Tony waited impatiently for any news of Aziz's capture, but none came. Puzzled, he forced himself to focus on his routine instead, the endless breakfasts, lunches and dinners in the mess hall, the aimless wandering around the yard, the conversations with Sanchez in the afternoons, and his Arabic lessons. Much to his surprise he progressed well with the latter, covering five detailed chapters in as many days. Arabic writing proved more challenging, he spent hours attempting to copy letters neatly. Sanchez would sit opposite him on his chair, struggling with essay writing or arithmetic, until he would mutter a few curses and slap his books shut, whereupon Tony would get up and explain the lesson patiently.

'So what use is this, amigo?' Sanchez inquired yet again. Tony opened his mouth, closing it wordless.

'Well…'

'Sí, that's my point! You learned all this, you know it. Did you EVER use it?'

'In the army, I guess. It was important to calculate angles accurately when you needed to shoot someone. And my father uses it a lot, for his designs.'

'That's good for him, but I'm no architect!'

Tony got up, pushing the chair back more forcefully than he intended. 'Listen; just pass the subject, ok? It's not that hard.'

Sanchez gazed at him surprised. 'What's wrong, amigo? You've been real restless all week. You waiting for a letter from your boss Hammond?'

'What?' Tony cried, swinging round to face him. 'How the hell did you know I wrote to him?'

'I read it, when you were sleeping,' Sanchez admitted guiltily. 'Amigo, I was bored! Your letter was very interesting, so many bad terroristas! Aziz, Rashid, Ghazi, weird names, too. Some here, some in Kuwait, some in Egypt, it was like a good movie.'

'It was PRIVATE!' Tony hissed, glaring at him.

Sanchez nodded placating. 'Of course, amigo. I didn't tell anyone.'

They glared at each other in silence for a moment, before Tony slammed his fist into the wall. 'You had no right…'

An angry shout interrupted them. 'You spics bang on our wall again, you're dead.' A piece of paper flew into the cell. 'Death to spics!'

Tony picked it up silently and threw it into the toilet. Sanchez tore a page out of his exercise book, almost glad of the interruption, and wrote a rude note, passing it back. A howl of outrage greeted its arrival. 'Stop it,' Tony sighed, just as he did every afternoon around the same time. 'You're only encouraging them. Why swap insults? It's a waste of paper.'

'Amigo, no one writes more letters than you do.' Sanchez told him firmly, tearing another page from the book.

Tony shook his head, chewing his lip. 'I write to my FAMILY!'

'Sure you do. And I write to my neighbors, see. They write, and I answer. It's real rude not to. At least I don't need a stamp,' Sanchez told him cheerfully. Tony groaned aloud and resumed his pacing.

I'm going nuts in here! How the hell can I live like this everyday? He groaned again, wandering whether he would sink to their level as the years passed.

Tony heard a bang from the other side of the cell. 'A badge,' warned Colin.

He grabbed Sanchez's latest note and put it under the blanket, gazing impassively at the patrolling guards. They walked past, glancing carefully at them and into the neighboring cell. Sanchez removed his note once they walked past, continuing it. He threw it over carefully, and a moment later there was another howl and the note was returned. Tony climbed onto his bunk, grabbing his Arabic grammar. Today he would give himself a test, and if he passed, he would begin on chapter six.

The guards returned, pausing outside their cell. 'Alright, convict, hand that note over!' demanded one of them. 'Not the exercise book, the note. Immediately!' Tony rolled over, watching Sanchez pass the note out reluctantly.

'You don't seem to place much value on red hair and blue eyes,' remarked a guard, frowning. 'You're insulting your neighbors, Convict. Care to explain yourself.'

'He was taking notes for a novel he's planning,' Tony interrupted, sliding down the bunk. 'It's set in the future, in a space station orbiting Gamma Hydra Eight, and there's this red haired administrator who comes…'

'Did I ask for your comment?' snapped the irritated guard. He glared at both of them. 'Alright, the pair of you, I can see you've got more time on your hands than you know what to do with! I've got some jobs for you. The main floor needs to be scrubbed, and the showers need to be bleached, and the windows on the guard room can sure use a wash. Hands behind your backs.'

Tony sighed aloud, not daring to refuse. By now I'd be halfway through this grammar book, if I had my own cell. Silently he followed Sanchez out of the cell and over to the showers, where they were handed a bucket and mop each.

'Alright, you two. You get to mop the main floor,' he pointed to Tony, 'while you clean the showers. Get with it.'

'Almeida,' Sanchez said, as Tony lifted his bucket. 'Gracias.'

Tony shrugged. 'It's ok. At least we get to leave the cell a bit.' He carried the bucket out, sighing quietly so as not to be heard by the guard who followed him. Why do I get to mop the main floor? Everyone will see that, dammit! And where the hell do they use mops like this nowadays, anyway, apart from in black and white movies?

The guard pointed out the area near the door and Tony began to work, dipping the mop in the bucket and spreading water around. 'What the hell do you think you're doing, convict Almeida?' hissed the guard, unimpressed. 'Haven't you ever washed floors before? You're supposed to squeeze the mop out a bit, look, the floor's soaking.'

Tony gazed at the puddles on the ground, nodding. 'Yeah. What am I supposed to squeeze this thing out with?'

'Your hands, of course,' snapped the guard. 'Get on with it, convict, or you'll end up with a D-report.'

Tony dipped his mop again, taking care to squeeze it out with his hands before running it over the ground. Dozens of bored eyes followed his every move. He noticed Gonzales watching him, eyes boring into him, Fernandez beside him. He mopped rapidly in front of their section, moving away as fast as he could. So far he had managed to avoid the 'talk' they wanted to hold, but he was certain it was coming.

The cleaning took the entire afternoon, and Tony was still forced to help Sanchez in the shower block. 'That's always been there,' Sanchez explained, pointing to entire tiles coated with slime. 'What can I do about it?'

Tony shook his head annoyed, longing to return to his books. 'You pour bleach on them, and wait ten minutes. Then you scrub. I'll show you.' They scrubbed silently, watching the mould disappear.

'You know, amigo, if they ever release you, you could always get a job as a cleaner,' Sanchez remarked, staring at the bathroom impressed. He fell silent, seeing Tony's thunderous expression. 'Sorry.'

Tony moved to stand against the locked door, waiting for the guard, face turned away from his cellmate.

They were led back to their cell an hour before dinner, wet and smelling strongly of bleach. Tony climbed onto his bunk wearily. 'Place sure smells like a swimming pool,' he observed, biting his lips.

'Yep,' Sanchez said. 'Almost forgot they exist, you know.' He pulled out a pack of cards and laid them out on the floor, swearing at himself moments later. Tony laid his book down, unable to stop staring at him.

'What are you doing?' he asked finally.

'I'm playing with an old friend, see. Him and me, we play everyday, always have, since I got sent down.'

Tony glanced back at his book, struggling to read a few words, before his heart got the better of him. 'Want me to play too, today?' he asked, nonchalantly, nodding his head at the cards.

Sanchez nodded eagerly, shuffling the pack. 'Not that I got anything to lose,' Tony added, climbing down to sit on the floor.

They played till the siren wailed, Sanchez cheating openly.

They lined up outside, leaving the pack on the floor, standing directly in front of the Aryan Brothers. Tony made certain he stood next to them, not trusting Sanchez to ignore the constant insults whispered behind him. Silently they marched down to the floor and across to the dining hall. Tony wrinkled his nose as they entered the area, sure he could smell fish. His stomach heaved and he swallowed salty liquid down, forcing himself to collect a tray and carry it over to a table. He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand along his face as he forced himself to swallow it down. Eat it, Almeida; you'll be real hungry if you don't! Despite his valiant efforts, half the fish remained on the plate, staring back at him. Tony sighed heavily, allowing his eyes to roam the area in search of a bin. There's bound to be one somewhere!

'What are you looking for, amigo?' Sanchez asked, watching him. 'You look like you need to go somewhere. There's a toilet there, just behind that green door.'

Tony nodded gratefully, wandering how he always discovered these things. He pushed the remainder of the fish into his pocket and set off determinedly for the toilet. Checking the guards rapidly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside a brightly lit bathroom, searching for a flush toilet to dispose of his meal. A strangled gasp reached his ears, smothered instantly. The toilet door was kicked hard.

Ignoring a cautionary voice urging him to leave the area, he moved closer, pulling himself on top of the door. Two Mexicans stood inside the cubicle, one attempting to push his knife deeper inside another. Tony dropped onto the startled assailant, ripping the knife from his hand. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he cried, holding the knife firmly. The man returned his gaze for a fraction of a second.

'Don't push your nose where it doesn't belong, Federal Agent,' he warned. 'You talk, you'll be responsible for starting a bloodbath,' and he turned and left the bathroom.

His victim gurgled, blood seeping from his mouth. Tony stuck the knife under the tap, wiping it clean of prints before throwing it inside the toilet. He picked the injured Mexican up rapidly and carried him outside, intercepted by a guard the moment he stepped through the bathroom door.

'Convict, stop. Face the wall and place your hands on your head. We need a stretcher here, on the double.' The injured Mexican was carried away while Tony faced the wall, not daring to move. A guard placed cuffs on his hands and minutes later he heard the door open again.

'This is a lock-down! I repeat, this is a lock-down. All prisoners will be strip searched individually before being locked in their cell. Any movement will be taken as an attempt to conceal contraband and the guards will fire without warning.'

Supervisor Lee organized the guards into teams and began the search of the prisoners before turning his attention to Tony. 'Convict Almeida, I want to know EXACTLY why you attacked that man.'

Tony turned his head to face the supervisor, shaking it. 'I didn't. I found him there.'

'You're telling me you just happened to walk into the toilet and prevent a murder,' snapped the supervisor. 'Too much of a coincidence, if you ask me. You're not telling me something, convict. If you weren't the attacker, then you scared him off.'

'I didn't attack anyone,' Tony insisted.

'Yeah well, someone did. I want to know who,' replied the supervisor firmly. 'You'll either tell me or you'll tell the warden. Have it your way, but I suggest you tell me quickly – it would go better with you.'

Tony remained silent, chewing his lip. The attacker was obviously guilty of attempted murder, but then he really knew nothing of the victim. They were both Mexican, it was their affair, and not the supervisor's, he decided.

'Search the prisoner,' the supervisor said, and Tony felt himself patted down before he was released from his cuffs and ordered to strip. He removed his clothes, noting the line of prisoners waiting to be searched on the other side of the dining hall. The Mexican gave him a hard look which he returned.

'Sir, I found something on the convict,' exclaimed a guard, holding up the half eaten fish. Tony closed his eyes for a second; wandering whether it would even count among the rest of the infractions they were bound to charge him with.

'Convict Almeida, I want an explanation,' ordered the supervisor, joined by the warden, who hurried over to the group. 'Why the hell did you have a piece of dinner in your pocket?'

Tony chewed his lip, sighing inwardly. 'Sir, I've always hated fish, absolutely detested it. I was going to flush it down the toilet,' he admitted.

'Only you never got to do so,' the warden said into the silence. 'You interrupted a murder. Footage from the security camera shows someone leaving the area seconds before you. Identify the man, and you'll get away without being charged as an accessory.'

'I didn't see his face,' Tony lied. 'He left when I walked in.'

The warden and the supervisor stared at him coldly. 'Convict Almeida, I'll give you one last chance to remember the story,' Warden Jeffries told him. 'I also want to know why the knife was thrown into the toilet. These gangsters never abandon their weapons. Why do you imagine this one did?'

Tony shook his head. 'I wouldn't know sir, I'm pretty new here.'

The warden frowned heavily at him. 'Alright, Almeida, I can see why you were sent here. Maybe a couple of days in A-Seg will help your shocking memory.'

'Sir, I can't recall what I didn't see,' Tony protested mildly.

'Oh, I wouldn't be too certain of that. And you're on reduced rations for a week, for attempting to dispose of a meal. Get dressed.'

Tony pulled his clothes on, groaning inside. Why the hell hadn't he ignored the fight and left the toilet block? The entire affair was nothing to do with him, but he was the one carted away. You must have been dropped on your head as a baby, Almeida! You just can't seem to learn to mind your own business, can you?

He placed his hands behind his back without waiting to be told to do so, and felt the cuffs tightened round them. Two guards led him out, one holding the customary stun baton against his chest. Tony left D Block reluctantly, having a pretty good idea of what awaited him in A-Seg. He walked across the yard, filling his lungs with damp air, aware he would spend the next several days locked indoors.

A small block loomed in front of them across the courtyard. Tony's heart sank as they approached it, hating the thought of being locked up yet again. I'll never get used to this life, mom. I just can't! I can't bear the sound of a door banging behind me. I hate looking out through bars. I need a window! He closed his eyes briefly as he was stopped before the steel door, overwhelmed by loneliness. I just need to go home for a couple of hours. Just a few hours talking to you all…He imagined his mother's arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Tony, you don't look well. Go and lie down, and I'll bring you something."

'Move it, convict, or I'll zap you,' threatened a guard, and he blinked, startled to see the first steel door stood open. He raised his head and walked inside, hearing it slam behind them. A guard ran his card through the second slot and the door slid silently open. Tony walked through without waiting, turning automatically towards the office.

'Name?' demanded a bored guard.

'Almeida,' Tony answered, quoting his number. The man entered the information into a computer.

'Strip, convict,' he ordered, as Tony had known he would. He watched his cuffs being removed and undressed rapidly, forcing an impassive expression onto his face. After his examination he was ordered to put on his underwear, and the guard glanced back at his monitor. 'Take him to four,' he told two guards from the block.

Tony stared at him amazed, having expected a couple of blows. He followed the guards out rapidly before anyone in authority could appear and order a beating. A long corridor stretched in front of him, filled with tiny cages. One of them towards the end was unlocked and he moved inside, waiting patiently for his cuffs to be removed. He sank onto the rubber mat that lay on the floor, shaking his head.

I didn't even do anything this time! I was going to behave here, stay out of trouble. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, groaning aloud. 'Let me go home! Please please let me go home!'