Chapter Fifty: Forgiveness

Painkillers, or pain alleviators as Doc often referred to them, were the best thing ever. Tucker couldn't recall feeling so relaxed in a long time. And even doing boring things like staring at the ceiling had a weird sort of appeal. Tucker gazed with lucid fascination at the ceiling. Yes, indeed. Who knew ceiling cracks could be so interesting?

Everything was fine, as long as Tucker remembered to breathe. Long and deep, long and deep. Tucker couldn't quite remember why he had to breathe like that... might have had something to do with risk of... something. Stupid lungs.

The door swung open. Tucker didn't move his gaze from the ceiling immediately. He only did so when he heard Church speak.

"Still not dead?"

"I don't think so. I feel too good. If I was dead I'd probably be stuck in a fire with a pitchfork up my ass or something." Tucker grinned at Church. "Painkillers are awesome, man. They're... hang on, I need to compare to something. Somewhere between sex and... really good sex."

"You're an idiot."

"And right now it feels awesome."

"So, you're doing alright?"

"Fuck yeah, I am. I'm stoned as hell. I start to feel shitty every few hours, then Doc throws more painkillers at me and I feel great again."

Church gazed absently into space, drumming his fingers against his thighs. Tap-tappity-tap. For some reason, it was annoying Tucker. Maybe because Tucker was supposed to be the one zoning out, not Church.

"Hey! Church?"

"Hm?"

"You're zoning out on me, dude."

"Yeah, I was just... thinking about shit." Church shifted a bit. "By the way. Snitch Miller in?"

"Oh, totally forgot. I think I meant to, and then I saw the ceiling cracks and got distracted with the whole not dying thing, and other trivial shit." Tucker tried pushing himself up a little, since he was sick of lying flat on his back. But even the painkillers couldn't completely stifle the pain when he tried. "Ow, fuck. I gotta stop doing that."

"I kept trying to get up after I was stabbed, too. Lying down for too long sucks ass."

"Totally. Anyway, so Miller's off scot free."

"Fuck no." Church paused and looked around the infirmary. "...Doc around?"

"Nah, he went to get some food or some shit like that."

"Good, because as far as he knows, Miller broke all his fingers by slamming them in a door."

"He broke all his fingers?"

"Caboose helped."

"Ah."

"I have to say, watching Miller try to pick up things and having to get his goons to cut up his food for him... it's a real mood booster."

Tucker grinned at the ceiling. "Making me feel better just hearing it..." Tucker's grin faded a little. "Wait. So, Caboose broke his fingers, yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell him to, he just did."

"Why?"

"Guess he still likes Dye-Job. Also, he said he didn't like me moping."

"Moping?" It took a few moments to process. "You were fucking moping?" Tucker laughed. "You girl."

Tucker then had to blink a couple of times, because Church had actually gone red. Church never went red. Never. He just didn't. Tucker rubbed his eyes. Must be a trick of the light or something. Because Church just doesn't go red.

"Shut up, Tucker," Church muttered. "I... I wasn't moping. Caboose just thought I was. And Caboose is a dumbass."

And now he's back to insulting people. Ah, typical Church. Thank god, that definitely beats blushing like a schoolgirl... Heh. I'm so glad he can't read my mind. I don't think he can, anyway. Maybe he can. If he can, I am so fucked.

"You can't read my mind, can you?" Tucker asked.

"The fuck?"

"Oh, cool. That's a no, because if you could read my mind, you'd understand the train of thought that went to that question."

"I was just going to ask if you were stoned, but then I remembered the answer was 'fuck yeah.' So... yeah, I got nothing."

Tucker grinned sleepily again before yawning. "Mmhm." He blinked sleepily. "Think I'm gonna crash."

"What? I just fucking got here."

"Can't control when I do it, man. It's the painkillers and the general 'oh god, the pain' thing... Besides, if you're gonna be a lazy fuck then just hang around and chat to Doc, what the hell do I care?" Tucker yawned again before settling into his pillow. "Don't... wake me up or I'll... strangle you or... some..."

He was asleep before he finished talking.


Bastards. Goddamn bastards.

Miller looked down at his hands. Thanks to Doc's 'treatment,' they looked more messed up than ever. They were supposed to at least be on their way to healing by now. If he'd kept them away from Doc maybe they would have had more of a chance of healing properly. But the way things were... they'd already started healing in funny positions.

And what could Miller do about it? Shit all. He was gonna be a fucking cripple the rest of his life because of that retarded kid. What was he supposed to do on the outside now? He couldn't go back to check swindling, he wouldn't be able to operate the tools necessary with his mangled hands. And he wouldn't be able to get many normal jobs, unless there was a job that only needed him to use his feet.

Miller couldn't even punch the wall to express his rage.

Only three years left in here... and my life's already been goddamn wrecked.

Miller attempted to pick up a book with just his palms. The bandages made even that difficult. His hands were shaking, as they did every time he started to think about what had happened. And he just got so angry... he didn't know what he was going to do...

And he couldn't even get revenge.

Because even if Miller's life was ruined, he still had the chance to escape prison with it. He wasn't going to give up that chance.


Church tapped his fingers absently, glancing at Tucker every few seconds. Tucker was fast asleep by now. Church still kept an eye on him. He didn't know the details of what was wrong with Tucker, but he knew it had something to do with the ribs and lungs... so he kept wondering if Tucker was just going to stop breathing.

Where the hell has Doc gone? He's a shit doctor... hell, he's not even a doctor. But I'd feel better if someone was at least watching Tucker and making sure he wasn't... well, dying. Urgh. I hate being concerned for people.

Church frowned, glaring at Tucker.

Tucker, you're a jerk-off. Why'd you have to actually make me like you? You festering sack of whore.

Church waved his hand in front of Tucker's face, then prodded him in the shoulder. Just to see whether he was really asleep. Tucker didn't move, although he did let out a short snore. Church shook his head.

Goddamn, I hate you so much.

Church studied Tucker carefully. He still hadn't quite managed to get the dead-looking Tucker out of his head. Seeing Tucker with his usual warm, brown skin rather than the pale blue colour he'd had in the dream... it did help alleviate Church's fears. Not as much as Tucker actually feeling warm...

Church reached out and grasped Tucker's hand, which was lying motionless next to him. Definitely warm.

You're just checking the temperature. Just checking to make sure he's not an ice cube. It'll be fine. As long as Tucker never, ever finds out. He'd never let me live it down.

Church didn't let go, however.


O'Malley sat on the pavement of the yard. It'd been a while since he was outside. He was thrown into solitary and shoved into the infirmary so much that he rarely got to be anywhere else.

He pondered what to do next. There were so many potential torture victims around. Church was always high up on the list... Church was the only one of his torture victims that O'Malley actually hated. It would be great to ruin Church's life, but it had kind of lost its novelty. After all, he'd already wrecked Church's life once. Doing it again when he had little to lose wasn't much fun.

There was Tex. But Tex was hard to get to without being beaten viciously. And it was the kind of torturing that had to be done little by little over a very long period of time. Three years, and O'Malley had hardly chipped at her. Tex wasn't the kind of victim O'Malley could focus all his energy on.

Caboose was, to be honest, getting very boring. He was a toy who had already been broken. He wasn't fun to play with anymore. He was just a fun trigger for torturing others. Fun to manipulate into hurting others, but on his own he just wasn't interesting anymore.

There were others, like the flaky pastry, but to be honest they weren't worth much more than the occasional bit of torture. He'd already messed around with Donut a bit. Ruining friendships was fun, but not an activity that would keep him amused over years. Plus, listening to the pastry was an exercise in mental torture.

O'Malley climbed to his feet, pacing around the yard. He hated it when most of the prison got boring. If it hadn't been for how amusing Doc was to him he'd probably be going mad with boredom.

Of course, Doc was hopeless when it came to affecting others. After all, no-one cared about him. Many mercilessly mocked him. O'Malley grinned to himself as he walked around the yard towards Wyoming.

Just makes him an easier target. And if I can coerce him into complaining to me again... I'll have back my old method for choosing victims. And then things will be interesting again... I still need another weapon to torture with, however...

Wyoming's response to this was expected.

"Has it been a year, chum? I already informed you, no more weapons for a year. Do you wish to put me out of business?" Wyoming asked.

"I need something sharp!"

"And furthermore... Do you even have the funds to pay for such things? You've spent the last half of the year largely in the infirmary or in solitary."

"...Curses."

Wyoming nodded, lighting a cigarette. "I'm afraid if you want another screwdriver, or some other sharp item... I must charge you an extra fee. You are inferring a lot of risk onto me through your little games."

"You're making too big a deal out of this, Wyoming. Fine! You'll have your fees..." O'Malley muttered ominously. Wyoming was not impressed.

"Don't get caught with your screwdriver so quickly next time." Wyoming blew out some smoke. "Incidentally, perhaps you could try other methods of inflicting pain? Cigarette burns are quite painful in the right places, and much more discreet."

"Not the same. No blood, less screaming..."

Curse Wyoming and his cautiousness! I need a new henchman.

O'Malley started making his way back to the prison. Perhaps he would find Doc again. He could do a variety of things to Doc. He could physically or mentally hurt Doc, or he could just continue stroking his pet. That did get the most delicious reactions.

But whatever he chose to do out of the almost limitless possibilities... for now, Doc was the best source of entertainment O'Malley had.


"You know what would be great? Strip poker."

"Hell no, Donut."

"I kind of like the idea," Grif said, grinning. "Four aces. Shirt goes off, Simmons!"

"We're not playing strip poker!" Simmons shouted, his ears going red.

Donut pouted. "Killjoy."

Simmons rolled his eyes. "Dumbasses. Both of you."

Donut shifted his position on the concrete, dropping his cards back onto the deck. The concrete was making his butt numb from sitting still too long.

"Uh... Donut?"

Donut turned around to see Caboose standing there, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Caboose wasn't looking at Donut, he was still determinately staring upwards at the sky. But this was only the second time he had even directed a word towards Donut since he'd told Donut to get out of his cell. He was clinging to the toy pigeon Donut had given him.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Oh. Um. Sure."

Donut climbed to his feet and followed Caboose further away from Grif and Simmons, who resumed their arguing about strip poker. Caboose continued shifting from foot to foot.

After a few long moments in which neither of them said anything, Donut asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Uhmmm..."

"So, uh."

"Yeah. Um..."

"Uhhhh..."

"Er..."

This is the most awkward conversation I've had in my entire life.

"Th...thank you."

Donut blinked, half from surprise that a proper sentence had been said. "Huh? For what?"

"For... for the pigeon." Caboose hugged the pigeon a little closer. "I... I still do not trust her. But she is cuddly and comforting... and I am happy and... yes. Thank you." Caboose was still not looking at him.

"It was nothing..." Donut concentrated on his feet, while Caboose continued to look at the sky. "Uh. Was that all?"

"No! Just... uh. I need to... try and think." Caboose took a few deep breaths. "I... I am still upset at you. And I do not trust you. You did a bad thing. You tricked me and helped hurt Church." Donut nodded, still focusing on his feet. "And that means that... that you were probably always lying about being my friend. But..." Donut heard Caboose sigh. "I am not good with words."

"It's alright. If you can't think of the right words right away, I'll just wait until you can. I'm not going to shout at you or anything."

"Well... we have not talked for..." Caboose paused and attempted to count his fingers. "...A long time. And that long time has been... not fun. It was a sad time, and I did not like it. And... even though you were lying about the wizard story, I still liked it. And... um... You did bad things, but I do not hate you. Not much... And, uh... Oh no, I forgot what I was supposed to say next. I think it had something to do with... uh... I don't remember! Now I have to start aga-"

Donut cut off Caboose's increasingly frantic babbling by stepping forward and hugging Caboose tightly.

"I missed you, too," Donut said quietly.

Caboose's arms hovered a few inches from Donut, like he wasn't quite sure what to do. And he looked uncomfortable. Similar to the last hug that had happened between them. Except Donut had been the uncomfortable one then, due to the rib-cracking pain of Caboose's hugs. Caboose awkwardly patted Donut on the back before stepping out of the hug.

"I... still do not trust you."

A small smile crossed Donut's face. "Well... guess I'll have to work on it."

Caboose fidgeted, before he actually managed to look at Donut. He smiled wryly. "...I guess... if Church can forgive you... then I can, too. Because Church would not forgive you and tell me to talk to you unless you were... not completely a liar."

Donut grinned wider. "Alright. Friends?" He held out one of his hands. Caboose tilted his head, before smiling slightly and shaking it. Which left Donut's hand with a strong ache.

"Okay. Friends."


"Simmons? Did we wake up in the girl's prison this morning?" Grif asked, after watching Donut and Caboose's awkward conversation and hug. "Seriously. What the fuck is up with this girly crap?"

"Eh. Beats Donut following us absolutely everywhere."

"That's true..." Grif stretched and grinned at Simmons. "If he latches onto Caboose, we can play strip poker by ourselves. Minus the poker." Simmons tossed one of the cards at Grif, and it bounced off his head. "Hey! That was not cool..."

"I just threw a playing card at you, Grif. Don't be a wuss."

"Douchebag."