Warden Strauss was having a bad day. Her breakfast had burned, her youngest would not buckle up on the ride to school and she'd spilled her coffee trying to get him to cooperate, her eighteen year old daughter wanted to rent an apartment with a boy instead of living in a college dorm and she got to work to find the infirmary in an uproar. A prisoner had his arm stuck in a meat grinder and they were doing their best to get him into an ambulance with the machine still attached because they weren't equipped to deal with this kind of trauma.
"What the hell happened?" she asked the doctor.
"An accident, he claims," one of the orderlies shrugged.
"I'm sure he tripped and his hand fell into a meat grinder then he fell asleep while it chewed its way up his arm," Strauss glared, "Dope him up, I want to talk to him," she told the doctor.
"We can't spare the time," the doctor shook his head, "We need to cut that thing off his arm and see what bones we can salvage."
"That is an expensive machine," the warden objected, "You want me to wreck it on the possibility of saving a rapists arm."
"No, I am telling you that it has to be sawed off to save my patient's limb," the doctor asserted, "As a doctor I'm in the business of saving lives. I don't decide who gets to be saved. I don't decide who deserves better treatment. The falls on the wicked and the just."
"Do not site scripture at me," Strauss turned on her heel, "Bring everyone who interacted with Baleman this morning and yesterday to me," she instructed a CO, "I want all the big players in my office as well. At least one of them knows something about this."
And so it went. One by one they were rounded up and made to sit outside Strauss's office, under the watchful gaze of two correctional officers. Spencer was the first inside. He entered and stood by the door, frightened by the prospect of somehow offending the warden. "Please sit down Dr Reid," Strauss gestured to a chair. Reid sat down in silence and looked at his lap. "How well did you know Baleman?" she asked.
"I didn't even know his name," Spencer answered, "I keep to myself as much as I can. I think the fewer people who know me, the greater my chances of surviving the next three days but I do know his face. I have an eidetic memory so that kind of stuck in there but I can't say I know the guy... at all."
"Well," Strauss started.
"Also, don't take my nervous demeanor as a sign of guilt I am just a nervous person. I tend to ramble, especially when addressing figures of authority. It's why my performance at oral exams is so mediocre," Spencer rambled, "And prison has raised my resting heartbeat by at least twenty five beats per minute and-"
"Breath Dr Reid," Strauss gave him a glass of water. There was no way this kid had anything to do with shoving a man's arm into a machine. He just didn't have the kind of malice it took to even pay someone else to do it. She could see that. Spencer took the glass and drank it, not pausing till it was empty. Then he put it down and panted like he had just run a mile. "I don't believe you did this, I don't believe you arranged it either. It's curious though," she leaned back, "You're the person this most benefits."
"How?" Reid met her eyes with genuine confusion.
"If you were any other prisoner I would think you were trying to gauge how much I know but from what I've witnessed so far I'll conclude you're just not as street smart as you are book smart," she shook her head for the poor kid, he'd have to wise up if he was to survive his sentence, "If the rumours are true, you're the person with the motive for and the most to gain from Baleman's injury. Tell me Dr Reid, who's looking out for you?"
And with a simple aversion of his eyes, Reid gave away his hand. "So you know who it is," the warden concluded, "Tell me," she instructed, all the warmth gone from her in a flash. Spencer bit his lip and exercised his right to remain silent. "Tell me and I'll say I got it elsewhere. Sit there quietly and I'll wring it out of someone else and have it circulated that you told me."
Reid let out a whimper. He took a deep breath and let it out before he started talking. "I'm not built for this environment," he admitted, "I'm skinny, I have the upper body strength of a hamster, I don't have a poker face, I talk too much... I find it difficult to sit in front of an authority figure and not tell them exactly what they want to hear. I will never survive this on my own. The way I see it: I can either trust you to keep me safe or I can trust the unnamed party we're talking about. Sorry Warden but you're a bad bet."
"You think trusting a con is a safe bet?" Strauss arched a brow.
"I think you go home at night," Spencer replied, "May I go now?"
"You're free to leave," the warden pointed to a the door, her smile back in place. Bargaining positions changed quickly in prison. Reid's could change before the day was over. Next inside was Hotch.
"How long till you're eligible for parole?" Strauss scratched her head in mock confusion.
"Don't even start down that road," Hotch answered, "Moving up my parole date by putting a target on my back just gets me dead, not free."
"That isn't at all what I was going to say," the blond shook her head, "Reid could very well be your third strike. It's in your best interest to watch his best interest."
"I have some mopping to do Warden," Hotch said in an annoyed tone, "Quit shuffling and deal."
"I think you're behind Baleman's arm being turned into hamburger," Strauss told him.
"Got any proof to go with that thought?" he asked. The warden glared and said nothing. "Feel free to drag me back in here when you find something."
Strauss resisted the urge to bluff. Aaron Hotchner was not some punk she could threaten into giving her information. He had to be involved somehow. "Watch him," she instructed a CO, "I want to know who he's talking to."
"Derek Morgan," she received her third visitor of the day, "What can you tell me about Stephen Baleman's 'accident'?"
"Now you're just being racist," Morgan replied, "And you really need to stop hauling me in here every time some white boy stubs his toe."
"I feel obligated to," Strauss shrugged, "The bold line between black and white makes my life enough of a misery without going unchecked."
"There are like three black men in the kitchen and none of them are mine," Morgan shrugged right back, "One of them is Rodney's but very low level. Haul him in and here he'll whistle the same tune I am. Now would you let me out of here, I missed Days of our lives yesterday I was really hoping to catch the repeat."
"He's here," Lynch pushed Hankel into the room.
"Why do you want me in here with this fucking nigger?" the Aryan leader asked.
"To get that reaction from you and a more interested one from me," Derek explained in a bored voice, "Are we done with this exercise?"
"Since when are you a brain trust?" Tobias turned to Morgan.
"Compared to white trash like you? Let's say the dawn of time," Derek smirked.
"You best watch who you're calling trash boy," Tobias moved forward but Kevin placed a firm hand on his shoulder, "Better not wind up on the wrong side of the fence," the Nazi sneered.
"I'd warn you about winding up on the wrong side of the evolutionary curve but it seems I am too late," Morgan stood up. He felt oddly relaxed today and wasn't about to get riled up because Strauss thought it smart to pit them against each other.
"You're gonna pay for that smart mouth you dumb nigger," Tobias curled his lip.
"You can take that threat and shove it up your pure white ass," Morgan kept himself in check, "I'm gonna go," he turned to Strauss as he pointed over his shoulder, "It seems you're double booked."
Strauss instructed Kevin to remove Morgan with a flick of her wrist. "Sit down Tobias and give me something useful or I'll ship your ass to solitary."
"You can't do that," he slammed his hands onto the back of the chair he was meant to sit in.
"Wanna bet?" Strauss squinted. The two just glared at each other till the prisoner realised this was not a bluff.
"The wops crippled Baleman. That pasty killer wants the kid's ass and I guess he's trying to keep everyone else off it," Tobias shrugged. There wasn't much Strauss could do without confirmation from Baleman or a confession from Bosola. No chance in hell she was getting either.
"By everyone else you mean you," the warden glared. She had enough troubles with the race wars and the smuggling and the fighting. The rapes were just the least necessary.
"I take the fifth," Hankel folded his arms.
"Get out," Strauss sensed she had gotten all she would out of this prisoner, "Get me Rossi," she instructed Kevin.
"Don't you mean Bosola?" Lynch wasn't sure he'd heard right.
"God no," Strauss sighed, "Every time I have that man in here he sits in that chair and stares at me with the same expression and does not move. I swear he doesn't even breath."
Kevin chuckled a little and went to retrieve Rossi. He asked him nicely like all the other guards did. And Rossi agreed like the gentleman he was. "Good morning Erin," he smiled as he walked through her door.
"Cut the charm act," she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly, "Tell me something useful about this awful mess that fell into my lap this morning."
"I hear Stephen wasn't a very nice guy," Rossi was being no help.
"I hear your enforcer is after a piece of ass and made an example of Baleman to keep all the other boys away," Strauss countered.
"No idea what you're talking about," the Italian concealed a smile.
"Take pity on me David," she put her hair behind her ear, "I can't have another incident going unsolved."
"Just because I like you, does not mean you can play me," he shook his head with an easy smile.
"Fine," she sighed, "Keep a tighter leash on your dog."
"I don't control Bosola. I unleash him from time to time. This was not one of those times," Rossi shook his head.
"Don't you dare," Strauss wagged her finger, "You are the Panama Canal of this prison. Everything goes through you."
"That's sweet of you," he pulled a rose out of his jacket and placed it on the table, "I hope your day improves."
"Get out," she threw the flower back at him but she smiled as she did it. He nodded and left. "I hate this stinking job," she laid her head on her desk. The statement didn't ring as true as she thought it would.
"Hi," Spencer walked up to Bosola. The older man was in the store room. There was minimal traffic seeing as it was inbetween meals.
"Hello," the older man responded.
"I don't condone violence," the young man told him, "I'm not under the impression that you'll stop but I thought I should say it for the record."
"So you don't want retribution for people who seek to do you harm?" the hitman asked.
"I wouldn't say that," Spencer shook his head, "I just don't want to witness the bloodshed."
"What are you saying exactly?" Bosola leaned up against a shelf. Spencer leaned up against the bigger man and started kissing him, wrapping his arms around his thick neck. Bosola put his hands around Reid's tiny waist, pulling him painfully close. The younger man whimpered, feeling the arousal growing between his partner's legs. He touched his lips to the cool skin at his neck, eliciting a groan. In a blindingly fast motion he was pinned to another shelf by two strong arms. Spencer was getting turned on.
"Wait," he thought he should speak up before the situation got out of hand, "Condoms," he panted, "We need condoms."
"Fuck," Bosola bucked into Spencer's groin, "I can get some but it would take a day or so. I don't think I can wait that long."
"Please," Reid begged, "I'll make it worth your while," he rubbed the other man's dick with his palm.
"That doesn't help me now," a big hand covered Reid's to increase the much needed friction. Spencer undid Bosola's pants and let them fall the freed his erection from his underwear. With one hand he pumped the heavy erection in his hand, with the other he fondled Bosola's balls. The blond man leaned back and groaned. He hadn't been touched by someone else in a long time. His knees weakened as his cock jumped under Spencer's skilled hand. "Faster," he instructed. Reid worked faster, squeezing the head when he came to the top. Bosola made a garbled sound as he coated Spencer's hands in cum. The lanky boy pulled some paper towels and wiped his hands, cleaning Bosola's manhood gently afterwards.
After doing up his pants Bosola turned Reid around so the thin back was to his chest. He reached into Spencer's pants and wrapped a firm hand around his prick. Reid shot forward but was held in place by the unmovable arm around his torso. He moaned deep in his throat, thrusting into the fast acting hand. "No one touches you but me," Bosola growled. Reid thrust faster into his waiting hand. "Say it," the blond demanded,
"No one but you," Reid agreed in a haze of pleasure, reaching back and pulling a tuft of blonde hair as he came. Bosola kissed the nape of his neck. Spencer reached for the paper towels again and cleaned the mess in his shorts before it could sink into the fabric. He picked up the wads he'd dropped in his lust and threw them all in the trash can. Bosola escorted him from the kitchen and kissed him in full view of a number of prisoners. Hotch cursed under his breath, Morgan slammed both of his hands against the bars. Tobias smiled. He wanted to hit Bosola where it hurt and he'd foud the perfect mark.
AN: too drowsy, no proof read. Sorry update late. Stupid author chasing too many story. Main character also looking for trouble, no? Review (somehow they sucker me into updating faster. If u read my other CM fic u'll have proof).
