A/N:

READ THIS:

This chapter is very dark. I wanted to warn you beforehand. Please be aware that it may be a little disturbing; however, it contains no explicit sex, some swearing, a little violence, and nudity. I did research before writing this and would be happy to answer questions if you have them. Thank you—your humble author.

Rat

Jesse had been spared certain traumas when they incarcerated him for supposedly poisoning his colleague nearly a year ago. Steve'd pulled some strings and kept his eye on the booking process, as well as keeping Jesse in jail, not prison. That semi-omnipotent presence wanted nothing to do with Travis now. Well, that wasn't entirely true; Steve just happened to let it be known that he would enjoy hearing any unpleasant escapades concerning this prisoner, if the guards happened to have some tales.

So, as they finished the verbal part of placing Jesse in Metropolitan Detention Center, the two men responsible for "welcoming" him felt a small amount of freedom in proceeding. Besides, the general modus operandi was to consider inmates guilty by association: They were associated with being in prison, therefore they were guilty.

Jess had already gone through being asked every intruding, intimate question about his life and physical health. As he walked through the corridors, his shackles clanging rhythmically and restricting his gait, he felt the uneasiness build. Soon he found himself at a door entrance, where the guards uncuffed his wrists and ankles. They ushered him into the room and closed the door.

He assumed this cold room with its miserable fluorescent light was some type of holding cell. Odd, though, that it had no cot or chair or toilet, but only a showerhead and what appeared to be a bank teller window.

"Okay," Jesse heard from one of the two guards now standing at the window. "Take off your clothes and place them into this bag," he instructed, sliding a black garbage bag through the partition and holding it there.

"Take off my clothes?" Was he hearing this right? Could things be more mortifying?

"Don't argue! Just take 'em off. Geez!" Guard Number One exclaimed.

Jesse looked down at his clothes, then at the floor, searching it for the courage to obey such an obscene command. Slowly, he lifted up the hem of his soft, grey long-sleeved T-shirt. He felt like the main attraction in some sort of perverted gay strip show. Anticlimactically, the shirt fell to the floor. He carefully kicked off his shoes and removed his socks, slightly less unnerved at showing his bare feet. Then he stopped. He couldn't move. He couldn't take off his pants and underwear under the scrutiny of two male cops. He couldn't have done it even if they were two female cops.

"I can't," he whispered.

"Aw," Guard Number Two mocked, "are you uncomfortable with the male body, Doctor? You sure weren't when you molested that girl a week ago. Now take off the damn clothes before we have to do it with force. Trust me, that will not go down well."

His hands shook furiously as he tried to grip the button of his jeans. After a short battle, the button popped out and the zipper slid open easily. Nearly tripping on his own unsure feet, Jess managed to remove the pants and place them beside his shirt. Now all that remained were his boxers.

C'mon, Travis, he scolded himself. You can do this. It's just like in gym class; pretend they're not up there watching you. All you have to do is remove this last piece of clothing, they'll give you the uniform, and you can go hang yourself with your bed sheets. No problem. C'mon!

The boxers came off.

There he stood: Small, naked, and pale.

"Put 'em in the bag."

Jesse complied with the order and waited anxiously for them to drop his uniform through the slot. Instead, they instructed him to raise his arms. Slightly confused, he lifted them and bared the small tufts of hair underneath. Then they told him to bend his ears forward. This was getting strange, but he did that, too. He even spread his fingers and toes like they demanded.

"Now, lift up your penis."

"What?"

Guard Number One exhaled noisily behind the window. "Grab your dick, pull it up, and move it around so we can see if you've got anything hiding there. If I have to repeat anything else, I swear I will come down there and do the exam myself."

Jesse's unsteady hand reached for his reproductive organ and lifted it, feeling the shame course through him and enflame his face. Guard Number Two's comment sent every ounce of blood to his cheeks.

"Is your hand just shaky or are you getting horny?"

Guard Number One laughed riotously and slapped a table in their compartment, the sound of which made Jesse jump. As the laughter died down and no drugs or weapons fell from the doctor's groin, Guard Number One told him to turn around, bend over, and display his rectum for their view.

Knowing Guard Number One would make good on his threat to use force, Jesse shuffled his backside into their view. Fighting the urge to throw-up, he gently spread his buttocks and revealed something he didn't even like showing his GP. When they told him to cough, he prayed God would graciously let the whole ordeal end in his quick death. Instead, the guards tossed him a bar of soap and turned the shower on.

"Wash up, and be sure to get those hard-to-reach places."

Keeping his face away from those he now considered his tormentors, Jesse lathered up his body and cried into the water droplets.

Jesse's cellmate, a burly Caucasian man of indeterminate age, mostly ignored him. They'd been rooming together for three days and except for a tiny conversation at the beginning, neither had said more than three words to the other since.

"What'ch'ya name?" he asked that first day.

"Jesse Travis. Yours?"

"Man, like, they call me Bull."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's what I'm hung like."

Jesse nodded. Should he have expected anything else? Ought he to have assumed "Bull" stood for the form Zeus took to woo Europa and thus create the Minotaur, famous in Greek mythology? What an absurd idea. "That's—uh—descriptive."

"What you in for?"

"They arrested me for attempted murder."

"You do it?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Yeah, me, neither."

"What'd they arrest you for?"

"Having two pounds of cocaine—but it wasn't mine." He shrugged and jumped onto the top bunk for a nap. "You got any drugs on you, man?"

"Uh…no."

That settled the matter and, as far as Bull was concerned, Jesse held no importance. So, for the last 72 hours, Jesse had avoided going to the bathroom until night, avoided showering, done his assignments as quickly and efficiently as possible, and tried his utmost to remain unnoticed. He spoke to no one, quarreled with no one, looked no one in the eye. He also barely ate and never slept; in that regard, it was quite similar to interning.

"God," he whispered that night, having relieved his bowels after assuring himself Bull was sleeping soundly. His voice made no sound beyond his own hearing. "God, please help me. We're not…we're not all that tight, I know, but I didn't do this. I don't deserve all this…hell!" He choked back a sob. He'd learned to cry without making a single sound since being incarcerated. The only drawback was the horribly painful lump it caused in his throat. "Show everyone I'm innocent. Please let Mark and Steve and Amanda know the truth. Please! Oh God, oh God, please help me!"

The doctors had replaced both of his knees which, considering the arthritis in them, would have been needed in a few years anyway. They repaired the surprisingly small amount of damage to his abdomen. Later, when talking to Steve, they recounted their pleasure at finding only .22 caliber bullets, which caused the least trauma. Steve and Amanda rejoiced when the elderly physician woke up the day after surgery.

"I'm never gonna understand this whole ordeal," Amanda admitted, sitting on the edge of Mark's bed a week after his surgery. "How can anyone fake all the goodness that Jesse exuded? I mean, a sudden decision to molest and attack is horrible in and of itself, but to know that he used us this whole time is…is…monstrous! I feel like I've been defiled."

Mark nodded his empathy. He'd loved Jesse. He'd loved Jesse as though Jesse were his son. Amanda and Steve had both loved him like a little brother. Everybody loved him.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know what I dislike more: The pain or the effects of the morphine. There's something very unsettling about feeling this loose."

"Might I suggest an epidural?"

The older doctor smiled warmly. "How is C. J.?"

"Making life miserable; once a kid starts walking, it's like there's no stopping him. I've had to put anything valuable out of his arm's reach and lock up all the cupboards. He—" She stopped and frowned. "I just realized that I named him after Jesse. Every time I say his name, I'm including the initial from Jesse's." She started to cry. "What am I gonna tell him when he asks why I named him Colin Jesse?"

Mark patted her hand. "Tell him you named him for a different Jesse. Jesse James or Jesse…Jackson?"

She couldn't help snorting in laughter as she reached for a tissue. "My parents would kill me; mom's been contributing to the Republican Party for decades now, and dad's ethnically Jewish. Nice try, though."

He shrugged and offered a smile, which disappeared. "Steve's taking this especially hard. He's so angry. Every time he comes here I think he's going to punch a hole through the wall. I worry he might try to kill Jesse if they ever meet again."

"Well, I don't think they'll be meeting again for a long, long time. The case against him is pretty solid, so he'll be behind bars for quite a while."

Somehow that assurance did little to make Mark feel better.

"Jell-O?" he asked, proffering a cup of the green substance.

It took a lot longer for Jesse than it took for most inmates. He'd long ago mastered the ability of becoming invisible. Moreover, the Metropolitan Detention Center—a medium security institution—typically managed to keep prisoners in line and out of trouble. Not always, though.

Jesse found himself alone in the laundry room, after everyone was done with the washing. He had the job of sweeping and mopping the entire area. When first given the assignment, he'd quietly thanked God for a chore that kept him from being around others most of the time. Actually, he'd spent a lot of time talking to God, lately. It was either lean on Him or hate Him and, frankly, Jesse needed the support more than the hate.

"Hey there," a fellow inmate said as he closed the door and placed a few parcels on the dirty laundry pile. He stood about Steve's height, though with a larger build. Judging from his face, he seemed around fifteen years Jesse's senior. "You got an awfully big task there for just yourself. You want some help?"

"No. Thanks."

He sat down on a table. "Name's Tim."

Jesse nodded, but kept his focus on the broom and keeping his distance. He moved rhythmically across the floor, sweeping up particles of lint that danced shadows on the tile. As he maneuvered his little pile into a circle, he sensed Tim get up and move in his direction. Jesse tensed and waited to scream.

"Here," Tim said, grabbing the dustpan and getting down on one knee. He placed its lip on the edge of the pile and let a hesitant Jesse sweep the debris into it. Then, he walked over to the trash. "See how much easier that is with two people?"

Jess wanted to smile. He wanted to show gratitude for the friendly act, but he could only muster a grimace. It sort of looked like a smile. "I'm Jesse."

"Jesse. Well, Jesse, since I've done something nice for you, maybe you'd like to do something nice for me. Wha'd'you say?"

The young doctor backed up. This didn't sound good. "Like what?"

"Jesse, every man has needs. I know fifty guys here who can't go 24 hours without some kind of drug. I know men who absolutely have to have a piece of candy at least once a day. I'm a man who sees a pretty boy and can't live without him. And Jesse? You're a pretty boy."

The blood in Jesse's body didn't know whether to completely drain from his face or rush directly there. Horror gripped him as his worst nightmare materialized. He could live with getting beat up or knifed; but the thought of…he couldn't call it "rape" in his head…was beyond bearable.

"I'm n-not gay," he stuttered.

"I'm not, either, Jesse. I'm just a man with needs." He walked up to Jesse, who couldn't move back any farther, given the giant washing machines that blocked his path. Tim exuded calm, practicality, and reasonableness—Jesse's very antithesis at that moment. The much larger man smiled encouragingly. "Well?"

"I can't. I—I won't."

A look of intense anger rapidly replaced Tim's smile. He grabbed Jesse's shirt and shoved him up against the washing machine. "I don't take kindly to being told no! I helped you with your chores and I asked nicely. Now drop your pants or I will beat seven shades of shit out of you!"

At that point, the blood chose to drain from Jesse's face, but he made a decision: He would fight to the death before he would let Tim ra…assault him. Without much forethought, Jess kicked Tim's shin as hard as he could. From his position, he couldn't easily reach his attacker's groin, and the shin, he knew, can cause intense pain.

Tim cursed with as many expletives as he could think of and let go of his prey. Instinctively, Jess ran for the door and hopefully the safety of the guard down the hall. Just as he pulled the door back, a stronger hand pushed it closed. A split-second later, pain erupted in Jesse's left side as Tim's fist connected with ribs ten and eleven. The cracking sound reverberated in his ears and he would have cried out in pain except that the injury completely knocked the wind out of him.

"You little shit," Tim hissed, placing a solid kick to Jesse's own shin for payback. He then reached back and delivered a solid right hook to the younger man's face, splitting his lip open and nearly breaking his nose. He knocked Jesse against the door, then grabbed his shirt and an arm with both hands and threw him across the room and into the dryers. Jesse hit them and his whole world blackened. A moment later, when at least his senses of hearing and touch returned, he could feel Tim grabbing at his clothes and muttering obscenities. Just as his assailant was about to finish removing both of their pants, Jess heard the door burst open and a guard start yelling. Tim jumped back in time to be clobbered with a baton.

"I need backup," Jesse heard as his consciousness began slipping. "Play time got a little out of hand with Tim, again. Oh, and contact the medical department. Man, there's blood all over the place.

A/N (the second): Many thanks to those lovely and wonderful people who are reviewing. If you're reading this and not reviewing, you're being a very poor member of our fan-fiction community; you could learn a lot from those gracious enough to leave constructive comments. –your humble author