Human | Chapter Three

Paul closed up John's cell after Harry and Brutal led him out for the movie. John smiled happily, chattering with the two as they led him out of the block by the elbows. The door shut with a metallic echo and Paul turned to walk up the Mile, past the final occupant, who was sneering with his yellow teeth bared.

"Hey, I wanna watch that movie too, ya bastards."

"Yeah, hush up."

Wharton smirked. For the first time since he'd been here, he'd been mostly quiet. Other than the occasional demand, he'd been pretty content for the last week or so. Paul didn't like it. Wild Bills didn't just suddenly change their tune. He returned his gaze to the front of the block, where Percy sat going quietly over paperwork. Percy had been pretty quiet lately too, especially so since the time he'd been locked up in the restraint room. Even before that, though, he hadn't picked a fight since Del's execution. Maybe the bastard felt guilty, Paul thought coldly.

As he passed the desk, he could see that Percy held a pen firmly in his hand, but was not writing. It was poised over the paperwork, as though the young guard had become lost in thought and couldn't find his way back.

"Percy?"

There was no response other than a few quiet blinks and a twiddling of the pen. This boy was clearly elsewhere. Paul reached down and put a hand on his arm. He had expected it to snap Percy out of his reverie, but he hadn't expected him to jerk wildly in his seat, holding his arm and staring at Paul as though he'd been burned. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking as though he was going to tell him off, but couldn't find his voice. Finally, he croaked out a rather anticlimactic, "What?"

"Percy, are you feelin' alright?" Paul asked, his brows torqued with suspicion. Percy's eyes noticeably widened. Clearly, if he was trying to hide something, he thought he was doing a much better job of it. Looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Ye-yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Percy returned his eyes to the paperwork. Still, the pen trembled, and Paul could see his breathing had quickened and his posture had become very stiff.

"Well, I am. I'm fine, thank you very much," he said curtly. Paul wasn't sure if Percy even knew he'd done it, but his eyes suddenly darted towards the cells. It was only momentary, but it was enough.

Wild Bill had seemed awfully content.

The thought hit Paul out of nowhere. Surely not...it wasn't even possible. It was absolutely impossible. Percy hadn't made the mistake of walking down the right side of the corridor since the day Wild Bill made a grab for him, and Wild Bill had no way of getting out of his cell at Percy. If he had, he certainly wouldn't be sitting in there, grinning snidely at every person that walked on by. No, the only way he could've even touched Percy was with outside help. The thought that had initially caused Paul relief almost immediately forced him to consider how many enemies Percy had made since he landed in their laps on the Mile. He certainly couldn't count them between his two hands. Frowning, he considered the tense frame he stood over. Yes, Percy had his enemies. He'd made sure of that by flashing his government connections in every dispute he'd been involved in and picking fights any time the opportunity presented itself. The more Paul wondered, the greater the possibility seemed that there were individuals who hated Percy exactly that much.

"Percy," he started quietly, pausing to be sure he was being paid attention, "I think we oughtta have a talk." He could see the young man shudder visibly at the suggestion. He didn't take his eyes off the desk, but his head shook back and forth. "You don't think so?" He shook his head again. "Listen, you might not-"

"I don't want to have a talk."

"Maybe you need one."

"Paul," he choked. There it was again. That same desperate plea he'd heard nights ago as they restrained him. There was something else behind the fear. Paul found it much easier to identify outside of a heated moment. It was shame.

"Percy, it's alright."

"I can't." His voice fell to a whisper. Now he was staring towards Wharton's cell, watching carefully for any sign of movement or any clue that their conversation could be overheard. A wet spot appeared on the paperwork below him, followed by another. "Not when-" his words caught in his throat. "I can't."

Paul felt a weight sink in his gut. Any hopes he'd had that this behaviour was just an awful coincidence were gone for good. Paul stood stunned for just a moment. He wanted to put a hand on the boy's shoulder, give him a reassuring pat on the back, something...but he was certain all of that would just worsen the situation. He could hear small pats as more tears dripped onto the reports. Whatever fragile walls Percy had managed to build up in the time since whatever happened happened, Paul had pried far enough to break them. He felt rotten for bringing it up. It was equally unhealthy for Percy to sit and pretend it never happened, but this was neither the time nor the place.

"Percy, I've got the desk for awhile," he said in as even a voice as he could muster, taking a step back to give some room, "if you need to take a break."

Percy raised his hand to his eyes, rubbing them as he sniffled. He took in a few ragged breaths before nodding and slowly getting to his feet. Staring at the floor, he passed Paul and made his way to the water closet, shutting the door behind him. Paul watched until he heard the lock click home and took a seat at the desk, taking the damp report on the top of the stack and crumpling it before tossing it in the waste basket.