He hadn't sent the water. So why would they lie? More importantly who had sent it? He didn't believe Miguel was crazy, well Miguel was off but that had been dealt with via his meds. He certainly hadn't hallucinated since Peter Marie had written that prescription a while back. And even then he'd been seeing traumas from his past such as his dead baby not random items like a bottle of water.

Tim McManus studied the inmate before him. Wide and paranoid Latin eyes stared his way. When they made eye contact he saw it. Miguel was afraid.

He's just a kid.

Not as young as Wangler had been, Miguel was legally an adult, but he was barely that when he'd been initially incarcerated. Now he still hadn't even seen a quarter of a century yet.

"Miguel," he repeated, "who said that I sent you water?"

Alvarez opened his mouth. Started to speak. Paused. Then clammed up. He crossed his arms over his chest as if suddenly cold. His eyes found the floor. Something was going on with him, Tim could see it plain as day but he'd seen enough to know when an inmate shut down. Miguel was shutting down.

"I'm going to set you up to see Sister Pete, okay?" he said quietly.

"Then you can go back to your pod."

Miguel didn't look up at him.

"If anything jogs your memory you know where to find me."

He released him to Dr. Nathan who inspected his bruises, treated his cuts. By the time she was finished Sister Pete had arrived. She shot Tim a quick reminder of her disapproval of his handling of the issue but thankfully said nothing. Wishing to keep it that way, Tim headed back to his office. He would talk to Rebadow. Now. Then he would see who was on duty last night.

He wasn't sure what it was about Miguel that troubled him so much today. Maybe his demeanor, he'd been all over the place. From catatonic to agitated to desperate within the span of an hour. But his eyes when Tim had hinted at leaving him in the hole… poor kid looked ready to die.

That's it. He's never going in there again. Fuck what Sean said.

He'd just have to find another form of punishment. Something that wouldn't break the already fragile inmate like this did.

Sean had escorted Schibetta back to the unit while he was still in with Miguel. Tim quickly spotted the Italian sitting at the round table with Pancamo's crew. His eyes kept watching the gates. Waiting. For Alvarez no doubt. When he noticed Tim look back at him he caught himself and turned to D'Angelo.

That was a huge change from pre-rape Schibetta. The once cocky kid couldn't even look him in the eye. Despite his counseling he would never be the person he was before. Applying that reality to Miguel left Tim with a sourness in the pit of his stomach.

"Rebadow, can I see you in my office for a moment?"

The old man was seated with his own group, Busmalis, Beecher, Hill. Keller was leaning a little too close to Beecher but straightened with a smirk when he was caught.

"Me?" Rebadow repeated surprise in his tone.

Tim nodded, gesturing for him to follow him upstairs. He didn't glance back until he was in his office, shutting the door behind them.

"Have a seat."

He didn't bother walking around his desk. He simply leaned his rear on the front. He was well aware of the intimidation factor of his position. Hovering over the elderly inmate, arms crossed authoritatively. Whatever it took to get the truth about what had happened to Miguel.

"I need you to tell me what you saw the day of the riot. Outside the laundry room specifically. And you're not leaving this office until you do."

_

"I gotta piss," Peter announced.

Not even looking up from his cards, Pancamo gestured for Joey to follow him.

"Use my toilet," their leader instructed.

Because his and Miguel's pod was upstairs, Peter didn't argue, but inside it stung a little more. On top of being escorted to the bathroom, now he was being told where to piss. He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. He truly was nothing anymore.

Miguel didn't make him feel like nothing.

He played back their encounter in the infirmary, every detail he could remember about his podmate. He'd looked awful, bruised and beaten. Especially that mark at his temple. But it was his eyes that had Peter's heart clenching. That familiar sense of feeling unsafe and dehumanized. Miguel hadn't held up well in the hole.

It was a punishment for both of us.

Because being without his familia had taken a toll on him as well. Would he be going back in? After Dr. Nathan was done with him?

"D'Angelo, over here!"

One of the hacks. Joey glanced from the doorway just as Peter stood over the toilet and began relieving himself. "Now!"

Joey motioned for Peter to stay where he was before heading off to meet the CO. That left him alone in Pancamo's pod for the time being.

No worries. Nobody's bold enough to come in Chucky's space without his permission.

Pancamo was at least still somebody. He sighed, lowering his guard enough to drift back to Miguel and his conversation. The way he'd flinched when he'd thought Peter would touch him. His Latino friend had definitely been violated. But he wasn't going to admit it.

Wrapped up in the memory, Peter didn't notice when he was no longer alone.

"Slick moves today."

Ryan O'Reily's amused tone startled him so that he lost his aim. He managed to spray both the tank and the wall before catching himself and finishing off in the toilet bowl.

"What the fuck O'Reily?!"

He tucked himself away before turning to glare at the Irishman.

"Relax, I'm not the Homeboys," O'Reily snickered.

"I don't want anything you got."

Peter's heart was at a gallop due to the scare. He tried to hide the tremor in his hands by washing them. Much to his chagrin, O'Reily noticed.

"The fuck are you doing here then?" he snapped.

O'Reily was wearing that sly grin of his. Peter had never trusted him. He'd gotten close to his father not too long before his death. When word spread that Adebesi had killed him, O'Reily had been too eager to extend that information. He was a rat. And as Peter had stated back then even a rat knew when to abandon a sinking ship.

"Just wanted to chat. About a friend."

Peter dried his hands on his pants, still glaring.

"Any friend of yours ain't a friend of mine," he remarked.

He attempted to bypass the mick but O'Reily blocked his way. The Irish bastard was much taller than he was… Without realizing, Peter backed away. His shirt felt hot all of a sudden as he tried to swallow down that something that had plagued his dreams for the past three years.

Show no fear. Show no fear. Show no—

"You let me be the judge of that," O'Reily countered.

He advanced just one step and Peter instinctively retreated.

"Murphy. What's your deal with him?"

The Italian blinked.

"Murphy? The hack Murphy?"

"No Eddie Murphy. Of course the hack Murphy. What've you and Alvarez got going with him?"

Confusion pierced his fear as Peter stared.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I saw him take you after count. Not to mention his little pow-wows with your bunk buddy. You got something worked out with him?"

Was he serious? Or delusional?

"Something like what?"

The crafty Irishman leaned in.

"You tell me," he whispered.

But there was nothing to tell. At least on Peter's end. Murphy had thought he didn't look well. That was the extent of their "deal." He wasn't even aware of anything between the hack and Miguel. Certainly not secret pow-wows.

"Nothing to tell. He just took me to the infirmary. I wasn't feeling good."

O'Reily didn't believe him.

"Uh huh."

He didn't move. The young Sicilian felt that tremor again. He didn't like this proximity. This whole manner of questioning. Not so much the words but the intimidating manner in which his interrogator kept closing in on him. The mick knew what he was doing. He knew how uncomfortable it made him. Yet he still advanced.

"Listen," O'Reily had him literally backed against the wall now.

Peter could no longer hide the quaking as the taller man had the gall to touch his face. Flashes of Schillenger, of Robson's hands pinning him down, pale Aryan hands touching him against his will…His eyes burned, his body locked. Cold fear gripped him by the soul.

"Murphy," he repeated.

But Peter couldn't find his voice. His lips opened but a strangled sound of defeat came out.

By some miracle O'Reily pulled away.

"Jesus Schibetta, I'm not a fucking rapist."

He had the audacity to be offended.

"I want to kick your ass not fuck it you prag!"

Oddly enough that was a relief. Though to be honest the mick was probably the last person to rape anyone after what Schillenger did to his brother. Peter's mind knew this but that didn't stop his body's reaction.

"Just tell me about Murphy and I'm out of your hair."

But there was nothing to tell about Murphy. Not that Peter could do much talking at the moment anyway.

"He… took me… infirmary."

Fuck it was hard to breathe. O'Reily shot him one last lookover before cursing under his breath and leaving the pod.

Joey wasn't back yet. In the distance he could see a hack standing before Chucky, blocking his view. What perfect timing…

Peter closed his eyes, sank down to the floor. He buried his face in his knees. He didn't want to lose it. He swore he wouldn't. Not in front of these guys. Not in Em City. He'd be eaten alive. But it was too much. The bikers, the homeboys, O'Reily…he couldn't take it. Not without his familia. Not without—

"Yo Alvarez, what the fuck you doing out of the hole?"

Peter shot to his feet, rushed the pod door to see that yes, Miguel was back. Wearing that usual scowl he entered the gates, glanced around with dark and unruly eyes. Peter stared until he caught his eye. For a moment they were locked, joined at the retina. He'd never felt safer in his whole time at Oz.

The moment was cut short when someone made a kissing noise. Alvarez shook it off and headed for their pod. Instinctively, Peter moved to follow.

"Yo, yo where are you going?"

The hack had finished his business with Joey around the time O'Reily had finished his business with Peter. Interesting.

"My pod."

"That ain't wise. Stay with us down here."

But he wanted to be with Miguel. Needed to be with him now more than ever.

"No."

He dodged Joey's arm (reaching to yank him back to the table he was sure) and practically ran up the stairs. In the pod he found Miguel preparing for a shower.

"I was worried they wouldn't let you out," he confessed as the Latino disrobed.

He battled the urge to throw his arms around him. To beg him never to leave him alone in this Hell again.

Miguel shucked his shirt off, revealing darker, nastier bruises on his chest and abdomen.

"I was defending myself so they cut me a break."

Peter was pleased to note that Miguel sounded better than he had in the infirmary. But there was still something off.

"Alvarez? You sure you're okay?"

Funny his asking that considering what had just happened downstairs. He wasn't even sure if he himself was okay. But Miguel was a little twitchy, he could feel his unrest. His roomie looked at him as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"I just need a fucking shower," he confided all honesty in his eyes.

"To get the stink off, you know."

Peter knew.

"From the hole," Miguel added.

Right. The hole. He watched his roommate leave, followed his trek all the way down to the showers.

Something happened to you, Miguel. Did the hole trigger those memories?

He remembered the haunted look that night when Miguel had questioned him. The look that confirmed that yes he had been violated at some point during his stay. Miguel wouldn't share that vulnerability with anyone. But he'd shared it with him.

The look Peter saw just now when Miguel mentioned the shower was similar but fresher. Had something also happened to him while he was in the hole?

Maybe that was why McManus had him in Dr. Nathan's office. That was why he'd been flipping out. That was what he needed to clean off his body, that stench, that shame, that feeling that Peter knew far too well.

Miguel disappeared in the shower room. He'd left his clothes piled by his bed. Without giving himself a chance to rethink it, Peter was on Miguel's bunk rifling through the pile. Miguel's scent was certainly present, yea he'd needed the shower, but smell wasn't what Peter was looking for. He found his boxers inside the pants, opened them up to reveal a small hint of color that he'd suspected. It wasn't a lot, it hadn't even bled through to the joggers but it was there. And it was blood. Miguel's blood.

"What you folding his laundry now?"

Peter glanced up to find both Joey and Donny entering the pod without invitation. He quickly balled up Miguel's pants and kicked them under the bed.

"Fuck off Joey."

Donny sighed.

"Petey, what are you doing to us? To yourself? You go running after Alvarez two seconds after he's back and now you're folding his clothes? You his wife now?"

It was one thing for Joey to say it, he was kind of a ballbuster anyway but Donny had been his pisan.

"Fuck you, I'm not a fucking fag!"

"You could have fooled me," Joey remarked.

Peter jumped to his feet, frustrated, angry, betrayed.

"You got some nerve talking all this shit when you weren't even there! None of you had my back, not with Adebesi, not with Schillinger and his fucking Nazis. Now you want to ride Miguel's ass for doing what you fucks couldn't?"

Joey rolled his eyes.

"We ain't the ones trying to ride that spic."

Donny held up a hand to shush him.

"Look, I'm sorry Petey but the Adebesi thing was your fuck up. You were in charge. You set that up and you and Pancamo got beat. Did you ask me to be there? No. Joey or anybody else? No. You went in half-cocked and got taken down.

"And the Aryans? Shit I told you to stand down and wait for Pancamo. You're the one who ran off by your fucking self and tried to take him on. Again, your fuck up. You can't blame us for that."

It was like being stabbed in the chest. His fault? Was Donny, a guy he'd come up with, seriously saying that it was his fault that he'd been raped?

"Get the fuck out of my pod."

He wanted to scream, to charge, to beat the living shit out of both of his so-called pisans for even thinking that any of this was on him. He clenched his fist, glared like hell, bit down on his lower lip until he tasted salt.

"Come on Petey you know we can't—"

"Get the fuck out my pod!"

He was shoving Donny, who was closer and whose words had hurt him most. His old pisan seemed surprised so much so that he didn't fight back. Instead he motioned to Joey to let it go and the two left the pod without another word.

But Peter's shouting had gotten the attention of the hacks. Murphy was the first to show up followed by Mineo and another.

"There a problem here?" Murphy asked.

The Italians shook there heads, turning and leaving the scene. Despite his shallow breaths, Peter too shook his head.

"No problem," he agreed.

He just wanted to be alone suddenly. Murphy squashed that hope.

"Schibetta, outside. Let's take a walk."

Having no choice, he followed the CO out of the pod down the stairs to exit Em City. Still burning from Donny's words he tried to hold his head high. But his eyes were starting to sting. Fuck!

He ignored Pancamo's disapproving gaze, likewise the amused and curious ones from other inmates. O'Reily was watching as well, an unreadable look in his eyes. Peter couldn't muster the energy to care.

It wasn't until they were outside, until they were alone in the dark hall that he broke. His knees buckled, his hands shielded his face. And for the first time since he'd left the psych ward Peter bawled like a fucking bitch.