Tony finished his exercises and lay back on the rubber mat, panting from exertion. He had completed 150 push-ups without pausing for the third time that day. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to steady. Four days had passed since his incarceration in the 'cage', and they seemed closer to four years to him. The mat on the floor took up almost the entire space, leaving him unable to pace without rolling it up. He had counted the bars several times, and recognized all the guards who patrolled his corridor. It was time for a break, he decided, wiping more sweat from his brow.

What are you doing, Michelle honey? I hope you're doing well in your new position in Seattle. Don't worry about me, sweetheart, I'm fine really. Are you ok, mom? You'll never be 'ok' again, of course, but are you able to face tomorrow with a smile? I miss you so much. What are you doing, Papa? It's so cold now, are you reading in your den. I guess you don't really need to hide there anymore, there's no one left at home to interrupt you. He sighed heavily, knowing how much his parents hated a silent house. Years ago they would've welcomed a little peace, counting the day 'quiet' if only two or three children were home. Tony closed his eyes, remembering a 'quiet' day.

His mother had taken most of the children to visit a friend, leaving him home to complete an assignment together with Rita, who had a cold. His father worked hard in the garden, pruning the fruit trees. Tony glanced idly at his watch, waiting for the game to begin. The Cubs had played well for the previous few games, and there was every indication they would repeat their success that afternoon. There was only a slight complication. He sighed, knowing he was forbidden to watch TV for three days, and it wasn't up yet. There was no way he would be able to watch it downstairs, but he could see the TV quite well from the banister. He got up, hunting for his sister.

'Rita, could you switch the TV on and leave the door open? I can't miss this game,' he begged her.

'Sure' she agreed readily. She carried a book downstairs with her and switched the game on, opening the door wide. He pressed his head against the gap in the railing and watched, thrilled.

His father entered unexpectedly from the front a few minutes later, spotting him. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before he went to switch off the TV. 'Antonio, come here, next to Rita!' Tony sighed heavily and moved downstairs, settling next to his sister, who threw him a nervous look. 'You should be ashamed of yourself, Tony,' his father began. 'You know perfectly well you were not supposed to watch TV today. Not only did you do so, but you managed to involve your younger sister as well.'

Tony glanced at his father guiltily. 'Papa, she didn't know, I asked her…' he began.

Mr. Almeida shook his head. 'She knew. You're both grounded, and there's no TV for either of you for the next three days. Now I'm sure you've got some homework, Tony.'

Tony opened his school books, unable to concentrate on a single subject. He gave up after twenty minutes and set off in search of his sister, finding her on the phone. 'I'm sorry, Kathy. I can't come. Bye.' She hung up and stared at him startled.

'Where can't you go?' he inquired softly.

'Her mom was gonna take us to the movies tomorrow. I can't go now. It's ok,' she added, seeing his face.

'I'm real sorry,' Tony told her unhappily, and she nodded, returning to the living room with her book. He stared at her reading on the sofa for a few minutes before he opened the garden door, searching for his father.

'Papa.' His father beckoned him over. 'You gotta let Rita off. She's supposed to go to the movies tomorrow; you know no one invited her since we got here. I asked her to switch on the TV and she…'

'And she did so, because she would do whatever you ask, anytime,' Mr. Almeida replied, pruning another dry branch.

'Papa, I'll take all six days, but you gotta let her go out tomorrow,' Tony pleaded.

'You're feeling real guilty, I can see that,' his father remarked, laying the branch on the ground. 'You're a lot older than she is, you shouldn't involve your younger sisters in your mischief. Alright, Tony,' he said with a sigh, 'Rita can go to the movies. And you've learned your lesson too; you can watch TV again from tomorrow. Now I could use a little help carrying these branches to the bin.'

Tony turned over restlessly, rubbing his face. Stop thinking of home during the day, Almeida, it's not helping you. That's supposed to be left to night time, remember? Now you've got an extra hundred push-ups! He rolled off the mat and began his exercises again, determined to discipline himself. Ok, so he was locked in a cage without any kind of mental stimulation, but it didn't excuse him from breaking his self imposed rules so often. 'Focus, Almeida', he ordered himself'Focus on what?' his mind screamed.

He was returned to D Block two days later, following the guards silently along the catwalk. Once his cuffs were removed and the guards left he settled on a chair, exchanging nods with Sanchez.

'Amigo, are you ok? I was getting worried, they didn't tell me anything.'

'I'm fine. I got a little time in A-Seg to see if my memory would improve, but unfortunately it didn't.'

Sanchez shook his head. 'It's not a joke, fed. Gonzales wants to see you tomorrow; he'll come over to you.' Tony nodded, knowing it would happen. 'Amigo, you don't seem to understand. He's the leader of the southern Mexican gang here; he doesn't usually go to talk to anyone.'

Tony leaned further into the chair. 'Was it his guy who got stabbed, or who done the stabbing?'

'His guy done the stabbing, so right now he's pretty grateful to you. Any shit goes down; his arse is on the line. The warden kind of puts it on the head guy in each gang to keep his men in order, and this time they're real pissed coz no one will talk.'

Tony nodded, filling his plastic cup with some water. 'I take it nobody ever talks?'

Sanchez stared at him as though he were mad. 'Of course not! It's not their business. You got to sort out your own problems here! Imagine running to the gringos!'

'Guess not,' he agreed. He got up and climbed onto his bunk, pulling back the blanket. Michelle's face smiled out at him. He swallowed a lump and pulled the blanket over it carefully.

'When do you see her again?'

He shrugged. 'Not next time, she's working in Seattle. Four weeks, I hope.' His face settled into the usual impenetrable mask as he lifted his Arabic book. 'Still here. I was afraid they'd remove it. What do you think, Sanchez? This place is a little slacker than the other one. I mean, I got sent to A-Seg, and no one beat me.'

Sanchez frowned thoughtfully. 'Watch it, amigo. Sure they're slack about some things, but they hang more people than any other place. They say the SHU is pure hell.'

'It was pure hell in the other place too, and you know it,' Tony replied. He rubbed his eyes, tired with the effort of talking after a week of silence. 'Wake me up for dinner, would you?'

Sanchez looked disappointed. 'And I was hoping to have someone to talk to,' he grumbled.

'I will tomorrow,' Tony promised. He closed his eyes, falling asleep a lot sooner than he expected. It seemed moments later when his shoulder was shaken vigorously.

'Dinner, amigo. Come on.'

Tony settled in his usual spot next to Sanchez, dismayed to find fish on the menu. It seemed the guards kept him in their peripheral vision; he noticed them out of the corner of his eyes. He cut the fish in half and slid a piece onto his friend's plate, shrugging apologetically.

'You'll be hungry, amigo,' Sanchez warned. 'You sure you wanna give me this?'

'Yeah,' he agreed, eating a few potatoes.

'You might want some chocolate instead,' said a new voice in Spanish, and they fell silent, watching Gonzales sit opposite them. 'I wanted to talk to you, Almeida,' he began unnecessarily. 'You seem to be a hard man to reach.'

Tony put more food into his mouth, chewing silently.

'You don't talk much, that's good! I would've thought a fed would work with the "authorities"'.

'I'm not a federal agent anymore, as I'm sure you can see,' Tony remarked sarcastically. 'And I don't tell tales. Now let me ask YOU something.'

Sanchez gave him a warning kick under the table which he disregarded. 'Why'd your guy stab that other man? You're both stuck in prison in the US, and you're both Mexican? I don't get it at all.'

Gonzales looked into his eyes, attempting to read something, coming up empty. 'You're real naïve, agent. We're southern Mexican, and they're northern.' He cut a piece of fish and placed it in his mouth.

Tony nodded. 'I see. You guys make a habit of depopulating northern Mexico! Or do you leave women and kids?'

Gonzales laughed. 'You're real sarcastic, that's good. You know exactly who we are.'

'I know you guys are the southern Mexican mafia, and the other lot are your rivals,' Tony replied, eating the last of the vegetables and wishing there were more. 'You don't exactly believe in competition.'

Gonzales glared at him. 'It's nothing to do with that. They've been killing our guys for over a hundred years now. We can't ignore that.'

'And you've been killing theirs, I expect,' he replied, yawning. 'Forgive me for not sympathizing. Do you guys even remember who killed who first?'

Gonzales gave an irritated exclamation. 'Of course we do. They started it, agent.'

'I'm sure,' Tony remarked, shrugging. 'So you're still avenging that insult, are you? With people like you, we'd still be riding around on wagons!'

Gonzales banged his fist on the table. 'Watch it, fed. So you didn't betray our guy, that doesn't give you the right to insult us.'

Tony drank a little milk, wiping his mouth in his arm. 'I'm not insulting anyone,' he said, milder. 'Murdering works for you, why give up? Just that here you're both stuck, and you're being picked on by those bikers all the time, coz alone you're weak, whilst if you'd call a truce, you could turn your attention to the real problem. Don't you see the guards play you guys off against each other? Why do you think they don't crack down on you harder? Why do you think they let me go so easily? Coz they LIKE you killing each other, coz you're fully occupied with that. I just wish there'd be someone in authority from your gang I could speak to, about a truce.'

Sanchez choked on a piece of fish, having to be thumped on the back hard. Gonzales remained silent for a long while before he looked back at Tony. 'There's a lot in what you say, fed. Not that your idea is original! I did think of it before, but there's no way I could go talk to Perez. I'd be stabbed by his thugs before I could get near him!'

Tony nodded, finishing his milk. 'So you're saying you wouldn't object to a truce, but who'd have the authority to call one?' He chewed his lip hard, forcing his impassive expression on his face.

Gonzales' face turned red. 'I do, of course! What do you think I am, just an ordinary hit man? In this prison I have the authority to make ALL decisions for the gang!' He glared at Tony. 'Do you understand, fed?'

'If you say so,' Tony replied. 'I just need to know who's the man in charge, that's all, coz only he would have the authority to call a truce.'

'Well, I AM THE MAN IN CHARGE!' Gonzales yelled. He lowered his voice a fraction, gazing round. 'And I can agree to a truce, if the other lot agrees, for my gang.'

'If you're sure you have the right to agree to such a thing,' Tony said, doubtfully, watching the man's face. Gonzales turned purple.

'I just told you I do. If I could meet with Perez you'd soon see!'

'Amigo, it'll never happen,' Sanchez interrupted, clearly terrified. 'They can't speak to each other, you know. They'd never get anywhere near each other. And who'd go to meet who first? The weak guys give up, and these people are not WEAK.'

Gonzales nodded. 'He's right, Almeida. Someone would need to speak to both of us, some neutral person. Someone would have to arrange a meeting on neutral territory, just the two of us. Maybe he could go with a message?' he concluded, pointing at Sanchez. 'He's American, he speaks Spanish, he's not involved in our business, and he's real stupid.'

Tony gazed at the terrified Sanchez in amusement.

'NO, not me,' Sanchez begged. 'I don't want any trouble,' he added. 'Send Almeida, he can talk. Hell, he's got experience talking to people like them.'

Gonzales looked carefully at Tony. 'You'd be willing to go, agent?'

Tony nodded. 'Sí, I'll go.'

'One last question, agent,' Gonzales said, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder as he attempted to rise. Tony settled back down, gazing at him. 'Why would you care? We are all thugs, to you. Why stick your neck out for us?'

Tony rubbed his face, wishing the question hadn't been asked. 'My father is Mexican,' he admitted reluctantly. 'I loved to go there on holidays. I'll go talk to Perez and arrange a meeting between you two.' He got up slowly, picking up his tray, aware of the entire southern gang's eyes on him as he returned it and leaned against the wall.

The siren wailed a minute later, and all trays were returned. Tony joined the queue, his head in a whirl. He had been alone with his thoughts for an entire week, and had been thrust into the role of negotiator mere hours after his return to general population. He longed to lie on his bunk and think about the events in peace, knowing he needed time to plan his discussion with Perez.

Back in his cell he brushed his teeth and undressed, hearing the siren wail for lights out as he pulled the blanket onto himself. Michelle's picture smiled at him, eyes looking directly into his own, inviting him to laugh with her. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he kissed her picture.

Come see me as soon as you can, honey. I really miss you. He pictured her sitting opposite him, behind the solid glass, smiling at him as she explained what she'd seen or done in Seattle. Please come soon, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice. He attempted to recall exactly what she sounded like, brushing a few hot tears away. Dammit sweetheart, don't stay away too long. I really need your visits. Until the day you'll stop coming….Tony rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

The day would come when he'd get a letter from her, telling him she wouldn't come again, he was certain of it. How he would cope with it he didn't know, but he knew it would be a worse time than his arrest and sentencing together. Don't think about it now, Almeida. She promised to come see you next month, she'll be here. She's never let you down before. He pressed his eyes shut, remembering waiting for her at hospital.

"Mr. Almeida, we can't wait any longer, theatre is free. That arm needs to be fixed now.'

He had nodded, understanding the doctor's frustration, but delaying his sedation as long as he could. She had promised to be there… Of course with Chappelle visiting CTU she was probably going to be unavoidably delayed… He pulled out his phone and called her, unable to get through. 'Ok, I'm ready,' he said, resigned. A nurse administered a needle, telling him he'd feel drowsy within minutes, and she'd been amazed to see him sitting up in bed, almost fully alert a few minutes later.

'Mr. Almeida, you've got to lie down and shut your eyes. This medication is strong, it should work, I'm not authorized to give you a second shot.'

He had nodded, glancing at the corridor, knowing she was coming. When the nurse left he called the front desk at CTU to ask when she left, dismayed to hear it was only fifteen minutes ago. With the kind of heavy traffic in the afternoon rush hour, she would take over an hour to arrive. He lay down, shutting his eyes.

'Tony!' the sweetest voice in the world exclaimed, and he opened his eyes, watching her rush into the room. 'Sorry I'm so late, sweetheart. Chappelle kept us so long; I had to sneak out in the end.' She bent forward to kiss him.

Tony kissed her back, losing his battle with drowsiness. 'How did you get here so soon, honey,' he whispered, feeling her take his hand.

He heard something about a helicopter before he fell asleep.

He wiped his face in his pillow, turning it over angrily. Why did his heart break every time he remembered her, instead of being comforted? 'I don't know how long I can do this, sweetheart,' he whispered to her photo.