A/N: Hello, all! Here's another chapter for you guys, woo two in one day! :D Well, this one is ALSO written partially from T-Bag's P.O.V. Why? Because it would really suck for me to write it completely from Theresa's perspective, that's why. I might do a T-Bag chapter every now and then, but not very often after this, unless it's one where I feel Mr. Theodore Bagwell can say it better than Ms. Theresa Bagwell can. Sooo…please enjoy, and don't bitch too much at me. Read and review!
P.S. It will be a few days before I update again, because school is starting for me tomorrow, but I promise to update when I can. :3
P.S.S. Yeah, yeah, I know I don't exactly follow the script. :D I changed the phone conversation to make the chapter better for you guys.
X X X X
"Last name Myers, first name Seth. Seventeen years old, sentenced to three years for stealing a car. No priors, so I suppose the judge let him off with a light sentence. He was to come up for parole in six months or so. Time of death was called at 4:27 p.m. by me." Sara concluded, flipping through the file of the young boy who lay cold on the metal table. I examined the body with a deep seated sadness in my stomach as I ran my gloved fingers over the purple marks encircling his throat like a horrible choker. The sheets had cut into his throat post-mortem, and there were black, slightly gaping wounds as a remainder. His neck had been broken by the fall, so he didn't suffer, thank God.
"Jesus, how does a kid turn out like this?" I muttered, stripping off my gloves unhappily and shot them into the trash before running a hand through my loose waves.
"Unhappy family life, trouble at school, all the wrong friends." My friend replied, unsmiling. This wasn't exactly a treat for her, either.
"Yeah, well my family life wasn't great but look how I turned out. I'm a doctor, and this kid is dead. It's a ridiculous world we live in, isn't it?" She nodded, turning her back on the sad sight. I didn't blame her, because it was depressing. And what made it worse was that the family would have to come by soon to claim the body, according to Sara. That was certainly going to be a special kind of hell.
X X X X
Nothing. Nothing is what T-Bag felt after watching his "companion" jump to his death. Well, he felt slightly sad, of course, and shocked. That's what this must be. It's only shock.
He managed to carry on fairly well, he kept up his cocky leader side up, and joked with his was he supposed to do, wail and lament? No...just no. Scofield was standing by the fence, watching as something familiar flickered across his face.
Dread.
T-Bag joined him by the fence, biting his lip to barely repress a grin as he noticed the bus pulling up to the prison. "Fresh meat." he breathed, and Michael tightened his grip on the wire fence almost imperceptibly. Together they watched the young and old men file off the bus in silence. T-Bag's gaze landed on one in particular, a slightly muscled kid with brown hair, and a "don't fuck with me" look about him. It tickled T-Bag. Here was a boy who didn't seem to know what race he was, his pants all hanging down, his sleeve rolled up to reveal a solitary tattoo. He was attempting to chat up the guy in front of him, but that man was stunned into silence by the prison.
Oh, that boy would be fun.
X X X X
P.I. again, and his efforts on the boy, whom he had affectionately named Tweener, had so far been unsuccessful. He had turned to harassing when his "friendly" approach didn't work, and it turned out to be fun, or what the equivalent of fun could be inside this fortress. He stepped into the gutted break room, and before he knew it, he was on the floor, cursing and shouting in pain.
His attacker stood over him, and he hissed a painful breath out through his teeth when he recognized it as Scofield. He stood there, venom in his eyes, a crowbar in his long fingered hands.
"Oh you just made a huge mistake there, Pretty. I'm gonna sing like a tree full of birds, now! Badge!"Michael bent down swiftly, his eyes locked with T-Bag's.
"You see I don't think you will. You want to get out of here just as badly as everyone else. You and I may be stuck together in this little dance, but I call the shots. First shot, that kid out there – you don't touch him, ever. Do we understand each other?"
"We do." T-Bag growled, clutching his leg.
The guard came in, annoyed. "What, con?"
"Nothing, just thought some tools was missing, that's all."
There was a short pause before the guard just snarled at them to go back to work. Abruzzi smirked, causing him to scowl, hell, almost snarl at him in response. It took all of his self control to not shank Pretty right then and there.
X X X X
"How in God's name do you keep getting hurt?" I asked, smiling at my brother's sweet, sheepish expression.
"Too much partying, too little sleep." I snorted in an unladylike way and finished my inspection of his leg.
"Your bone is bruised, and it will cause you to walk with a limp for a day or two." I squeezed his hand, and patted his cheek before sending him away, and turning to Sara.
"I found something interesting out about Michael. Awhile back he went to a therapist. I just finished talking to her on the phone."
"Oh? What did she treat him for?"
"Low latent inhibition."
"English please?"
"Well, people who suffer from low latent inhibition see every day things just like we do, like a lamp. But where we just see the image of a lamp, they see everything. The stem, the bulb, the bolts, even the washers inside. Their brains are more open to incoming stimuli in the surrounding environment. Other people's brains – ours – shut out the same information. We have to do it, in order to keep our sanity. If someone with a low IQ has low latent inhibition, it almost always results in metal illness. But, if someone has a high IQ, it almost always results in creative genius"
"Michael's a genius?"
"Apparently."
"What else was he treated for?" This was actually explaining...well, a hell of a lot.
"She said he came to her with absolutely no sense of self-worth. The loss of both parents very often does that to a child. But, with the low latent inhibition, something interesting happened to Michael. He became very attune to all the suffering around him. He couldn't shut it out. He became a rescuer. One of those people who are more concerned with other people's welfare than their own, according to her."
"Jesus...I didn't know that."
""Well maybe you don't know Michael Scofield."
"Yeah...but maybe no one does."
