A.N – I said at the beginning I didn't think the scenes of torture in this story would be too bad… Well, it wasn't my intention, but, it happened. I got carried away. Sorry. I love realistic details too much to skim over it quickly. IMO, if something is not worth telling in detail, is not worth telling at all.

WARNING: this chapter has an M - RATING due to the level of detail in the torture scenes and the out-of-control swearing all over. No sexual abuse/rape. Don't read unless you are over 16.

As MissEclipse said in her nice review, this isn't a story for the faint-hearted. And yes, no sugar-coating whatsoever. Although, this is a long chapter, because I wanted to finish it off with a bittersweet, tender scene, rather than at the disturbing suffering if I split it in two.

Thanks to all the readers who showed an interest in this story, and specially to those who said something about it. Please, take a little bit of time to review if you can, silent readers. Much appreciated, thank you.

Chapter 8

Face didn't want to be taken first for interrogation, but he didn't want that bastard taking Murdock either. He was amazed about how strong that scatterbrain seemed to be this time, keeping a cool head and not skipping to his alternative reality every five minutes, as he always did under pressure, his excuse to be unreliable. Not this time.

As Face was unconscious when it happened, he didn't know it was precisely Murdock's breakout from reality to see the muffin man what had caused the Colonel's rage and the pounding that had resulted in a broken nose and the black, puffy eyes. Murdock's face looked so bad that, when the psycho pointed at Face with his cane and barked the word "him", he was terrified, but oddly glad at the same time, because he wanted to spare Murdock the abuse until Hannibal and B.A would get them out of there. He only needed to hold on for a few more hours, and he would be on his way to the US and a hospital full of gorgeous nurses only too keen to leave their phone numbers. In only a few more hours. Only. A few. Hours. The other guys had been there for 14 years! Sure he could hold on for a few more hours.

He held onto that thought when two soldiers rough-handled him, dragging him out of the bed, while another one aimed at Murdock's chest with his automatic rifle when he tried to get on the way.

"Leave him alone!" Murdock cried.

As they dragged him away, Face turned his head to send him a "don't worry, everything is going to be alright" look, but, when that soldier hit Murdock's abdomen with the rifle's butt, and then the side of his head, rendering him unconscious, his look turned into a "what the fuck?" one, and he started to struggle as well, insulting them.

"You, fucking bastards!"

"Didn't your mates teach you that resistance is futile? Because that's the first lesson," Colonel Shu said, with a sadistic smile. "Don't hit him, or the sucker will fall unconscious again. He has used that trick too many times already."

The soldiers ignored Face's weak and ineffective attempts of resistance and dragged him out of the cell while the other POWs tended for Murdock.

They took Face to a room nearby and tugged off his jacket and shirt before they sat him with his back resting against a thick wooden post, fastening leather straps around his neck, ankles, and his good arm, restraining him tightly against the post. Leaving his left arm lose was a worrying sign that gave him an idea of what was about to happen.

Not the broken arm, you son of a bitch! he thought, tugging at the restrains.

After seeing Murdock hit the floor, all his fear and apprehension had turned into rage, hatred, and defiance. Something that would not go down well with Shu, but he couldn't help it: he hated his guts now. He could only hope he would pass out with the first blow, to slip back into the dark zone. His greatest "trick", as that psycho put it. But first, he would give him a piece of his mind.

"You cannot break those bonds, so don't waste time and effort trying. Don't be so stupid," Colonel Shu said, wandering in front of him, hitting his palm lightly and repeatedly with the cane, enjoying the moment.

"I'm blond. What's your excuse?"

Fast as a cobra, Shu whacked the side of his head with the cane, but Face swallowed his cry, because he was determined not to give the psycho the satisfaction of his pain.

"So, that didn't hurt, did it?" Shu said, with his hideous smile. "What about this one?"

He whacked him again with the cane, with a reverse blow that hit his already badly bruised cheek, drawing blood.

"Nope… That one didn't hurt either," Face managed to say, with a trembling, high-pitched, thin voice tinged with pain, but he still didn't cry out.

"You know what is going to hurt, don't you? And it will hurt a lot," he said, dragging his words, tapping lightly on the splint with his cane, and then over the dressings covering his ribs and the abdominal wound. "So, why do you even try to antagonize me? You are going to scream like a frightened, hysterical little girl soon, asking for mercy, so… why do it? Why do you have to be so irritating?"

"Aaaaah… maybe because I wasn't born with enough middle fingers to let you know how I really feel about you, and I can only give you a hint," he said, lifting his broken arm to give him the only middle finger he had available then.

"Witty… I like it," Shu said, nodding, showing a sinister, vile smile, while apparently ignoring that provocation. "Now, before I start, tell me: why are you here, and where are the other two?"

Face stared at him with his middle finger still up. Instead of answering, he looked at his finger, to make his point, and then back at Shu. And that was the last time he could keep his cool.

AAA

"Man, why did you get on the way? Didn't we say it is better not to show resistance or defiance?" Harlow said when Murdock came to, after they poured water on his face. "They gave you a good wallop."

"Shit. My head," Murdock said, taking a hand to the bleeding gash, making contact with Scott's hand, as he was holding a piece of cloth against it, to stop the haemorrhage. "Where is Face? Where did they take him?"

"I guess they took him to the joy room, as we call it," Scott said. "It's not far from this cell. But I guess Shu hasn't started yet, because we haven't heard any screams."

"Face is very good at holding back."

"Guys, you are not listening!" Major Conley said, looking anxious. "Doing that will only get that psycho mad! He thrives on causing pain. If you don't give him what he wants, in the form of loud signs of agony, he'll try a million times harder. It is suicide!"

"Oh, my God. Don't say that, please. Face can't help himself when he's angry, and he will be after what they did to me. He'll annoy the hell out of that psychopath with his snappy comebacks until he beats the crap out of him and he can no longer talk!" Murdock said, fretting. Shit, Face. Keep your mouth shut for once in your life!

AAA

Colonel Shu left the cane on a table and grabbed a sharp, hunting knife. Face swallowed hard when he put that knife in contact with his abdomen, with the pointy end resting lightly on his skin, below the bandage. For a split second he thought the psycho was going to stab him and slit him open, like a carcass, spreading his guts all over the place, but then he realized that would be too fast and easy. That guy wanted to see him suffer, not kill him quickly. Not yet, anyway.

Instead of goring him, Shu pushed the knife flat under the dressings, and then, with a flick of his wrist, he ripped them off, revealing the wounds.

"Oh, look at that… Did that healer stitched this up?" he said, picking at the stitches one by one with the sharp end of the knife, re-opening the stabbing wound. "What a shame. He did a good job."

He grabbed the fractured arm then, also ripping off the dressings that held the splint in place, and threw the pieces of wood on the floor. He let go of the arm, and left the knife back on the table.

"So, where should I start? Do you want to choose, or should I pick for you?"

"You know, right now I'm so jealous of all the people who never had the pleasure to meet you, arsehole," Face said, with hatred filling up his blue eyes, but with an edge in his voice that could not totally mask his fear.

"I bet you are," Shu said, pressing hard over the dark bruise below the sternum, grinding his fist over it, sinking it on the broken ribs, enjoying how Face grimaced, closing his eyes, tensing his whole body, only moaning softly through gritted teeth, still unwilling to give in. "I've got the feeling you are going to tell me this doesn't hurt either, aren't you?"

Face held his breath, turning red and shaking, and he still managed to nod slightly before he passed out.

"No, no, no, that's cheating... Wake him up!"

A soldier approached Face with a vial of ammonia and waved it under his nose. He jerked his head immediately to get away from that strong, vile smell, instantly awake. The psycho grabbed his hair with his right hand, pulling his head up straight, banging it on the wooden post.

"I won't let you cheat this time, you know?" Shu said, enjoying the way his victim was hyperventilating and panicking. "I'll continue with an easy question: who are you?"

Face carried on panting, with his eyes darting around the room, but he didn't answer. Then, he gasped in pain when the maniac plunged his left middle finger inside his abdominal wound, prodding to find his way in. Face tried to stop him from digging deeper by using his unrestrained left hand, but Shu let go of his hair to catch the broken arm with his right hand, right over the fractured bones, adding to the agony as he thrusted in the wound repeatedly, in every direction, trying to find the trajectory of the stabbing object, whatever it was.

"This is how I give middle fingers, ARSEHOLE!" the psycho shouted, as a delayed reaction to the provocations.

Face made some guttural, gurgly noises while shaking, but he still held onto the cry Shu wanted to hear.

"The cane," Colonel Shu said. He withdrew his finger from the wound and waited with his left hand extended, while still holding Face's left arm, until the soldier passed him the cane. "You've been very brave so far. Impressive effort, but I think this would be it."

Knowing the trajectory of that wound now, he rammed the cane inside then, hard and deep. Finally, Face gave up, and his chilling cry could be heard all over the prison.

AAA

"It's taking too long. Maybe that psycho took him somewhere else and we can't hear him," Harlow said. Scott and Conley shrugged their shoulders, also listening, but they could not hear anything.

Right then, they all cringed when that desperate, agonizing scream pierced the air.

"Son of a bitch!" Murdock cried, running to the door, banging on it as he used swear words freely as never before, losing it. "What have you done to him, motherfuckers! Fucking bastards!"

"Stop it!" Harlow said, following him to the door. "You can't help him, and this can only make matters worse!"

"Fucking arseholes! Leave him alone!"

Harlow tried to get hold of his hands, to stop him, but Murdock managed to get free and carried on banging on the door. The other two POWs joined them at the door.

"You'll make it worse not only for you, but for all of us!" Scott said, also trying to restrain him, but Murdock started hitting them blindly, screaming mad like the raving lunatic he sometimes was. "This guy is mental! Look at him, no wonder they called the 101st the Screaming Eagles if they all howled like him!"

"I'm sorry we have to do this," Major Conley said while he covered Murdock's sore mouth with his hand to muffle his cries, holding his injured arm behind his back to restrain him. Between the three of them, they dragged Murdock away from the door and pinned him on the floor, where he still struggled, trying to kick them and hit them, screaming under the major's hand, trying to bite it.

"Stop it or I'll knock you out cold!" Scott said, with his fist held high in front of his face, but Murdock didn't seem to be listening. "This guy needs a goddam straitjacket!"

"Listen, pal, your friend is not screaming anymore! Can you hear that?" Harlow said, a bit more sympathetic. "Bless him, he must have fainted, whatever delightful thing that psycho was doing to him."

Murdock calmed down for a moment, but when the agonizing cries started again, he withdrew to his inner world, going limp, and his only reaction were the thick tears he started to shed, which ran down from his zoned-out eyes.

"I'm telling you, this guy is cuckoo," Scott said, releasing his grip on him. "Totally bonkers. Why is he crying now?"

AAA

Back in the dark zone, Face didn't want to wake up. Not at all. Not this time. Less than ever. However, the irritant smell of the ammonia forced him to go back to the land of the living against his will, one more time.

He gasped again when he came to, whimpering when he saw and felt that cane sticking out of his abdomen.

"Welcome back! Why do you always have to cheat? Your old trick won't work anymore, because I'll always bring you back. Now, are you ready to admit this really hurts, if only a little?" Colonel Shu said, displaying his heinous grin, touching the end of the cane lightly, so it disturbed the other end, wobbling inside Face's abdomen. He gasped again, making an odd sound, that maybe resembled a "yes".

"I didn't hear that. What did you say? Louder, please, or…" Shu said, pressing a bit harder on the cane.

"Yes!" Face cried then, not panting anymore, tensing his whole body and holding still to avoid causing any further movement of the cane, shocked by the pain.

"Excellent! We are finally making progress here... Now, back to basics: who are you?"

As he still didn't answer, the psycho shook the cane, making Face scream again at the top of his lungs, but he didn't faint this time because the soldier kept waving the vial with ammonia under his nose from time to time, keeping him awake and in agony.

"No, you are getting it all wrong… I already got your screams, and now I need your answers: who are you, what are you doing in Vietnam, and where are your friends."

He carried on shaking the cane, digging deeper, enjoying the way his victim screamed his head off in agony, because once that Face had started, he couldn't stop. After a while, Shu slid the cane out with a fast move. It was bloodstained, and more fresh blood was oozing from the wound. Face stopped screaming, exhausted, moaning with his head dangling forward, choking with the strap that held his neck.

"Look what you made me do: a bloody mess," the psycho said, wiping the cane clean on Face's trousers, also cleaning his still bloody finger. "And I don't like making a mess. I'll have to punish you for this, you know?"

If Face had remotely thought nothing could hurt more than what he had just endured with that cane, he was mistaken. The psycho colonel took his broken arm, and started to apply opposing forces to the fragments, pulling and pushing slowly, disarranging the bones out of line. That sharp, continuous, excruciating pain shot through his arm and into his brain, exploding there. Face would have passed out a thousand times, while that evil bastard grinded the bones, rubbing them against each other and against the nerves, blood vessels, tendons, muscles, and all the tissues that screamed individually at his brain for the torture to stop by passing out, but the soldier kept the vial of ammonia close to his nose almost permanently now, and he wasn't allowed to cheat that unbearable pain. Instead, part of his brain dissociated from the ordeal, and he could hear the spine-chilling screams as if he wasn't him who was yelling but someone else, entirely different, engulfed as he was by the pain, shutting down all the other senses.

Then, the psycho held the arm still for a moment, giving his victim a little break. Face stopped screaming, but continued panting, sweating and whimpering mad, as a woman at the height of labour. When he opened his eyes to look at his arm, he was horrified by the vision of the broken bones bulging under the skin, but not breaking through it yet. Yet.

"Let's try again. Who are you?"

"Lieutenant… T.A… Peck… US… Army," Face caved in, dropping words while panting.

"See? It wasn't that difficult, was it? Now, why are you here, Lieutenant Peck?"

"Holidays," Face said, at random, just to say something. Shu got hold of the arm firmly again, but as he started to press, Face begged for him to stop.

"Please, stop! Don't do that again, please! Don't!"

"Look at that… We got to the begging part now. Wonderful! So, you are here on holidays… And where are your friends, then? The man with the white hair and the black, big guy? Did they go to the beach, or to buy some ice-cream?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know where they are!" Face cried, as Shu pressed a bit harder.

"I think you do," Shu said, grinding the bones against each other again.

"No, please, no! Aaargh!"

Face carried on screaming mad while the psycho moved his floppy arm up and down, using the fracture site like a loose hinge.

"You are not showing me the finger anymore, are you?!" the heinous psychopath roared then, after all that time curbing his anger, only showing a deceiving contempt to the insults that had instigated such a wicked pay-back. "Come on, arsehole, try! Show me that little finger again, if you dare, motherfucker!"

In the end, he jerked the arm so hard the jagged end of the fractured radius pierced the skin at the top. Face vomited and then passed out, for the umpteenth time, and despite the attempts of the soldier to wake him up with the ammonia, he didn't respond to it anymore.

"This is not working anymore," the soldier said in Vietnamese. He checked Face's pulse on his neck then, just in case. "But he is still alive."

"Never mind. Sod it. I am getting bored now," Colonel Shu answered, also in his language, while using his victim's trousers to wipe off the vomit spattered on his shoes.

He let go of the arm, which dangled loose, with an awkward shape and angle, with blood dripping slowly from that open wound on the skin.

"Take him back to the cell," he ordered, delivering one last punch to his victim's face, just because.

That felt so damn good! he thought as he left the "joy room", as the POWs called it, heading for his quarters, as relaxed and satisfied as someone who had just banged somebody. Not just once, but twice.

AAA

"What the hell is that maniac doing? This is taking too long. That guy should have fainted by now," Captain Harlow said.

"Ammonia," Scott said.

"Oh, yes. There is that," Harlow said. "He hasn't used it on me for years."

The three POWs kept quiet then, all of them thinking about their own harrowing experiences at the joy room. But the screaming was definitely taking too long this time.

"I can't stand it. And neither can he," Harlow said, pointing at Murdock. The Screaming Eagle pilot sat on the floor against the wall now, no longer zoned-out, with his index fingers blocking his ear canals, trying to muffle the horrific sounds, with his head resting on his knees, rocking to and fro.

"Maybe that lieutenant is a wimp, and he's screaming his head off for nothing," Major Conley said.

"I don't know, James. He has a broken arm, and he was on the Special Forces," Harlow said, always more sympathetic than the other two, more hardened POWs. "And his cries are… something else. Hair-raising. It gives me the creeps."

When the screams stopped, they waited expectantly for the soldiers to bring that abused man back. When they did, the soldiers let go of him and dropped him on his face by the door, tossing his clothes inside the cell too, muttering in Vietnamese how disgusting it was to carry a man covered in sickness, and they left quickly.

Murdock jumped to his feet and ran to his friend's side.

"Don't touch him!"

The others gave him some space while he slowly turned him over.

"Oh, my God! Face, what have they done to you?" Murdock cried, with tears in his eyes, when he saw the state of him. He stood up by the door then, banging on it again. "Bastards! You should keep to the Geneva Convention rules! This man needs medical attention! At least bring me some bandages!"

"Shut up!" the guards said, laughing it off.

Murdock kneeled by Face then, not knowing where to start. He got hold of his arm, which dangled at a funny angle, with a small portion of the bone sticking out, wishing Hannibal was there to fix it again. But, as he wasn't, he started to pull from the wrist, trying to re-align the bones, with his vision blurred by the torrent of tears that ran down his face.

Harlow wanted to help him, but he heaved with the stench of the sickness and the sight of that arm. He had to run to the small basin and toilet they had in a corner of the room, to empty his stomach there.

"Damn. That psycho has outdone himself this time," Major Conley said, grabbing an already dirty towel to clean up the sickness on Face's torso and trousers.

As they tended for him with the few items they had available in that cell, a sergeant sporting a black eye and a bruised mouth appeared at the door, carrying a bowl of warm water, clean towels, dressings, a bottle of antiseptic, and the pieces of wood that Shu had discarded on the floor.

"Use this," he said, giving all the items to Scott.

"Thank you. What happened to your eye? Don't tell me you also had a close encounter with Shu's fist."

The soldier gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything, closing the door again.

"What about antibiotics, and morphine?" Scott cried, but the soldier was gone.

"This wound was healing, it had stitches on," Murdock said, looking at the open, bleeding wound in his abdomen. "Why is that open and bleeding again? What the hell has that maniac done to him?"

It took them a while to clean Face, treat his wounds, and dress them. Murdock had done his best to realign the bones, re-applying the splint, and had got the large cloth from the pocket in his jacket to use it as a sling again. During that process Face was unresponsive, looking pale as a sheet with the shock, feeling cold to the touch. Now with his clothes back on, he was still hypothermic.

"I'll lie with him to warm him up," Murdock said.

They carried Face to a bed, and Murdock wedged between him and the cold wall, holding him tight against his warm body, with his arm protectively around him, trying not to disturb any of his injures, specially the arm.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Facey. Hold on. Hannibal will get us out of this shithole in no time at all," Murdock said, stroking his hair gently. He kissed his head and started crying again. "You've done great, hold on."

The other three looked at Murdock as he carried on crying and pointlessly soothing the unconscious man who could not hear him, feeling sorry for him.

"Who's Hannibal?" Harlow said.

"Who knows," Scott said, and then he frowned, pulling a disgusted face. "They… they… Do they love each other? Are they a couple? I mean… just look at them!"

"Maybe. Who cares?" Conley said. "Look, I've been thinking. After this, I don't think I can take any more of this shit. 15 years waiting with the hope that someone would get us out of here and I could see my family again... But that's not going to happen, if what that fool said is true. We have to escape, and we'll have to do it on our own."

"You lost one eye the last time you tried to escape," Harlow said.

"I know. But I don't have hope anymore. That little bubble of hope that we would get released at the end of the war got burst today. I'll give it another try. Who's with me?"

"Me," Scott said.

"Yeah, me too," Harlow said. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet, but we'll have plenty of time to think on one," he said, lying on his bed, as it was getting dark and the guards never put the lights on in that cell. "I don't want to get another scar in my body, if I can help it."

AAA

Face woke up a few hours later, in the dark. His whole body ached, and he wanted to cry, but then, he noticed the warm body in contact with his back, and the arm around him, embracing him. Disgusted with the thought that the psycho had also taken him to bed to sodomize him, he wriggled, rolling on his side, trying to get away from that evil man, but the bed was so narrow he fell over the side, groaning when he hit the floor, adding to his misery.

"Face! Face!" Murdock cried when he heard that loud thud, waking up quickly, as he had only nodded off for the last twenty minutes. He felt the bed anxiously, but he wasn't there, although he could hear him moaning. "Where are you?" he said while adjusting his eyes to the faint moonlight that came through the small window.

"Murdock? Is that you?"

"Yes! Shit. Did you fall off the bed?" Murdock said, getting up.

"I'll help you," Harlow said. He was the only one who got awaken by the thud, as the others carried on snoring, still fast asleep. "Come on, guy, let's get you back on that bed."

"I'm cold," Face said, shaking when they got him back up.

"I know. You are in shock. That's why I was keeping you warm. This blanket is too thin," Murdock said, lying by Face again, but on the other side now, leaving him close to the wall this time, so he would not fall off the bed again. "Thanks, Harlow."

"You are welcome," he said, returning to his bed.

Face was shivering so much now, the whole rickety bed was shaking, and he was moaning and whining in pain.

"I got you, Face. I got you."

Murdock covered them both with the blanket, and passed his arm over him again, taking his hand. Face held onto his friend's warm hand, squeezing it.

"Back at the POW camp, ah?" he said, with a faltering whisper.

"Yes. And I'm so sorry for this. So sorry."

"It hurts," Face said, tensing his body, moaning and hissing, squeezing Murdock's hand a bit harder.

"I know. Hold on. You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?"

"No. When that soldier hit you, I blew a fuse. Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm all right. It's you I'm worried about," Murdock said, hugging him tighter, because Face could not stop shaking. He placed his other hand on his forehead, and it was getting hot, despite him complaining of cold.

"When that psycho asked for me, I thought you would be fine. But I was mistaken. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. What else could you do? Nothing. The same I could do nothing to stop that bastard hitting you."

"I asked B.A to shoot me if I ever had to be back in a POW camp. He promised me he would, but he wasn't there to keep that promise."

"Please, don't say that. The big guy could not shoot you, ever."

"He should have. This hurts even more than the first time."

"I bet it does, because you didn't have a broken arm back then. What did that son of a bitch do with the wound in your abdomen? What happened to the stitches?"

"He shoved his fucking cane in there!" Face shouted then, enraged.

"What? The cane? Jesus! Is that why it's bleeding again?"

"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Face cried, growling. He was breathing heavily now, with the combined effort of talking and breathing, and the overwhelming anger and hatred that consumed him. And the harder he breathed, the more he complained, gasping, moaning and groaning, until he started whimpering, weeping like a hurt child.

"Calm down. Try to relax, or it will hurt even more. And don't cry, please. You know I can't stand it if you cry," he said, letting go of his friend's hand for a moment to wipe the tears off his face, ignoring his own.

"Sing to me as you did before, please."

"A lullaby, you mean?"

"Yes."

"OK."

Murdock held Face's hand again and started to sing his special version of All the pretty little horses, with a soothing, captivating and velvety, deep tone of voice, close to Face's ear.

Hush-a-bye don't you cry,
Go to sleep, my little Facey.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little ladies.
Blondes and reds, and brunettes,
All the pretty little ladies.

Face laughed then, and instantly tensed again, holding tight onto Murdock's hand, groaning.

"Please, don't make me laugh! I can't even take that now!"

"Sorry, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I thought you'd like that version, but you are right: this is no time for pretty ladies, or laughs. Should I switch back to little horses then?"

"Sing the other. The Golden Slumbers. That's my favourite."

"Yeah, mine too. And it also suits you, my pretty darling."

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.

Sleep, pretty Facey, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Cares you know not, therefore sleep,
While over you a watch I'll keep.
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

"That's nice, thank you. I like hearing your voice, and knowing you'll watch over me," Face said, calming down, reducing his respiratory rate, squeezing Murdock's hand a bit again.

"You always do the same for me."

"I wish I could spare you any pain tomorrow."

"Hannibal will be here by then."

"God, how much I hope so!"

"Relax now. I'll sing until you fall asleep, OK?"

"Thank you."

Murdock sang the same song over and over, like an endless disc, rocking his body a bit against his, until Face relaxed, stopped moaning, and fell asleep.

"I love you," Murdock whispered then, kissing his friend's head, and he fell asleep shortly after, exhausted.

AAA

Harlow stayed awake after Murdock stopped singing. He had been listening to their exchange with interest, and he liked their relationship. They almost looked like a gay couple in love, as Scott had pointed out, but he didn't think that was the case. Their relationship was different, deeper, and more meaningful.

Scott, Conley, and he, had been together in that prison for too many years, and during that time they had fallen out many times. They always helped each other, and cared for each other, and the bond they had forged through the years was special, but not so much as the bond these other guys had. He knew that, under any other more normal circumstances, he would have never become friends with Scott or Conley, because they were too different. So, he was jealous of the new inmates and their loving, special friendship.

Damn, how much he would have loved having someone singing lullabies to comfort him when he was hurt!

AAAAA