The afternoon passed slowly, filled with curses yelled across the block and loud clanging. To his amazement none of them seemed directed at him any more. He laid Michelle's photo carefully into his blanket and settled in the corner, unsure whether to be thankful he survived to be returned, or to be dismayed.

In many ways it would have been a lot easier just to die underground. So why did you fight so hard to stay alive, Almeida? You really think you're gonna be able to get a couple of letters out? You're nuts.

A note fell into his cell, distracting him from his self destructive thoughts. He gazed at it dully for a moment before returning his focus on the bars. A hand poked through them startling him.

'Hey, Almeida. Get up. The guards are coming. If you leave that note in full view on the floor you'll be lugged, and so will the person who wrote you. Pick it up quick!'

Tony remained where he was for another moment, unable to find any emotion to worry about the note. 'You'll get thrown back inside the hole,' continued his neighbor, more urgently. 'Get up now.'

Slowly he uncurled a leg, pushing himself up. He placed his foot on the note seconds before the guards walked past. They gave him a hard look and continued past his cell. He bent down to retrieve the note, walking over to the toilet. He had no friends here, that was certain. He had survived eight days of insults after the first fight, receiving dozens of notes threatening to kill him. He paused at the last moment, carrying it back to his corner instead. After all, he had no reading material aside from his family's letters for another month, and nobody had sworn at him since he'd dealt with the convicts in the shower.

Amigo

You done great! Welcome back. Stick your hand outside the bars for a moment.

He read the short note again, puzzled. Once again he rose, flushing it down the toilet, before he moved over to the front of his cell. The guards patrolled the opposite end of the block, their backs to him. He pushed his arms out, gazing upwards, wishing he could see something from the catwalk on top of him.

Something hard was pushed into his hands. His fingers closed over it automatically, drawing it inside his cell. He found himself holding a thick book with a damaged cover. Tony moved it rapidly into the corner, knowing he would be questioned should it be spotted as he was not permitted reading material for another month. He settled down, leaning against the walls for support and opened the cover page, intending to glance through it before he returned it. To his surprise it proved interesting, a novel about a couple of spies. He turned to the first chapter and began reading. The guards wandered past, unable to see the book from the angle he sat in. Tony read several chapters before he heard the usual clang reverberating round the block – the arrival of a meal.

He ate his dinner hungrily, unable to feel full since his time in the hole, despite Dr Lahti at the infirmary handing him extra portions. Dully he wandered whether he would ever again stop feeling hungry. He had noticed several prisoners were able to purchase extra food from the shop, but although he was certain both his parents and Michelle had transferred him money he was denied the right to what was termed 'shopping privileges.' Sighing, he scraped his fork across the empty plate, gathering the tiniest scraps up.

Stop thinking about food, Almeida! You know you'll only feel worse if you do! Read a little more and then it will be lights out soon. You'll get fed again tomorrow!

He returned his tray to the slot and settled back with his book. The lights dimmed without warning, and a guard moved to the center of the floor. 'It's lights out!' As though I hadn't noticed! 'Anyone caught talking will get the strip cell. Shut the hell up.'

Tony brushed his teeth rapidly and lay under the blanket, placing the book at his feet. He pulled the cover back and gently kissed Michelle's photo. 'Goodnight, sweetheart. I feel a little dizzy, but I'm not at all tired. I love you so much.'

He closed his eyes, thinking of his parents' words to him at his bail hearing, after he had apologized for letting them down. "Tony, you protected Michelle, you done as you should have. I raised you that way, remember?"

'I remember,' he whispered softly, closing his eyes. His father had never tolerated him quarrelling with his sisters, arguing with them. He grinned faintly, remembering snatching a toy bear from Janey and pushing her over. "Tony! Come here!" his father ordered, annoyance in his voice. He walked over slowly, knowing he had pushed her too hard. "If ever I see you push your sister, or hit her, or any girl AT ALL, I will spank you. Do you understand?" He nodded. "Si, but she's got my bear." Mr. Almeida frowned at him. "You weren't playing with it now, were you? Let her have it for a bit." He had watched her pushing the bear around in a toy pram until he couldn't take it any longer, returning upstairs for her rabbit. Janey had howled in protest as he carried it into the living room, pulling it from his hand, while he held onto it. "Gimme my wabbit". "Gimme my bear first," he demanded, refusing to let go. She had bitten his hand, leaving marks along one side, and he had pushed her over. "Tony, upstairs," his father ordered. "Didn't I warn you about fighting just now?" He was smacked. After a few occasions he had indeed learned the lesson.

Tony sighed heavily, longing to see his family again. 'You taught me more than that, papa.' He had been taught to help his mother and sisters whenever he noticed they needed something, doing so automatically long before he started school. His younger sister Rita felt absolutely secure swapping insults with the girls next door. "Rita, I'll come over and push you off that swing." "No you won't, I'll call Tony!" she yelled back, while he held a hand over his mouth, struggling to remain silent. They handed him unfinished homework to complete, dragged him with them to watch them at ballet. "Please come watch, Tony." He groaned aloud, but took them every week, knowing his mother appreciated a little rest. Quite honestly, he adored playing older brother.

He shifted restlessly, unable to sleep as he had spent so many days in bed in the infirmary, and hadn't been allowed outdoors. Somehow he would have to settle down. Wandering round the cell after lights out was strictly forbidden, as was sitting up. He rolled onto his side, staring through the bars. The main floor was lit and he stared straight across, into a dim cell, knowing Sanchez was locked inside.

I thought they were all scum, all prisoners, but I was wrong. Some people break the law, but don't lose their humanity. Prison hardens them, but essentially they're no worse than lots of 'ordinary people' outside the law never caught up with. I got nothing, yet Rodriguez lent me a book. Sanchez brought me the photo when I was sick, knowing it's the only thing that means anything to me. They're NOT bad. Wander why they bother being kind to me, I'm not like them; I'm not part of their group? I don't even have anything to share with them. They'll all get out someday and I never will, and they know it, yet they bother to help me. Seems you still got a lot to learn, Almeida!

He wished he were back in the infirmary, hating the close confines of the cell. He could really have done with watching a little TV that night, he wasn't tired at all. Sighing in frustration he rolled over onto his stomach. Go to sleep, Almeida! There's nothing to do now. Yeah, and tomorrow will be sooo exciting! He grinned in the darkness, surprised to see a little spark of sarcasm remained.

Tony fell asleep after the guards patrolled the catwalk a dozen times, knowing he had lain awake for several hours. He awoke exhausted and hungry a few minutes before the siren, frowning in irritation as it interrupted his dreams of home. He pulled his clothes and shoes on, made his bed and settled aimlessly on it. He picked up a letter and read it again, his heart aching. Why hadn't he appreciated his freedom before it was ripped away from him? He had thought nothing of picking up his phone and calling one of his brothers or sisters, and driving to meet them in the evening. A meal out with Michelle had been fun, but he had been certain they would enjoy hundreds more.

The breakfast trolley interrupted his brooding. He carried his tray over to his table and ate his bowl of almost hot porridge first, glad he was hungry. Two toasts with marmalade lay on a small dish beside his bowl; he ate them sipping his tea. Why won't they ever bring coffee here?

Once the trays were removed he settled in his corner, reading chapter two of the novel, grateful to Rodriguez for lending it to him. For a while he lost himself in the story, in someone else's life threatening problems. The wail of the siren startled him, dragging him back to his nightmare. He saw the prisoners stand in front of their doors eagerly, abandoning all other pursuits. The doors opened. For the briefest second he hoped they might forget he was punished and open his door too, but it remained locked. Tony forced his emotions aside and watched the prisoners line up and go outside. He got a good look at his neighbor, the man who had insisted he pick up the note.

Thank goodness he made me pick it up. He resolved never to let himself sink so low again.

Swallowing, he picked up the book and settled down to continue it in the corner, telling himself to keep an ear open for any approaching guard. He had perfected that technique in the army on his desert patrols, sleeping soundly with an ear 'on duty' at all times, able to waken at the slightest sound. His instincts worked as well as they had back then, warning him well in advance of approaching footsteps. He closed the book rapidly and placed it directly behind the bed, hoping no one would enter his cell. Judging by the sound of the footsteps the guard walked alone, moving purposefully towards him.

Tony moved to sit on his chair, elbows propped on the table, head in his hands, watching the man approach through cracks in his fingers. His heart sank, recognizing his old enemy.

'Well good morning, convict Almeida! You don't seem too cheery today! Get up at once when you're addressed, or you'll be on reduced rations the rest of the week.'

Tony got up immediately, placing his hands behind his back, fixing his gaze on the floor, not wishing to provoke Davis. Experience taught him such people liked to have their say, make a few threats and leave if left uninterrupted. He resolved to listen silently to Davis' lecture and agree with him whenever the situation called for agreement. His head spun slightly as he stood at attention, reminding him of his body's weakness. Further punishment would push him beyond a point even the doctor would be unable to pull him back from. He wandered why Davis chose to come and talk to him now, when he was alone in the block.

'So you're an infamous traitor, Almeida,' Davis began, watching him for any reaction. 'What did you do, ah? Look at me, convict! I asked you a question.'

Tony raised his eyes reluctantly, knowing he would read a challenge within Davis he would find hard to ignore. 'It's classified' he replied. 'I'm not allowed to speak of it.'

Davis almost sighed in disappointment. 'Why'd you do it?' he persisted. 'This country gave you a lot, Almeida.'

I gave the country a lot, too. He remained silent, lowering his eyes, hating the term 'traitor'. Get used to it, Almeida – it's what you are, remember?

Davis tapped his foot impatiently outside. 'This country trusted you. They paid for your education and made you an officer. Were you a traitor then too, Almeida?'

Tony shook his head, bile rising into his throat. 'No,' he answered hoarsely.

'I wander,' Davis remarked, sounding doubtful. 'Who the hell knows where your loyalty really lies, ah, Almeida. I mean, it wouldn't mean that much to you, turning against us. Your parents aren't even American, are they?'

'My mother's American,' he answered hotly. 'They've been here for a real long time!'

Davis shrugged, resting a hand on the bars. 'Raise your eyes, convict,' he snapped, watching to make sure Tony complied. 'So how did it feel, when they captured you?'

Tony gazed back at him through the bars. He shook his head slightly. 'I felt nothing,' he replied.

Davis laughed aloud. 'Bullshit! Next you'll be telling me you felt 'nothing' when they put you in handcuffs for the first time.'

That wasn't the first time I got to wear them! How did I feel then, when they shoved me against a wall and placed cuffs on me? I don't know, really, startled, humiliated, resigned. He remained silent, swallowing more bile down.

The supervisor shook his head. 'Thought about it, Almeida? About staying here the rest of your life? You've not got a real large space, have you?' They gazed at each other in silence for a few seconds. 'What's it like, locked inside there? Looking out through those bars all day long? You don't talk much, do you? A good thing, I expect. Oh, I almost forgot why I came. Your mother wrote, she seems to miss you! Lemme see, ah, here…' He pulled a letter from his pocket.

Tony's fists clenched. He felt the beginning of a wild fury, and fought it down, knowing he would be punished for the slight sign of rebellion. 'That's my mail, Davis. It's private – you're supposed to hand it over to me.'

'Oh, I will, don't you worry, after I censor it. Can't have a traitor receiving unchecked mail from outside, particularly not from a known sympathizer.'

Tony let out a strangled cry of rage, falling silent immediately afterwards, cursing himself for having been goaded into betraying emotion.

'What did you say, Almeida?' Davis asked, satisfied.

'Nothing,' Tony replied, lowering his eyes.

'You forgot something, Almeida. When you address me, you say "sir". Let's hear it.'

Tony let out a deep breath, counting to three. 'Nothing, sir,' he replied.

'That's better,' Davis told him. 'See you don't forget, next time. Now the letter:

Dear Tony Davis gave a snort. We really miss you. All those things we'd planned over the last few weeks have gone; we didn't do most of them, of course! Nobody felt like having a picnic at the beach, or dinner with Anna, or anything else. We stay home a lot, after work – its real quiet. Some friends came while you were awaiting your trial, they said they're sorry and tried to invite us, but we'd rather just stay alone right now. 'I'm not surprised,' he interrupted the letter. 'I wouldn't want to show my face either, with such a son.'

Tony shuffled his feet impatiently. 'You gonna read me the rest of my letter?' he asked through gritted teeth.

Davis laughed at him, glancing through the letter. 'I might, if you ask properly.' His eyes met Tony's.

Tony nodded slowly, in disgust. 'OK, I'm asking real nice. Read me my letter or hand it over.'

Davis peered through the bars at him. 'I didn't hear "please" or "sir", convict' he snapped.

Tony tilted his head to the side, staring straight through the bars at his letter. 'Please would you be kind enough to read me the rest of my mail, sir,' he forced out.

'Now that's a bit better, Almeida, though I detect a hint of hostility in your tone. Lemme see…' Davis glanced through the letter. 'Janey went to…no, that's not interesting, Marco and Bobby are in…you're not supposed to know that….Rita wrote a book about….hell, who'd wanna read that?...and there's lots more people mentioned. I'll have to try and make sure it's not some kind of code before you can have the letter.'

'They're my RELATIVES,' Tony almost yelled. 'Check my file, they're all listed.'

Davis gave a placating nod. 'I'm sure they are. I'll just have to check through them all, you can't expect me to memorize all that, can you? Hell, a rat wouldn't have that many relatives as you claim to have.'

You will be silent, Almeida! Keep your hands behind your back, don't you dare move them! You will NOT attempt to strangle him; you're in NO condition for further punishment. He will go soon; he can see he's managed to upset you.

They gazed at each other through the bars, Davis smirking slightly as he replaced the letter in his pocket. 'After all, Almeida, I've got to be real careful with your correspondence. You're not a simple murderer or rapist, you know, you're a dangerous traitor. I wanna hear you say that.'

Tony shifted his weight to his other foot, unable to believe what he had just heard. His momentary confusion didn't escape Davis.

'Are you deaf, convict. I just gave you an order. I wanna know what you are, why you're here.'

'Go read my file,' Tony muttered, turning away. He was going to be punished for his rudeness after all, but he had been pushed beyond his limit. He would die underground, this time.

'Almeida, face the door,' snapped Davis, 'or you'll end up on reduced rations.'

Tony turned slowly, amazed the hole wasn't mentioned.

'I wanna hear you tell me what you're called in the file, Almeida.' Davis gazed at him challengingly.

'A traitor,' Tony muttered, forcing each syllable out. 'I'm a bloody traitor, ok, Davis.' He turned away, blinking back hot tears, relieved to hear the supervisor walk away from the cell.