CHAPTER III: COOPERATION

Reminder: Rating alert!  R for language, violence, sexual situations.

Rey's back at Block H.  He's missed the movement with the block to and from the cafeteria for dinner, but now it's open social time, two hours to go till lights out.  Tim's got the cards again, and he and Snapple have been joined by a willowy Asian inmate with long hair and makeup.  Tim introduces the new player as Dawn.

Suddenly, Rey spots Gonzalez ambling across the open quad and approaching their table.  He keeps his face blank as Gonzalez pulls out a chair across from him and straddles it, greeting Tim and Snapple and Dawn jovially.  Gonzalez glances at him casually, then looks behind him at the guard station.

"You know you can't stay out here forever, baby," he says quietly.  "There's at least five times and places I can think of before lights out today where there just might not be anybody watching - or anybody who'll give a damn even if they are watching."  Rey remembers the flurry of activity this morning during a sudden 'opportunity'.  And Mackie, who was taken out just like that.

"You wanna stay out here playing cards till lights out?" Gonzalez asks him.  "There's a price.  You do a little something for me, you can stay outta your cell and nobody's gonna bother you again today.  But it's like a toll.  Oh-" he catches sight of somebody else across the open area, "got some business to attend to with that bastard, I'll be back in a bit.  You boys school him," he says to Snapple and Tim over his shoulder as he leaves.

"Toll?"  Rey asks Tim.

"Yeah, a hand job," Tim deals nonchalantly.

He's suddenly intensely nauseated, feeling like a bucketful of cold water has been poured over him.  No, not quite - cold water with dead things in it.

"It's easy, man, you've probably done it to yourself a million times," Snapple says in a disinterested voice, seeing his immediate gut reaction, frowning at his cards.  "And it sure beats a blow or a screw.  Less wear and tear, just wipe it off and keep playing cards."

Wipe it off and keep - Jesus Christ.

"Your hand'll save your mouth and your mouth'll save your ass," Snapple says absently, shifting his cards around.

He knows he's got a completely disgusted expression on his face.

"Just think ketchup bottle," Tim says, and Dawn snickers.

"Ketchup bottle?"

"Yeah, you know the one about the guy who won't marry his girlfriend until she can give him a hand job.  But she doesn't know how, and he's too shy to tell her.  So she goes to her doctor and asks.  And he tells her that it's like shaking ketchup out of a bottle," Tim mimes holding a ketchup bottle in one hand and shaking it up and down to get the ketchup out.  "So she tells her boyfriend that now she knows how, and they get married, and on the wedding night he's all eager and she's all eager and he says are you ready baby and she says oh I'm ready baby, are you ready? And he says yeah and she reaches over and takes him into her hand and-" Tim mimes holding a ketchup bottle steady with one hand while hitting it hard on the upturned bottom with the other.

Rey actually finds himself laughing, unexpectedly.  It's mostly tension, but he's gotta admit that in this nightmare of a place, Tim is pretty funny.  And it's even kind of funny to think of Gonzalez getting the wrong 'ketchup bottle shake' kind of hand job.

"Don't do that, though," Dawn advises him, chuckling. "Rico's not known for his sense of humour."

He sobers up abruptly.  Rico Gonzalez.  Who will kindly let him stay out of his cell and play cards with Tim and Snapple and Dawn out here where the guards can see him, can protect him to a certain extent, provided he gives Gonzalez a hand job.

Cooperate, do whatever it takes, and stay alive.

He tries to think of Deborah's face, the faces of their children.  Tries to remember why he's not going to do his best to kill Gonzalez when he comes back.

He talked to Jack.  Jack's gone to the Warden.  Maybe he can get into Seg.  Please God, maybe he can get into Seg.  Soon.

Just concentrate on the cards now.

===

Two rounds later, Gonzalez sits down next to him.  The same man who tried to rape him just yesterday, sitting next to him.  Snapple deals him in like it's the most normal thing in the world.  They play cards for a while and he feels ill, trying to concentrate on the cards and trying to not think about yesterday.  His arm burns where the shiv sliced it.  Where the hell are the guards? But of course they won't do anything, Gonzalez isn't threatening him in any way they can see.  It's just a friendly game of cards.

"Ready to pay the toll, baby?" Gonzalez grins at him.  Angles himself so that the guards up top can't see, because the table is blocking their view of Gonzalez' lower body.  He unzips, makes a motion at Rey.

"What, here?" he asks, startled.

"Right here, right now.  Pay now or pay later, babe, your choice, but you won't like what you'll have to pay later."  Tim keeps his cards up, not looking at him.  Snapple blows his nose, curses his cold.  Dawn purses her lips and inspects her nails.

"Don't have all day, chico.  Come on."  He can feel Gonzalez's body heat, the guy is sitting so close.  Can't do this, have to, can't, have to, can't, have to.  Remember the girls, remember Deborah, you've got to come home to them some day.  Alive.

Gonzalez reaches out, takes his right hand and starts to move it down under the table.  He automatically pulls back, and Gonzalez reminds him softly, "Now or later, this or more, it's your choice," and he forces himself to stop resisting.  Puts down his cards and covers his eyes, sickened, and Gonzalez whispers, "Pick up the cards, baby."  He picks them up again as Gonzalez guides his hand.

Get used to this.  You're gonna be here for a long, long time. This is not as bad as what could be happening.

Do whatever it takes and stay alive.

Crawling revulsion in his stomach. Just do it.  Don't think don't think, just do it.  You've done this to yourself a million times.  Ketchup bottle.  Gonzalez makes an encouraging sound.  Just do it.  Get it over with.  Pretend you're not here, this has nothing to do with you.  Get him off quick, wipe it off and keep playing cards.  Don't throw up.  This doesn't mean anything.  You're not even here.  Gonzalez is smiling and closing his eyes.  Come on, come on, just come already.  Gonzalez touches him, "Slow down, chico, I wanna enjoy this."

Tim and Snapple and Dawn are still playing cards, Snapple even asks Rey "How's your hand?" and Gonzalez laughs.

"All right for a new boy, but he'll havta learn finesse," he says, a little breathless.  Snapple looks up, a bit surprised since that wasn't what he meant at all, he actually forgot what was going on under the table and forgot Rey wasn't playing this round.  Laughs, then meets Rey's anguished eyes and shrugs apologetically.

"Sorry man, but that was kinda funny."  Just come already, for Christ's sake.  Just come before I throw up.

There.  Gonzalez makes a choking sound and climaxes.  Frozen in time, Gonzalez holds his hand in place.  Then gives him a napkin.  "Clean up time, baby," he says, and Rey wipes him off, profoundly nauseated, grateful that by some miracle he didn't get any of this... stuff on himself and reminding himself that he is not here.  Gonzalez gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder, zips up and stands, saying, "Not bad, there you go, and you're free as a bird till tomorrow."

Dawn's shuffling the deck, nonchalantly saying "You in this one?" while Rey's stomach tries to convince the rest of him to let it throw up.  While Rey's mind tries to make sure that his stomach doesn't do that, because throwing up would mean having to go someplace where the guards can't see him. He's trembling, arms crossed tightly, head bowed, lips pressed tightly together, trying to steady his breathing.  More revolted and appalled then he can ever remember being in his life.  Feeling filthier than he can ever remember feeling, even after a one-night stand, and that was as low as he'd ever felt before.  Feeling like he could stay in a shower for a year and still never, ever be clean again.

Tim looks over at him.  "You OK?"

"Y-yeah." He swallows again and again.  Better get used to this. "Deal me in," he says, and takes his cards.

===

It's almost lights out.  Dawn's gone to watch TV and it's just him, Tim and Snapple again.  They've played poker and checkers, and now they're playing gin.

Tim's trying to make casual conversation but Rey's not in the mood.  He answers in monosyllables until Snapple sighs impatiently and says, "Get over it, Rey.  You know it coulda been much worse.  Hand job's just about the easiest thing you can do in here.  It's better than a blow job, and a blow job is better than getting fucked."

"Oh, I dunno, sometimes I prefer blow jobs to hand jobs myself.  At least you usually do that in private," comments Tim, and scowls at his cards.

"Yeah, but it's a lot more work." Tim nods absently, conceding the point and then smiles as he gets a card he wanted.

It's unbelievable. People discussing what form of sexual assault they prefer, like they'd discuss how they like their coffee.  This is a nightmare.  Is he ever gonna wake up?

Yeah, in about six years.

"You lucked out with Rico though," Snapple comments.

"What?!"

"You're his.  You don't have to worry about being community property, he's staked you out," explains Tim.  He picks up a card and grins triumphantly.  "Gin!" he lays down his cards and Snapple swears.

Rey's speechless for a moment.  "I'm supposed to be happy Gonzalez put a claim on me?!" he finally asks in disbelief.

"Well, not the fact that it's Rico.  I mean, one on one, Rico's no prize.  He treats his boys like crap.  But one on one beats ten on one any day.  Keep him happy and he'll keep everyone else away."

"Although he might lend you out once in a while," says Snapple, shuffling.

"Not often, though, Rico doesn't like to share," Tim reassures him.

Lend him out, like a library book.  He's been feeling deeply nauseated since yesterday, and this conversation isn't helping.  And thinking about tomorrow brings an overwhelming sense of dread.  He finds himself actually saying, exasperated, "Why - why doesn't he just... get it over with then?  If, if he's claimed me and he's gonna do me, why doesn't he just - just get it over with? What's with this 'paying a toll' shit?  Is this some kind of sick prison courtship?"

"Rico's a sadist.  He knows you're here for, what, six years?  He's got time.  And he knows you're scared.  He's keeping you twisting in the wind.  He's gonna take his time, every step of the way, a little worse every time," Tim informs him dryly.  He pauses and adds, meeting Rey's eyes compassionately, "He also knows it eats away at you more if he can get you to consent."  Rey looks away, biting his lip.

"Believe me, by the time he pops your cherry it'll almost be a relief," adds Snapple in the closest approach to sympathy he's heard in this place.

Rey tries to think about this rationally as he takes his cards.  If he can get Rico to draw this out a few more days, just a few more days, he might get into Seg before anything horrible happens.

At least, anything more horrible than having been forced to jerk him off.

===

Finally, lights out.  They're counted one last time, then locked into their cells for the night.  And Rey steadfastly refuses to let himself think about what happened today, what will probably happen tomorrow.

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.

I can't forgive this trespass against me.  I can't.  I won't.

Deliver me from this.  Let me go into Seg soon.

===

Day 7

Monday, December 29

It's after breakfast and work-up is being delayed for a cell search.  The inmates of Block H are all in the common area and Rey, Tim and Snapple are back to playing gin.  He plays for an hour, steadily growing more and more tense the longer work-up is delayed, until suddenly he can't take it, can't take acting like everything's just peachy.

"How can you stand this?" he asks Tim.  Tim shrugs.

"I've been here a while.  You just... you get used to it.  You get used to anything.  Besides, it's not quite as bad for me, I like guys."

"What?"

"I'm bisexual."

He feels a sudden sharp spike of alarm, danger from an unexpected source.  He puts his cards down, involuntarily moving his chair back slightly.  Tim chuckles, amused.

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not coming on to you.  Although after you've been here long enough, you ever wanna deepen the friendship, just say the word, Rey," he smiles.

He blinks.  "Why would I want - god, why would anybody wanna have sex with another man when they don't have to?" he's incredulous.  "Especially if they're already doing it against their will?"

"'Cause you're not having sex when they're doing you, you're servicing," Snapple says.  "Whoring.  Even whores get horny, you know - wanna have sex with someone else and actually enjoy it.  And a guy gets the urge to be a guy again, in here."

"And you can be a guy by voluntarily having sex with another guy?" he asks Snapple.  Are you listening to yourself?  he wants to ask him.

"You get a chance to pitch, not just catch," Tim explains with a grin.

"Catching ain't always so bad either if you're with someone nice," says Snapple. "Some of 'em wanna pretend you're their girlfriend or their wife, they treat you pretty good.  Don't count on it with Rico though."

"Like Corini, he's a real sweetheart," Tim points out.

"Yeah, he don't do brown sugar though.  He's strictly vanilla.  Sorry, Rey."

Rey shakes his head, suddenly understanding Alice in Wonderland like he never did before.  This is all completely insane, like a mirror universe in a science fiction show.  Tim Bayliss, whom he worked with several times and who seemed a normal enough kind of guy, is playing cards and saying the most unbelievable things.  Living the most unbelievable life.  And now he's supposed to live that life too?  No way.

"Marcus is nice too.  Not like Rico at all.  Rico's not too much into pain, but he's sure into degradation."

Degradation.  Yeah, that pretty much describes it.  Describes how he feels.  Degraded.

"Marcus ain't.  I went with him for a few months, real nice guy," Snapple smiles nostalgically.

"What, you play for both teams too?" Rey shuffles his cards around.  Just concentrate on the game.  Let's see, if he can get the eight of diamonds...

"Naw, man, not me.  The day I get outta here is the last time I'll take it up the ass for anybody."  Rey suppresses a grimace.  Snapple's a nice enough guy, but he's more than a little crude.  Hm, nine of diamonds, that could be useful too.  Snapple continues, blithely unaware of Rey's disgust.  "I'm just practical.  You know the old saying, if rape is inevitable, just lie back and enjoy it."

Suddenly the ever-present low-lying nausea spikes and he's gonna lose it.  No mind-over-matter can overcome this, he's swallowing bile and putting his forehead against the table and desperately trying to keep his lunch down-

"Yo Tim!" Snapple says sharply.  Tim stands up and leans close,

"Rey, my cell's right over there, three steps away.  You're not gonna make it to your own, so if you don't wanna hurl out here, follow me."

He quickly stands and follows Tim the few steps to his cell, barely making it to the toilet before his lunch comes up and he's letting it go, as close to relief as anything gets in this hellish place.  Finally there's nothing left except dry heaves, but he can't seem to stop.  Tim puts a hand on his arm, concerned, and he knocks it away reflexively before he even realizes he's doing it.

"Easy, easy," Tim soothes.  "I'll be right at the doorway."

He keeps heaving, even though there's nothing left and his sides ache from the bruised ribs and the convulsive retching.

"Been there," Tim says from the doorway.  "You'll get used to it."

"I don't wanna... get used to this, Tim," he manages to gasp between spasms.

"You'll have to."

He pictures himself years from now, playing cards with some newbie, telling him who the sweethearts are around here, the ones who'll be nice and not hurt him too badly.  Pictures himself nonchalantly playing cards while a new guy is degraded right in front of him, hand job under the table, so what, old news. Pictures himself joking about rape being inevitable.

I don't want to get used to this.

Jesus Christ and Mary Mother of God, don't let me get like that.  Don't let anything more happen to me.  God in Heaven, please, please, I can't live through this.  Maybe if I'd come here a few years ago, when I was stronger, I might have been able to.  But now... I can't.  God, please, if You're out there at all, please, please, don't let that man come near me again.  Please God.

===

Finally the guards are done.  The nine guys who were caught with contraband have been led out to the Hole and the rest of them are sent to their cells to be counted again before being allowed out for work-up.  He's about to go down the stairs to the common area when Gonzalez appears and motions to him to follow.  Rey makes himself take a deep breath and blank his mind, just not think about anything.  There's barely five minutes before the guards open the gates of the block and let the inmates out to their work areas.  Not much can happen in five minutes.  Gonzalez stops them behind a thick post, still in view if anybody happens to be looking, but out of main sight of the block.  He grins and then peers at Rey closely.

"How come you didn't shave?"

"No time," Rey answers shortly.  He didn't have time this morning before breakfast, and after breakfast the cell search kept him out of his cell.  Besides, it's not like he has to shave for the office or anything.  The fact that he showers makes him about ten times more presentable than half the guys around here.  Most inmates don't seem too concerned with hygiene or appearance.

"Don't hide this pretty face, baby," says Gonzalez, stroking his cheek.  He flinches automatically, helpless to stop, drawing away from Gonzalez's touch, but Gonzalez follows.  "My boys don't get beards, sweetheart," he says, "I don't like stubble.  Shave it off."

He stares at Gonzalez, wondering if he should defy him on this or not.  Is it worth it?  Gonzalez leans in closer and it takes all of Rey's willpower to not back away.  Gonzalez presses their lips together and forces his mouth open, pulling him closer and pawing at him, and he's able to take it for only a few seconds before his body moves of its own volition and he can't help it, he takes a step back and puts his hand out.

"N-no," he stammers, fighting the urge to spit and trying hard not to throw up again, still feeling hands all over him even though Gonzalez isn't actually touching him any more.  Gonzalez smirks at him.  This really has very little to do with sex to him, Rey knows.  It's all about power, all about humiliating him.  He doubts Gonzalez gets any kind of physical pleasure out of kissing him, or whatever you'd call what he just did - but he's well aware that it turns Rey's stomach and that's what he gets off on.

"That's OK, baby," he smiles, "We can take our time.  I gotta get to work anyway."  He changes the subject and draws a finger down Rey's left forearm, over the bandage.  "You know I usually mark my property, cut my initial on their shoulder.  But you already got a nice big Rico stamp on you, that cut on your arm.  And it's not on your shoulder where you can forget about it, it's right where you can see it.  It's not my name, but it's gonna stare at you for the rest of your life, snaking down, saying I claimed you. Everybody's gonna be able to see it.  Your friends... your wife," he draws the word out and smiles nastily, "the lady at the cash register in the grocery store.  You put me in here, but I put you in Hell, Detective Curtis.  I win, you lose."

===

After lunch there's another cell search.  Apparently the guards don't normally search twice in the same block, so every once in a while they do, just to catch guys off guard.

"Really?  Guys?" he asks Tim partway through a poker round.

"Yeah."

"Is that just because of here..."

"Oh, no, I was bi outside too."

"Did anybody know?"

"Yeah, actually, they did.  My whole precinct, as a matter of fact."

"You're kidding."  He can't quite imagine everybody at a precinct knowing that one of their own goes both ways.  Cops don't tend to be the most open-minded people in the world.

"Nope."

"And they were OK with it?"

"More or less.  There were some dirty looks and jokes and stuff, some unpleasantness, but overall it wasn't that big a deal."

"Frank Pembleton knew?"

"Yeah," Tim smiles slightly.  "Said I was 'confused', but it wasn't a big deal to him either."

Rey shakes his head.  O... K...  He just can't picture Tim's partner Frank being open-minded or accepting.

"It's not that different, Rey.  Men, women - they're all the same."

"You've been away from women way too long if you really believe that, Tim."

Tim chuckles.  "A body's a body.  A person's a person."

"I'd rather take your word for it than find out."

Rey thinks about what Tim has said.  Not that big a difference between men and women.  A body's a body, a person's a person.  Even what's happened, what's going to happen with Rico, if you think about it, it's not really that different from what he's already done.  His body used by a stranger for sexual relief... not that different from what he did with the women he picked up.  He used them, and they used him.  The only difference is the gender and the fact that he chose to be with them.

Although that's a pretty big difference.  That left him feeling dirty and ashamed, this... this is gonna kill him.

So why is it such a big deal?  Is it just a hang-up?  He remembers a gay friend of his in college laughingly calling him a 'Kinsey -1' once, referring to the Kinsey scale of 0 - 6 where 0 was exclusively heterosexual, 3 was bisexual, and 6 was homosexual.  Rey wouldn't have gone that far - he'd wondered about other boys once or twice when he was maybe thirteen or so - but sex had just always meant women for him.  He had nothing against gays, other than a squeamish wish to not see them do anything in public.  He didn't think he was that hung up about it.  Men had made passes at him before.  It annoyed him, especially when it happened around Lennie who always teased him mercilessly about it, but he was never particularly bothered by it.

It's not the gender primarily.  It's the whole predator-prey aspect of it.  This is a hell of a place to get initiated into same-sex activity.  It's... it's intolerable.  Seeing other men as predators, knowing he's being checked out like a piece of meat... it's revolting.  If this is how women feel when men ogle them, he's baffled that women ever want to have sex at all.  He can't imagine himself ever wanting to have sex again.  With anybody, male or female.

Stop thinking about it.  Just play cards.

===

The cell search is taking forever.  They've already caught four guys.  All of a sudden Gonzalez is back.

"Hey Dawn, how ya doin', dollface," he approaches their table.

"Piss off, Rico, you know Jerry said you talk to me, you're gonna lose your cojones," she smiles at him sweetly.

"You know sugar, I'd be real worried about that if Jerry had any cojones of his own," he remarks.  Dawn rolls her eyes.

"OK, baby, time to pay the toll again," he sits next to Rey.  Rey's stomach clenches and he can't breathe.

"Good boy, you shaved, nice and smooth as a baby's butt," Gonzalez strokes his cheek, and Rey jerks his face away.  "Now that's not nice, I just paid you a compliment, Detective Curtis.  Don't you know you should say thanks?"

Don't feel rage.  Clamp it down.  He wants you to snap so he can hurt you.  It's a game to him.

"Come on, you can say it," whispers Rico, stroking his cheek, and it's taking all he has just to stay still.  "Say it in real talk, baby, say Gracias, chico."

"Gracias."

"Muy bien, chico," Rico smiles.  He smirks at Rey, angles himself under the table, unzips again.  "A little slower this time, baby," he says, "Take your time, let's enjoy this," and Rey shivers.

OK, OK, you've done this before, you can get through this.  You're not even here.  This isn't happening to you.

He can't force himself to move.

"Come on, I don't have all day."

He can't make himself move.  It's like he's paralyzed.

"Sweetheart, this shy thing ain't my style.  I ain't gonna show you what to do every time," Rico's voice is getting irate.  "Your choice, and you know what's gonna happen if you don't.  We can take this nice and slow or quick and real, real painful."

Move, he tells himself.  Cooperate, do whatever it takes.  Just a couple more days and maybe you can get to Seg.

He can't move.

"You gonna do this or what, babe?"

He can't.

"Answer me.  You don't got the right to remain silent. I don't let my boys get uppity.  You gonna do this?"

"Yes," he forces himself to say.  Tim's looking at him, worried.

"So do it already."

He nods.  Starts to move his hand to the edge of the table and then realizes he can't.  Rico is probably going to kill him, but he can't.  And no amount of thinking about what's the smart thing or the prudent thing to do is helping, he just plain can't do this.  He shakes his head and crosses his arms.

Tim kicks him under the table, eyes warning him.

Gonzalez grabs his elbow and Rey pulls away and scrapes his chair back, his body instantly geared up for a fight, poised to spring out of his chair.  No way.  He can't.  He won't.  And Gonzalez can't make him.  He and Gonzalez lock eyes for a long, tense moment, then Gonzalez's gaze flicks up to the guard station.  There's a guard staring straight at them.

Gonzalez zips up, stands.

"Sweetheart, that was a real dumb-ass choice.  Those hacks don't give a shit about you.  They hate you almost as much as us cons do, 'cause you used to be one of them.  And you're gonna pay for this, 'cause no boy of mine refuses me."

He leans down, gives Rey a kiss on the cheek, whispers, "Later, baby," and leaves.

Dawn purses her lips and plays a card, gazing after Gonzalez thoughtfully.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Snapple hisses at him angrily.  "He's gonna kill you.  Nobody says no to Rico."

===

Security's cancelled work-up for the afternoon.  He's been told he may be called into the infirmary anyway since they're somewhat short-staffed, but there's too much going on in the institution to spare a guard to escort orderlies to the infirmary right now.  So he sits and waits, with the other inmates of Block H, whiling away the afternoon while the guards search.  Trying not to think about the consequences of his defiance.

"Why aren't you in Seg?" he asks Tim as he deals the cards.

"Requested out."

"You're kidding," he finishes dealing.  "Twos and Jacks are wild."

"I'd rather be out here than go crazy alone all the time," Tim surveys his cards and frowns.  "Besides, I'm uh, I'm an independent agent now, I choose who I go with for protection."

"How long you been in?"

"Three years, now.  One in Seg, two in Gen Pop."

"How'd you get to be an independent agent?"

"Killed the last guy who forced me," he discards an eight of hearts, picks up a card.  "Murder gives you a certain status in here, even if you are an ex-cop."

He said it so casually.  'Killed the last guy who forced me', and then played a card.  "Were you convicted?"

"Yeah, Murder Two again, but I was already doing life."

"How come you didn't get Justifiable Homicide?"

"In prison?  You're dreaming.  I was a murderer already."

"Wasn't it self-defense?"

"He wasn't trying to kill me, Rey.  He wasn't gonna do anything that hadn't been done to me by him and a bunch of other guys a hundred times.  Plus I'm bisexual, I couldn't even have proved none of it was consensual."

Rey shakes his head as he discards.  "How'd you do it?"

"Shiv to the throat in his sleep."

That probably wouldn't count as self-defense.  "In his sleep?  What, was he napping?"

"No, at night.  We were cellies."

"Oh my God," he blurts out, horrified, his cards forgotten.  Pictures trying to go to sleep in the same cell as Rico Gonzalez.  Having literally nowhere safe to go.  No safe time in the day.  The knife-edged fear he's trying to ignore right now following him even after lights out.  Mother of God.

"Yeah.  For two months," Tim nods towards Rey's cards, reminding him it's his turn to play.

Two months.  Sixty days.  Sixty nights.  "Why'd you finally do it?"

"Just got tired of it.  Tired of being traded around like a baseball card."  Rey raises his eyebrows.  "He was pimping me out."

"Jesus."

"Yeah.  It's a thriving business.  They decide price, then tell you what to do, who to go with.  I got tired of paying for his coke on my back."

Rey swallows hard.  Tim Bayliss used to be a Homicide detective.  Once upon a time he was a law abiding, taxpaying citizen.  He argued with Frank Pembleton and flirted outrageously with Claire Kincaid.  And now he's dispassionately talking about knifing some guy who forced him to turn tricks to support his drug habit.  "You get any choice?"

"Not normally.  It's not a democracy, you know.  No one's gonna ask your opinion here, Rey.  Nobody cares."

"I know that," he plays a card.  He has no idea about the details of Tim's crime.  None of them have talked about the crimes that landed them here, beyond the bare facts - that's probably some kind of prison etiquette.  He doesn't care, he can't imagine a crime bad enough to warrant that kind of punishment.  Well, he can - Father Joe comes to mind - but he's pretty sure Tim didn't do anything like that.  "So you killed him."

"Yup."

He finds himself realizing that he'd really like to kill Rico too.  Not just the way people say 'I wanna kill that idiot' casually when somebody cuts them off in traffic, but actually, really, kill.  Plunge a knife into him and watch his life bleed away.  Grab a gun from a guard and shoot him through the head, splatter his brains against the wall.  He pushes those thoughts away.  "What'd you get?"

"Twenty-five to life on top of the life term I already had."

"Why, you getting pointers?" asks Snapple half-jokingly.

"No.  That's not a choice for me.  I'm out in six.  I don't wanna add one day to that."

"Then get used to being Rico's toy," Tim tells him bluntly.  "Cooperate and hope Rico gets tired of you real quick and passes you off to somebody better."

Cooperate and stay alive.

He thinks about his complete inability to let Rico Gonzalez use him this afternoon.  About the instant devastating nausea that accompanies the slightest reminder of the hand job, Rico's mouth on his, the groping at his pants.

"I can't.  I can't do it," he realizes.  "I know I should go along with this, but I can't.  Not even to save my life."

Tim gazes at him speculatively.  "No, you really can't, can you?"

"I need to get into Seg."

"Won't happen anytime soon," Snapple says definitively.  "The Warden hates boys in blue who let law enforcement down, and the head guard in Block H agrees with him.  They'll want you to be taught a lesson first, and it looks like Rico's your teacher."

"What about getting sent to the Hole?"

"Well, you could..."

"If I steal from the infirmary the nurse said I'll be in for days."

"Yeah, but then you'd lose the infirmary job.  That's a pretty good place to be, you don't wanna lose that," says Tim.

"If you want, I can pick a fight with you, we'll both get thrown in," Snapple offers helpfully.  "Good for twenty-four hours at a time.  I could use a holiday, I'd be happy to do it.  You do it too many times, though, and it'll look bad at your parole hearing," he warns.

"The other option's cutting," suggests Tim.

"Cutting?"

"Yeah, cut yourself, like you're trying to kill yourself.  Infirmary until you recover, plus some psych workups.  It usually takes at least two weeks, maybe three or four, before you're back.  It's a little risky though, if you cut too deep.  I almost offed myself the last time."

Rey's staring at him, profoundly disturbed by his casual tone.

"It's not that hard," Tim shows him.  He's seen the scars before, flashing past as Tim deals the cards, but never really looked.  Now he examines the tracks on Tim's wrists, the stitches marching across.  There appears to be more than one cut on each wrist, but the tissue is so mangled it's hard to tell.

"Three times," Tim answers his unspoken question cheerfully.  "Get enough brew or dope in you and you won't even feel a thing."

===

It's mid-afternoon and the guards get a request to bring the men with jobs labeled 'essential', like the kitchen, infirmary, and a few other places, to work.  Factory and other non-essential jobs are called off for the day.

Finally.  The safety of the infirmary.  He's put to work preparing meds, each patient's pills on a little dish with a cup of water next to it, gradually filling a tray.  Suddenly he hears Rico's voice and looks up, his heart sinking.  Rico apparently works in the laundry room, and he's bringing fresh linens into the infirmary.  Isn't there any place in Sing Sing where he can actually let down his guard?

He's sick of this.  The fear, the all-consuming dread that he lives with, eats with, goes to sleep with, the rage that he suppresses for survival's sake.  Rico spots Rey, grins and ambles over, casually leaning against the counter for a few minutes.

"Nice job you got here, baby.  Sure beats the kitchen.  That's where I used to work."  Rey keeps his eyes on the scrips and the bottles, working silently.  "Hey, you know what?  I'm thinking of asking for your transfer to my cell."

The bottle he's holding suddenly spills its contents onto the tray.  He bites his lip and starts picking up the little pills and putting them back in the bottle, trying to keep his hands from shaking visibly.  Rico smirks at him, pleased with his reaction.

"I'm not real happy with you, you know.  You gotta learn your place and I don't think a toll once a day is gonna do it," Rico says seriously, keeping his voice low.  "I can bribe the guards and there's not a damn thing you can do about it, baby.  We'd have lotsa time to get to know each other real well.  I dunno, though... you'd have to take good care of me.  Do my laundry just the way I like it, make my bed, tidy up... whaddaya think?"

I think if it was just your housework you'd have yourself a deal, it's the other 'duties' you want me to take on that I'm not too keen on.  He doesn't say it out loud though.  He doesn't say much to Rico.  The whole time he's been in here, he's said maybe ten words to the man.  Rico's sure done a lot of talking, though, and all of it ugly and foul.  It's like that children's story about the two sisters, one of them whenever she spoke frogs and toads and snakes dropped out of her mouth.  That's Rico.

The other sister, when she talked, diamonds and pearls and rubies fell from her lips.  There's nobody like that in Sing Sing.

It's all frogs and toads and snakes.  Every word spoken here is as ugly as sin.

===

Once he finishes the meds he does the spoon-feedings.  More yellow jello from Chen.  Then there's the meds for inmates who have prescriptions but who aren't in the infirmary, one little labeled Ziploc bag per inmate.  Apparently the guards are supposed to take the meds out to the cellblocks every morning and give them to each inmate in their cell before letting them out.  It's relatively easy work - matching names to bottles and bags.  From what he remembers of pharmacology, they're mostly prescriptions for antibiotics, heart conditions, diabetes, AIDS-related illnesses, some anti-psychotics, sedatives, and a whole whackload of anti-depressants.  He finds his own prescription among them - good, he thought it hadn't followed him from Riker's.

Oh, that's going to be bad, taking it in the morning.  It's supposed to be taken at night so the sedative effects don't interfere with daily life.  Maybe he can talk to the doctor here after he's done.  Although he doesn't hold out much hope for a change; if meds are taken in the morning here, then they're taken in the morning, and no con is gonna get special consideration.  He'll probably just have to get used to it or find some way around it, like faking taking it in the morning and holding on to it until night.

Damn it.  How many days has he been in?  And he's already slipped into the inmate mentality of getting around the rules.

Well, yeah, but when the rules are totally arbitrary, might put you in danger, and you have no power to change them...

As he's finishing his work, a guard comes in asking for him.

"Curtis! You've got a lawyer visit."

Jack?  Hopefully there's news about his transfer.  He checks out with the nurse and changes into the tans - Chen's lunch is all over the whites again - and the guard cuffs him and leads him out.

===

An hour later, Father Morelli, Jack and Lennie have left and Rey's waiting for the guard.

"Curtis?  Back to Block H."

"I'm on shift at the infirmary till six."

"Nah, you're going back to the block.  Everybody's being returned."

"But-"

"Hey, just be glad it's not a lockdown yet, pal," the guard chuckles, "With the amount of crap we've found, you're lucky the Warden hasn't shut the whole place down.  Now come on."

On the way, Rey thinks about the meeting.  Father Morelli told Judge Greico that his mother confessed she was thinking of committing suicide.  He just might get out.  He might be able to walk out of here, some day soon.  No more handcuffs, no more count-ups, and most importantly no more Rico Gonzalez.

He can't allow himself to hope.  And he can't let himself think about any of it - his mother's suicide, Father Morelli breaking the sanctity of confession, Morelli claiming responsibility for much of what he's gone through in the last few years... it's too much to think about and he'll have plenty of time after they're locked into their cells for the night.  Right now, the only thing he needs to focus on is the fact that he's going to be back on the block and lights out is 4 1/2 hours away and somehow he has to stay safe until then.

The one thing he can let himself feel is a sense of relief about his perjury.  He was able to confess, talk it over with Father Morelli, and receive absolution for his sin.  The relief of that weight being lifted is almost palpable.

===

"Hey," a stocky black inmate approaches their table.  "Pick-up basketball.  Hacks said it's OK.  You guys in?"

"Sure," Tim and Snapple chorus enthusiastically, and get up.

"You?" the inmate asks Rey.  Rey looks at him, not sure about this.  "Come on, it'll do you good," the guy urges him.  "Lets the adrenaline out, you know?"

"It's a little rough, though," Snapple comments, looking at Rey's arm.

"What, you think he's scared of a few bumps and bruises?" the inmate glances at Rey, "Wouldn't have figured you for a coward," he mocks.  Rey keeps his eyes down on the table.  Don't feel anger, don't feel anger.

The inmate straddles a chair next to Rey.  "Hey, you know Australian Rules soccer?"  Rey looks up.  "Australians are pussies," the man grins widely.  "C'mon.  It'll be fun.  You look like you could use a tension-breaker."

Rey glances over at Tim, who shrugs.  He probably shouldn't play, with his arm recently hurt, but... it would be nice to do something to not feel so damn tense.  Cards just isn't doing it.

"I'm surprised they let you guys play," he mutters to Tim.  He's definitely gotten the impression that they don't mix much with the other inmates around here.

"You're one of 'us guys', Rey," Tim reminds him without malice.  "And they let us play 'cause we're damn good," he adds cheerfully.

"You - uh, we don't have our own team?  The Pariahs?" Rey asks.

"Nah.  We used to," Snapple says, "Apparently a few years ago a bunch of the lowest of the low did make up their own team.  The Powers That Be never let it happen again 'cause they kicked ass."

Rey raises his eyebrows.

"Those guys... they don't have anything to prove.  They don't have their manhood challenged," Snapple's voice is bitter, and for the first time Rey can see the pain that he hides underneath his casual acceptance of his situation.  "Us... we got something to prove.  And we fucking well prove it," he says grimly.  And then he's smiling again, eager to play ball, and the momentary glimpse of bitterness is gone as if it had never happened.

The men who are going to play are gathered in a group in a hastily cleared up area of the quad.  Two captains are choosing their teams.  Rey swallows hard as he realizes Gonzalez is going to play too.  He wonders if he should back out, but realizes this is probably the safest place to be, since a few guards are settling to watch the game along with most of the inmates.  And, more importantly, he doesn't want to back out.  He's damn good at basketball - or at least, he was the last time he played.

A guy gets the urge to be a guy in here, Snapple said.  It's true.  And personally, he'd much rather be a guy by playing basketball than 'deepening a friendship' with anybody.

The players are chosen quickly.  Tim and Snapple are among the first picked.  Rey and Rico end up on the same team, to the amusement of the other players and the audience.

OK.  He takes a moment to clear any and all thoughts about anything that's not basketball out of his head.

Snapple's on his team too, and Tim's on the other team.  Thankfully, Rey's team is shirts and the others are skins - he wouldn't particularly want to show the world the bruises covering his upper body.  No point letting Rico score more macho points.

The game begins.  There's no slow warm-up, getting a feel for the court, the other team.  It's a sudden jump from a bunch of guys standing around with a ball to two groups of men out to kill each other - oh, and put a ball in a basket too, if they have time.

And that's perfect.  Rey's always loved basketball, the fast pace, the constant motion, the electric charge of scoring baskets.  This is a lot rougher than any game he's ever played. You don't just shadow or crowd an opponent in Sing Sing basketball - you do your best to annihilate them.  He gets tripped and elbowed a couple of times before he gets his mind around the concept of no referees and no holds barred.

But it's actually amazingly easy to get into that too, and soon he's giving as good as he gets.  The only rules that stay the same are the rules that govern how many steps you can take with the ball and other non-etiquette-related things like that.  Elbows, knees, tripping, hitting the ball out of the opponent's hands, it's all permissible.  It's exhilarating.

He sees an opening, takes it, dribbles to the basket, all of a sudden two skins are crowding him and he passes to a teammate in the open, not even registering that it's Rico until Rico scores.  But it doesn't matter, because the game's still going, and the other team is heading towards their basket, Tim's got the ball and Snapple trips him and sends him flying and grabs the ball on the rebound, passing it to another shirt who passes it to Rico, and then Rico's crowded by two skins and Rey's the only shirt open and he's close to their basket.

"Gonzalez!" he calls, and Rico glances over but holds onto the ball.  And then a skin takes the ball from him, pass, pass, pass, and Tim scores for the skins.

"What the FUCK was that?!" the shirts captain, a guy called Clark, angrily whacks Rico on the back of the head.  Rico whips around with his fist cocked and the game comes to a sudden halt as a guard blows a whistle.

"Everything's fine sir - sorry, my arm slipped," Clark says quickly.  The guard gives him a dark glower and sits back down, signaling to continue the game.  They pick up quickly, and Rey overhears Clark hiss, "I got two words for you, Rico:  'team mate.'  When he's open you fucking well pass to him, got it?"

And then the game's flowing again.  Rey and a skin battle for the ball, and his arm is in agony whenever he stops, but he's usually not stopped for long.  He scores again, feeling that rush as the ball slides into the basket, a good clean shot, not that far away from the basket but drawing cheers anyway because the shot went past three skins who were trying to get the ball away.

He's keeping a skin away from another teammate with the ball when the teammate suddenly calls his name and tries to pass to him, but the pass is blocked by another shirt - what the hell?  And the shirt elbows him on his way to intercept the ball and surprise, surprise, the shirt is Rico.  Rey shoves him back violently as the anger he carries inside bursts out in a totally irrational sense of outrage over this son of a bitch pissing on their team just to score points against him.  Rico whips around and aims a punch at him but he blocks the blow and lunges forward, ready to beat the crap out of him - and then Snapple and Tim are grabbing him and pulling him back and Clark and another player are grabbing Rico too, everybody glancing nervously at the hacks and huddling around, blocking the hack's view of the action.

"Time!!" calls Clark, and the two captains go to the side and converse for a minute while the rest of them stand, chests heaving, dripping with sweat but strangely silent, several players shoving themselves between Rey and Rico.  Rey sees the skins captain peer at him speculatively, then check out a couple of other players.

"Trade.  Rico, you're skins, Smash, you're shirts," Clark calls out.

"WHAT?!" Rico exclaims.

"Gotta split you two up," Clark says casually.

"So you're trading me?!"

"He's the better player, Rico," Clark says bluntly.  "Now trade off!"

Rey feels a small thrill of vengeance followed immediately by a sinking sense of dread.  This isn't gonna help him any, judging from the snickers from the inmates and guards watching the game.  He half-hears a few jeers directed at Rico, sees the skins captain murmur a few words at him and gesture towards Rey and then towards the side.  Rey can't hear it, but it seems Rico's being told in no uncertain terms to keep the violence within acceptable limits or get kicked out of the game.  And sure enough, Rico's glaring at him with barely concealed fury, which quickly turns into a cold sneer.  Sure, you win on the court, his face says, and I win everywhere else.

Rico stalks off, drawing off his shirt, and Rey feels another thrill of vengeance as he sees bruises on Rico's ribs.  It seems he did land a few punches the other day after all.

And then the game's moving again, he and Tim battle for the ball, he feints to the side, sets up a shot, and viciously elbows another skin who's crowding a little too close.  The other player whoofs out air and falls back, gasping, "Jesus!" as Rey jumps and the ball goes in.  The shirts are winning.

"Christ, man, Rico's bitten off more than he can chew with this one," the skin mutters to a team-mate, holding his side ruefully.  Rey and Tim have both heard him, and unfortunately, so has Rico.  Tim gives Rey a hard look and shakes his head.  And the game goes on.