Tony sat on his bunk, holding his letters in his hand, glancing through them. The bunk was the only place he felt secure within the cell, as he could prevent Summers dragging him out and hitting him. His face wore his usual inscrutable expression as he waited impatiently for visiting period to begin, praying someone would come to see him. A movement distracted him; he saw Summers throw a handful of his books on the floor. Tony got up, gathered them up and placed them on his shelf; wandering where he would find them should he be permitted a visit.

Focus on the visit, Almeida! You'll have to deal with this bastard later. He felt a rough push from behind and slipped, slamming his face into the bunk's post. Tony spun around, punching Summers in the stomach before he climbed onto his bunk, rubbing the side of his face. A streak of blood remained on his hand. He slid his legs over the edge slowly, moving cautiously to the basin to wash his face. Dammit! Whoever comes will see this, and the split lip.

He began to hope that maybe he had no visitor after all when a guard arrived outside the cell. 'Convict Almeida, hands behind your back. Step outside.' Tony did as he was told; waiting silently while the door was slammed behind him and a second guard placed him in cuffs. He was led to join a short queue just before the steel door.

'Alright, you scum; you've still got people who wanna see you! Now remember the rules, or your visit will be terminated. Let's go.'

They filed out of the block silently, each of them struggling with their private excitement. For the tenth time since he was removed from his cell, Tony wandered who had come. His heart hammered in his chest as he followed the men in front of him, longing to push them a little faster.

His eyes lit up as he settled in his chair, ignoring the guard who secured his leg to its leg. 'Hey, Papa. Hi, princess.'

He could see his eleven year old niece bouncing on his father's knee, chatting. Mr. Almeida told her something and handed her the phone. 'Hi Uncle Tony. Grandpa brought me. I get to miss two days of school, though I'm not supposed to tell anyone where I've been. Mom will write that I had a cold. Where's the door?' she began, her words rushing out of her.

Tony found himself smiling more broadly, watching her. This was the child he had helped raise for several years, he had missed her chatter. 'Sweetie, there's no door,' he told her gently.

'But I wanna come sit on your lap,' Sandy protested. 'I'm not too old!'

Tony saw his father open his mouth, wishing he could hear what he said. The child looked disappointed. 'Sandy, what have you been doing?' he asked, longing to hear her voice again.

Sandy drew a deep breath and spoke for ten straight minutes about school and tennis, and her friends, and her dog, while he listened spellbound, forcing himself to remember it all, so he could replay it again later. 'What happened to your face, Uncle Tony?' she asked, settling against his father's arm.

Tony had noticed his father scrutinizing his face while the child spoke, seeing his anticipation of the answer. 'Ah, there was a little fight.'

Mr. Almeida spoke to the child for a moment and she grabbed the phone from his hand. 'I'm gonna go over to that chair and give you guys a coupla minutes,' she said, and walked away.

'Antonio, you don't look good,' his father began, as he had known he would. 'What the hell happened to you?'

His gaze followed Tony's, and he knew a vague answer would never satisfy him. 'You wanna hear it all? I got moved to another block, coz I pissed off the warden,' he lowered his voice, 'when I organized a truce between a couple of Mexican gangs. The guy they threw me in with is one I sent down, and I'll be forced to deal with him real soon. I guess you guys won't be able to visit for a while.'

His father shook his head, distressed. 'If I didn't see this for myself, I wouldn't believe things like this could happen here.'

'Yeah well, they do.' Tony fell silent, watching his father, who clearly had more to say. He sighed quietly, feeling his concern through the glass.

'What Mexicans?'

'Some mafia guys, from the north and the south…' he began.

His father let out a strangled gasp. 'Tony! You "organized a truce?" Hell, the government has been trying to deal with them longer than you were alive. How did you manage it?' Tony shrugged, nodding his head towards the guard in the booth. His father gave him a slight nod. 'It's incredible, anyway. Why aren't they pleased with you?' He also nodded towards the guard.

'Coz these guys aren't watching each other all the time anymore, so now they turned their attention to other gangs.'

His father shook his head again. 'But it's hardly your fault.' They contemplated each other in silence for a moment. 'Oh, Jack came by, just before I left. He said they caught Aziz and the entire cell. They're being returned to the States, as they're US citizens. Jack says "well done." I don't know how you done it, Tony, but I'm real proud of you.'

Pride shone from his face, bringing a lump to Tony's throat. He shrugged awkwardly. 'I just remembered some things I was working on.'

'Tony, I brought you a couple of packets of cookies,' his father continued. Tony blushed, suspecting Jack told them about the sandwich.

'Gracias,' he said softly, wandering whether he would be left in the cell long enough to eat any. A silence grew between them. 'Where's mom?' he questioned.

'She was going to come too, but there was an emergency at the hospital. She sends you many hugs and kisses, and she'll definitely come next time.'

He nodded. 'Tell her I love her too,' he said slowly, sorry she hadn't been able to come. 'Don't tell her about this,' he pointed to his face.

His father sighed heavily. 'Antonio, your mother and I spoke a lot about you this week. We agreed that it's wrong for you to be here all by yourself. You're obviously not doing well, and you're lonely.'

Tony shook his head. 'That applies to everyone here, Papa. I'm ok.'

His father shook his head, holding up a hand. 'No, you're not. Listen for a bit. I can't just come and talk to you for an hour, see you sick or beat-up, and then walk away from you. I can't get through the month wandering if someone's hurting you right at the moment. I can't go back to work as though this isn't happening. I just can't do it anymore.'

Tears pricked the back of Tony's eyes, which he angrily blinked away. 'It's ok,' he forced himself to say, struggling to keep his voice even. 'I understand. Will you write to me sometime?'

Mr. Almeida gave a strangled sound. 'Antonio! Did you think I meant I wasn't coming again?' He shook his head vigorously. 'NO. I've got something else in mind. Now I know you're not gonna like it much, but your mom and I agreed. We've had our fun, we've raised our children. They're all doing ok. Your mom's got enough to live on comfortably, and she's still working for a coupla years. She's got all your sisters to help her; John can organize tradesmen if the house needs fixing…'

'I already don't like it,' Tony interrupted. 'Why would mom be "alright?" What about you?'

His father drew a deep breath, glancing behind him to check the child was still in the room. 'I'll join you,' he said softly.

'What?' Tony exclaimed, horrified. 'This isn't a hotel, they won't let you in!'

Behind the glass, his father gazed at his hands, examining them in great detail. 'I'll think of something, don't you worry. I won't have people beat you up. They wanna fight; they'll have two to deal with.'

Tony shook his head, growing agitated. 'Papa, you gotta stop this instant,' he began. 'You don't know what this place is like, I never told you. It's hell. They keep you in cuffs wherever you go. They put these stun batons to your neck, you've never felt one. It feels like you're burning up all over your body, you can't even breathe. There's crowds of thugs who can't think of anything they wanna accomplish more than beat the crap out of you, just coz you're around. The guards are on their side mostly. While they beat you, they look the other way, but if you manage to fight back they show up and punish you. If they decide you looked at them wrong you get only a portion of your meal, so you're real hungry…' His voice trailed off. 'You can't go anywhere, or see anything.'

'All the more reason for someone to be with you,' his father remarked.

Tony shook his head, struggling to make his father comprehend just what he was considering. 'Papa, please don't. I'm ok here; I can manage if I'm alone. I couldn't watch them hurt you. Mom wouldn't really be ok. Besides Jack might get me out,' he added, not believing it, but hoping to delay his father. 'He might even do it, you know. You should wait a while.'

'And what if something happens to you while we wait?' his father pressed him. 'You think I could live with that, Tony?'

'I'll be ok, Papa,' he said firmly, looking into his father's eyes. 'I've been inside five months now, and I'm basically ok. Call Jack, please.' He fell silent, knowing he needed to speak to his friend too.

His father gazed at him in silence. 'Listen, Tony, we'll make a deal. If you look bad when I next come, I won't wait any longer.'

Tony nodded firmly; knowing the next visit would be months away. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'How's everyone else?' he inquired, hating the need to ask. He had called them all every week, to make certain for himself, in his old life.

'They all ok now. Marco's back in the Gulf. They're going on active duty tomorrow and…'

The phone cut out suddenly. Tony frowned and gazed at it, knowing he still had at least half his visit. On the other side of the glass his father tapped his phone too, shaking his head puzzled. A guard appeared beside Tony, carrying handcuffs.

'Hands behind your back, convict, or you'll get a taste of the stun baton,' he warned as Tony continued to gaze at the glass.

'But I've still got some time left,' he protested, placing his hands behind him automatically. The cuffs were secured and his leg was freed.

'Get up. Your visit has been terminated.'

'Why?' he demanded, nodding his head past his father. It seemed his father understood. He called Sandy, and she came running to the glass, a puzzled look on her face. Tony watched her asking something, clearly dissatisfied, before she waved goodbye. He nodded at her, smiling, wishing he could wave back. Once again his eyes met his father's, for the briefest of instants, before the guard grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He walked towards the door, aware of the stun baton resting on his neck, not daring to risk another taste of it. His hands moved under the cuffs, attempting to wave to the child, before the door opened and he was pushed out.

Tony was ordered to stop before a counter where an annoyed supervisor sat. 'Why the hell did you stop my visit?' he demanded, furious.

'Convict, you have no right to classified information.' He gave Tony a hard stare.

'My brother's been there for years,' Tony protested. 'I served there too.' He bit his lip hard, to prevent himself from asking whether the guard had done anything beyond sit in the booth.

'Your visiting privileges have automatically been cancelled for the next three months,' he informed Tony in a bored voice. 'You were warned of the rules, convict,' he said, placing his headphones over his ears.

Tony shook his head in disgust, imagining his father's distress. A terrible thought crossed his mind. What if his father drove home assuming he was being punished again? I need to write him a letter immediately.

Summers was out in the yard when he returned to his cell. Tony moved to the back and waited while his cuffs were removed before he moved over to his bunk, deciding he would write his letter while he had the opportunity to do so undisturbed. His shelf was empty. He rubbed his eyes a moment, knowing he had his pile of letters from his family, but they were gone. Only his books remained on top of each other. Tony climbed the top bunk, searching through Summers' things, but his letters were not among them. Eventually his search yielded a torn scrap of paper still floating in the toilet. His hands clenched into fists as a wave of rage swept through him. All his letters were senselessly destroyed, including the last one from Bobby. He leaned against the wall in the corner, struggling to control himself, longing to rip every one of Summers' possessions apart.

Focus Almeida. You got to write a letter to your father immediately, you haven't got time to do anything else. He chewed his lip, grabbed a notebook and ripped out a page. Tony settled at the table and wrote a short letter, insisting he was fine and begging his father to stay at home for a while.

A terrible weariness took him once he finished the letter. He folded it and placed it inside an envelope, leaving it open to be read by the censor. Experience taught him any sealed envelope ended up in a bin. Rubbing his eyes he climbed into his bunk, resolved to have a short nap while he had a little peace. "I wish we could go to the beach again, Uncle Tony." He swallowed hard, pulling the blanket up to his chin. So do I, princess, so do I.

He lay with his eyes shut, close to sleep but unable to relax, picturing the child. "Uncle Tony, why is mommy sick?" Tony had scratched his face, thinking up a suitable reply. "It just happens sometimes, princess."

"Will she ever get better?"

He had nodded firmly. "Sure she will. It just takes a while. How about we surprise her when she comes out of hospital? I'll teach you to swim like a fish." He had collected her from his parents' house every evening after work in his early days at CTU, taking her either to the beach or the pool, watching her progress. Once again he swallowed his tears down.

A loud clang pulled him back to the present. Blinking, he climbed out of bed and faced the door with his hands behind his back, taking in the uniform of the corrections officer who had come to speak with him. He waited in silence while the block supervisor regarded him, wandering what the man wanted.

'Convict Almeida, are you ready to talk about the Mexican gangs yet?' questioned the official, looking through Tony.

Tony's eyes closed for the briefest of seconds. 'I already told the warden what we discussed, sir.'

The supervisor nodded. 'I see.' He shook his head, pursing his lips. 'Now convict Almeida, I won't turn a blind eye to your poor behavior today, as I did yesterday. We have a strict rule of zero tolerance towards aggression in this prison. If any of my guards catch you bullying your cellmate, I'll be forced to deal with the matter immediately. Is that perfectly clear, convict?'

Tony nodded. 'Yes sir. What about if he attacks me? Will you deal with him too, or are you just watching me?' He read a flash of anger in the supervisor's eyes.

'How dare you insinuate that my guards are biased against you, convict? They are highly trained professionals who work under extremely trying conditions. We treat all prisoners fairly, showing favoritism to none. I understand you were found guilty of a rules violation during your visit this morning. Your visits have been cancelled for the next three months. I also have a D-report before me which was written up last night. What punishment do you suggest I hand out?' He smiled maliciously.

'A week in the strip cell,' Tony suggested, deciding he needed a little peace.

The man laughed. 'What, and deprive two old acquaintances of spending a little time together? No, convict, you stay here. You're on reduced rations for the next five days. See you don't annoy me further.'

He walked back down the catwalk, while Tony returned to bed, sick at heart.