Halcyon/Hell

By Eline

Warnings: AU fic.

Notes: This is where the second plotline starts branching out. It's non-yaoi, but there's still *Gojyo* in it, so innocent ears beware . . .

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Life just went on. Crawled on, rather.

FYI, Shiro did not wake up. A fragment of his skull that they couldn't spot or take out in time did him in, according to the Warden's Office. And that did it for me in the end too. Officially screwed-up, paperwork filed.

It was . . . almost as boring as the East Tower after that. A slump period in which my luck sucked and I found myself drifting off more and more. Because it was easy to lose yourself in a humdrum routine--day in, day out . . .

It's easier that way. Just remember to breathe and brush your teeth and everything will go like clockwork.

Tick tock--it's safe when there's no change, right?

And you can just sink down into the here-and-now while avoiding the past like the plague.

It's been that long. I could hardly remember the last girl I was with and I was wanking off in the shower to memories that were fast slipping away on those evenings whenever the window of opportunity presented itself.

You're supposed to remember the first time. But her face wasn't there anymore--just an empty space. That's the funny thing about this place--your brain turns into a sieve after a while.

Try to remember the last time I kissed a girl, or found my way under her dress, between her legs and the sweetness therein. And those were *supposed* to be the better parts of my misspent youth too.

Try to remember something--anything--good or interesting . . . (Which was, all things considered, a very short list.) Eventually, you'd give up on that too and just wank off for wanking off's sake.

Everyone wanks off here. At least 99%, I'm sure. It's a matter of finding someplace and time that was convenient and discreet. Ever since that incident with Hakkai getting knifed and that mess with Shiro, discretion was not a problem. We had the showers all to ourselves most of the time--and damned if I was going to let him get jumped again, or hog all the lukewarm water that ran out in approximately two minutes. On Thursdays, there was a slightly larger window of opportunity to get things done. And so I had my wanking off sessions scheduled neatly.

He volunteered to keep a lookout the first time he happened upon me and my private-time. Just like that. No blushing or anything. Just the usual Hakkai-smile and acceptance of What-Gojyo-Does-In-Private. Was masturbation a sin in his religion or something? Probably, but Hakkai never said a thing. He just showered away calmly, unflappable as anything. And he knew everyone else's schedules too--like he had some kind of internal clock inside him . . .

"Ano, Gojyo--I think the rest may be coming in quite soon."

Right, right, shower time is limited and it's only polite to spare everyone else the sight of your private-time when they do the same for you.

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Like I mentioned once, life jumps you when you least expect it to. It's a sneaky little fucker, pretending everything's fine and dull before tripping you up. And so everything got turned upside down one evening because it wouldn't do to have things all peaceful and quiet here, right? Not our style, not at all . . .

Collective boredom. It made the slightest ruckus the talk of the block. It made a lot of grown men gossip like fishwives at the market.

That particular evening, there was a certain buzz in the air when we headed in for what passed for dinner. The kind of sensation that said look, something's happening! Some people were hurrying rapidly in the direction of the canteen.

En route, I nudged a guy I knew from the poker circuit. "Oi, Larry--what's the fuss about?"

"Some fight up there, I think . . ."

Oh. One of the more lively forms of entertainment around here. A year or two ago, I would have gone to watch. Now it just seemed . . . pointless. And an invitation for trouble when the screws clamped down on the action. I was about to suggest turning back to save time before the inevitable lock-down came when Larry threw in the kicker.

"It's that blond guy and the kid you hang out with--"

Crap. So much for a nice boring evening.

I exchanged a look with Hakkai and we took off at a run, outstripping some of the stragglers who were heading for the scene.

"I suppose it was too good to hope that Sanzo would stop offending people," Hakkai murmured.

"What, you mean when he stops breathing?" I asked as we paused at the entryway. "Now where are they?"

"Over there!"

It wasn't hard to spot the telltale signs of a standard scene at a fight in NH. You'd see everyone exhibiting a lot more enthusiasm than usual, accompanied by assorted catcalls, cheers and jeers. And if there was time, someone would be keeping a book on it.

It didn't take much to offend the average NH inmate no matter how dense they were, or which planet they were on mentally. Knowing Sanzo, all he had to do was open his mouth. And then maybe egg them on with one of those condescending sneers.

To be fair, they *had* been keeping their slates clean for quite a while but maybe this time the other party had a much shorter fuse and a harder punch than usual.

Some relatively reliable--we're talking about the inmates here in NH after all--sources told me that the other guy had thrown the first punch. Somewhere in the fracas, the other guys had got in a lucky blow at Sanzo. En route on the way to the floor, Sanzo had met the solid, durable edge of an NH-issue canteen table. You could club a bear into unconsciousness with one of those if they weren't bolted to the floor, immovable as stone slabs and almost as hard. A most embarrassing way to drop out a fight, but it was better than being pounded into a pulp, or going to the East Tower for infringing the rules again.

So we got there in time to see Sanzo out for the count and Goku losing it. Really losing it.

And there was blood again. Bloodied noses, blood from the gash on Sanzo's forehead, blood erupting from the mouth of the guy who just got punched in the gut.

They say that the sight or smell of blood can do things to animals . . . Whatever god or gods that created humans ought to know that little morsel as well. I knew. The inmates at NH knew--on that same primitive level where animals sensed fear, they knew.

Blood and danger went hand-in-hand, like it did that day when Goku went postal in the canteen in front of hundreds of witnesses. Completely ape-shit, no pun intended.

Bloodlust on a face that was usually either goofy or clueless was more frightening than anything else I had ever seen here at NH.

Somewhat belatedly, the others realised that intervention was due. Then Jean-Paul and Maken from our floor tried to restrain him but he shrugged them off like they were flies.

And Jean-Paul and Maken were hardly lightweights, mind you--they were more like the class of people you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. So what to do, what to do . . . Eh, well, it couldn't get any worse, right? So we had to pitch in before the kid hurt himself or something.

The screws had to tranq him in the end.

"Oi . . . you okay?" I asked, not even trying to get up from the floor when it was finally over. The medics would be here soon. I hoped that they would at any rate . . . Shit--I was beginning to fully appreciate the term "a world of hurts". Should've trusted my gut feel about that blankly homicidal look in the kid's eyes . . . Now my gut was paying for it.

"I think . . . I think my arm could be broken," Hakkai said calmly from somewhere over to my left. "And you?"

"My ribs . . . banged them up pretty good."

"That didn't go very well, did it?"

"The understatement of the century, my friend . . ."

A white-clad figure loomed up above me. "Not again," it sighed in a relatively familiar voice. "Don't move while I check you."

"Hello, doc. Nice to see you too." It hurt to talk and I held extremely still as efficient hands prodded at my ribs. Fuck, it hurt to breathe, but that wasn't a real option anyway . . .

"Two fractured ribs. You'll live," the medic said briskly and signalled for a stretcher. From the corner of one eye, I could see other medics doing the same for Jean-Paul, Maken and a few others who had been unfortunate enough to be in the way.

"Shit . . . That . . . that wasn't natural . . ." I heard Maken mutter as we were loaded onto stretchers.

Yeah, another understatement. When things were clearer . . . when it didn't hurt so damn much, I'm going to . . . going to pound that little brat all the way into next Friday--

And I'm so glad they finally administered the painkillers before they got around to wrapping my ribs. It was hard, thinking with your ribs yelling bloody murder. The medics were merciful enough to offer sedatives as well. No way was I going to watch them patch me up--I'm not masochistic *that* way.

Honestly, I didn't mind fading out of it . . . The day had taken a disturbing turn and I suppose we all wished that when we woke up, everything would be the way it used to be.

Nah, knowing out luck, we would wake up in the infirmary, bruises yellowing and cuts scabbed over. Fortunately, we got shoved into the same ward and when I did wake up, the brown and beige blur opposite me resolved itself slowly into Hakkai with a cast on his left arm.

Nothing like a familiar face when you're all stiff and sore and vaguely disorientated. To the left and right of me were some other faces that had been involved in or unwillingly hauled into the fracas yesterday. Was it *only* yesterday?

"How long've I been out?" I mumbled at the ceiling. The medic on duty noticed that I was finally up and hurried over to tell me not to move until he got someone to help him crank the bed up, presumably so that I would be in a position to eat or swallow.

Still no pretty nurses. Bah. My luck sucks.

"So, we've been here for . . . almost a day?"

"Aa," Hakkai replied, using his good arm to spoon up whatever stuff they let invalids have for lunch in this place. It must suck to keep getting injured in here. "Don't move--you'll only jostle your ribs."

"I'm not even going to try," I said, looking over at Hakkai's cast. "They fixed us up and we get to loaf around in bed for a while. Hey, I don't mind . . ."

But it wasn't exactly the right time to crack jokes. Not with what had happened back in the canteen. "You're thinking about Goku and Sanzo. What happened to them?"

"Aa." Even from where I was propped up, his green eyes appeared to be clouded with worry. Hakkai had always liked the kid. Sort of like a big brother or an uncle looking out for the runt--even if he did eat too much and whine too much. "I don't know exactly. Sanzo could be just next door for all we know . . . Goku--he's another matter altogether."

Oh yeah. Another friggin' class above what you'd normally get here in NH.

"That was . . . freaky."

More than a little freaky. It's like the cute hamster you bought at the pet store suddenly went rabid and started chewing up the neighbourhood.

"It's like he went totally berserk . . ."

Hakkai sounded both haunted and strained. For a moment there, I saw the mask slip slightly. He was back *there* again--to that place where a mild-mannered schoolteacher had done the unthinkable and almost impossible.

If anything, NH was home to heaps of cases like that. Where generally ordinary people lose it one day and end up here, knowing that they would never be quite so normal or ordinary anymore.

Hakkai did not look like berserker material. Neither did the kid for that matter. Berserkers were supposed to be from those stories with Vikings in it that I used to hear from my brother. They came with war axes and helmets with horns.

It was so easy to forget why we were all here in NH. Just a pair of big amber-brown eyes and the face of a child and everyone conveniently forgets the danger. Goku had been locked up for as long as he could remember, so there had to be a reason for--

But it couldn't be that straightforward. I had a prime example of that just opposite me and sharing the same cell. If Goku's mental history was an even bigger mess than Hakkai's was, then we were really asking for trouble.

Whatever the reasons, we could deal with it, right? Assuming that we actually saw the runt again . . . NH was already one of the deepest places you could fall into, much less fall *from*.

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End Part 5.