"Brian, are you still awake?"

Indeed, Brian was still awake, and he gave his affirmation to the question. They could both hear Oscar's deep breathing; the playwright was asleep.

"I envision you, in my imagination. You must be thinner now, I think, given the quality of our meals here…or the lack thereof. But, we will remedy that once we are released. I draw you, over and over again, in my mind."

Brian sighed. "Justin, you must not torture yourself like this. How does this help?"

"It helps, thinking of you. It helps, knowing that at the end of four years, I have you to look forward to."

Brian was silent. Justin's transfer to Reading was either a blessing or a curse, but Brian had not yet been able to decide which. It was trying, to be so close to Justin, and yet be so far away. Justin had been at Reading for little over a fortnight now, but they had had only a handful of opportunities to speak; the young Italian guard had been absent during Justin's second week, which had severely restricted opportunity for conversation. Within those opportunities, conversations were hardly private, with Oscar's cell placed between each of theirs, and Oscar being awake almost as often as they were. Worst of all was the fact that they were all robed; no prisoner could see another, and thus, when they were taken to chapel, there was no means by which Brian could recognise Justin from the sea of cowled heads, even if he had been brave enough to look and risk punishment.

It was absurd that they could be so close, and yet unable to look at each other at all, unable to hear the other's voice for days at a time.

Yet, the feelings of agitation, despair, and utter hopelessness that had enveloped Brian from the time he was imprisoned was no longer testing the limits of his sanity. There was a deep sense of calm, knowing that Justin was here, that in spite of all the difficulties, they were together. Justin had risked everything to publicly declare his feelings for Brian, and to suffer the same punishment. As bad as Brian felt when he thought about that, the knowledge that he was not alone, that he was loved and wanted, that he was worth something, brought to life emotions that Brian never knew he possessed. Oscar had been right; unbidden and unconsciously, it had become the thing to ground him, and to give him strength.

"It is not quite four years any longer."

"This is true."

They both lapsed into brief silence; Brian tried to think of how to make Justin feel better, or at the very least distract him from their present circumstances.

"I was thinking of August last, when we went to Derbyshire to visit your friend Geoffrey."

Brian could sense the smile on Justin's face at the memory even if he could not see the other man, and unconsciously, he felt himself smile as well.

"Yes! What a glorious time we all had! It was beautiful."

"I'm sorry I fought with you then."

"Brian, we did not fight."

"You wanted to go to the lake to fish; you wanted me to come with you. And I insisted that I would not go, and I made you stay indoors with me."

"What silliness is this? I'd rather stay indoors with you any day, instead of going fishing. Brian, think nothing of it. I cherish our time together, whether it was travelling 50 miles in a carriage, or watching the sunrise with you."

"One day…someday, we will both be out of this prison. I promise you, we will go to the lake - we will go to a lake somewhere – and you will teach me how to fish."

"Brian…you do not have to promise me anything. You never did."

"I know."

"Brian…I love you."

"I know."

"I miss you. I want to look into your eyes. I want to hold your hand. I want to see you smile, when you think nobody is looking at you."

"Justin, you shall. These four years will pass."

"I shall not be waiting four years," Justin responded in a determined voice, surprising Brian. "I shall look into your eyes. I shall hold your hand. I shall see you smile. And I shall do all of these within the next several days, with your help."

"Justin…"

"You were asleep last evening. I had a chance to speak to Oscar, and he gave me an idea."

Brian could not help himself; he was smiling broadly. "Scheming already, Justin?"

"To see you, I will do far worse. What I need you to do, I believe, is well within your capacity. Three days hence, you will slip and fall after chapel. You will have unbearable pain in your ear, you will also hurt your hand such that you are unable to move it. You must find means to speak to Oscar no sooner than he is awake. He had a fall similar to what you will suffer at Wandsworth; that is something that helped him come here to Reading. He will help you in how to feign your injuries."

"What have you planned, young Lord Taylor?" Brian could keep neither the excitement nor the smile out of his voice.

"Nothing that I have not planned since the day I met you; means to be with you."

"This must be what heaven is like," Brian said. It was somewhat disconcerting to hear his own voice out loud, with no effort to whisper or keep the sound low.

Justin grinned. "Is this not wonderful, being able to see, hear, and touch each other?"

"I was speaking on the softness of this bed; my cell provides me with no such luxuries," Brian said, happy to be able to tease Justin and harken back to a time that now seemed like a distant memory.

Justin shook his head, but could not help smiling. "I know what you are about Brian Kinney, in spite of your words."

The guards at the infirmary were lazy and disinterested in their charges; the prisoners were often left on their own. Brian had moved his bed closer to Justin's; the sick prisoners in the infirmary did not care, and if the doctor noticed, he stayed silent. There were women who came to tend to them, taking turns from the nurses. They too professed little interest at what the prisoners said to each other; their only concern was doing the Christian thing and saving souls from eternal damnation.

Brian held Justin's hand in his own; the soft, tender hand he had been used to was now a working man's hand. Calloused, cracked, and bearing the scars of hard labour. Brian squeezed his eyes shut briefly, pushing away the unhappy thoughts. There would be time enough for that when it was time to return to his cell. Unconscious of his own actions, he raised Justin's hand to his lips, kissing them gently.

"It doesn't hurt," Justin said softly.

Brian nodded. "Are your bandages still making your skin itch? Why must you wear it – I heard the doctor tell you the leg was not broken."

"I have gotten used to the bandages. I believe we both knew that the leg was not broken from the start," Justin said slyly, "but the doctor says that they will help heal the wounds. He told the guard that even a sprained ankle requires rest; I believe he will aid in my staying here at the infirmary for a few more days, at least."

Brian smiled. It had indeed been an excellent plan to feign accidents dire enough to be moved to the infirmary; it was the only place in the whole prison where prisoners did not have to hide themselves away from each other in cloaks and silence.

"Dr. Perry seems to think the shot drill is unchristian punishment," Justin said. "I never thought of hard labour until I became a prisoner myself; I now understand much better what Ms. Fry was saying. Oscar too, says that he plans to write about prison conditions upon his release."

"The shot drill is far worse than merely being unchristian, a term only Christians can understand, I dare say. Is there any imaginable purpose in stooping down without bending your knees, lifting a cannonball almost as heavy as yourself to your chest, stepping three times to your right, placing it on the ground, stepping back three paces, and repeating this silly exercise until sundown? Callused hands and broken backs; this is not merely hard labour, it is utterly senseless and simply meant to drive one to distraction! Every prisoner made to suffer through the shot drill should pretend to drop a cannon on their leg."

Brian felt Justin squeeze his hand. "You don't know this Brian, but you are as lovely today as you were the day I met you. And I am as determined today as I was then, and if I had to, I would lay down my life for you. I would not go through this torture for anyone, but with you by my side, it is not torture."

"Oscar would be proud of your romantic notions," Brian said with a light smile, but the truth was he himself was touched. It may have been romantic notions, but he knew that Justin spoke in earnest, and Brian was well aware that Justin would indeed lay down his life for Brian, if ever he had to.

"I am sorry that Oscar has been abandoned in his time of need."

"Oscar has extremely poor choice in men. His mistake was investing his feelings in a fop such as Bosie. Oscar was used badly."

"I wish we could help him."

"Let us help ourselves first. Oscar has friends aplenty to help him when his time here draws to a close."

Justin looked at Brian knowingly. "You say this, but your judgment of Bosie tells me that you would not be abandoning Oscar."

"You think you know me so well," Brian stated sardonically.

Justin was silent, but he was beaming.

Brian sighed. Heaven and earth was in his eyes, and the world lit up when he smiled. Brian knew with certainty that there was at least one person at Reading that he would never abandon.

For almost a twelvemonth, their system worked. Both of them were careful to not overuse the infirmary and feign illness, lest it become suspect. The trips to the infirmary were spread out so as to not draw attention. To their luck, Dr. Perry simply came to consider both Brian and Justin to be of sickly constitution, with a predisposition to illnesses. This notion of Dr. Perry's served to their advantage.

Thus, when Justin did not return to his cell one evening, Brian assumed that he must be in the infirmary. He was surprised, though, that Justin would not have planned this in advance with him. Even Oscar was surprised at the absence, inquiring after Justin. Oscar surmised that this time, there may have been a genuine accident that moved Justin to the infirmary. Almost sick with worry alone, Brian wasted no time in feigning an illness in order to make his way to the infirmary. But much to his horror, Justin was not there. Brian waited for days in the infirmary, but he neither saw Justin, nor heard anything about the young man's whereabouts. Eventually, Brian was forced to return to his cell, not having learnt anything.

Oscar, worried as well, promised to inquire about Justin the next time he was visited by any of his friends or MP Haldane. However, none of them were able to provide the men with any valuable information.

Over a fortnight had passed before Brian received news of Justin from the unlikeliest of sources. He was being escorted back to his cell after chapel by the guard, but the man was shuffling about and taking an unusually long time making the return journey. Finally the guard spoke in a hushed whisper, and Brian could only assume that the man had been waiting for the area to clear of other people. From his nasal voice, Brian recognised him as the guard of Italian descent.

"I…I thought…your friend…I thought you might wish to know about your friend," the guard stammered.

"My friend?"

"Your…friend."

In that instance, Brian realised two things. First, that the guard was just like him. And secondly, the man had information about Justin. So surprised and nervous was Brian that he was at a loss for words. This silence the guard took as encouragement, because he continued to speak in stumbling whispers.

"Your friend who used to be here. He is at St Andrew's Hospital…that is, St. Andrew's Hospital for Mental Diseases. He is a patient. My mother is a cook there…and my uncle is a…anyhow, I went to visit them…I saw him by chance. I just thought…I wanted…I believe…I felt that you may wish to know."