takes to make you leave me alone, because Gavin's right. Never back a horse that's headed for the slaughterhouse. That's a rule.

After a few minutes, he heard the clink of metal against plastic as Machi started eating, too.