Yearh, don't ask me about the headline ^^' I had no idea of what to call this chapter.

Thanks again for all the kind response to this story! I'm so glad you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it (:

And just a heads-up: Since I have the nerves to just write Ellie into this wonderful story, I will be 'stealing' some of the lines from the film and, of course, the plot from now on (; And some parts from the script too, that didn't make it into the movie.

But as it always has been: Except for the OC's, I do not own anything!

Oh... and by the way: If you thought I was going to make this romance easy, think again *evil smiley*

Chapter 7 – Laundry Lady

It was the day of the arrival of the new prisoner and Paul had gathered them all in his office for a briefing – all except Percy and Harry, who had been away since dawn. Along with Bill Dogde and some of the other floaters, they had been given the doubtful honor of picking up the prisoner.

"Alright, you guys – and lady: Listen up." Paul wiped his pale face with a handkerchief and gave them all a determined look. "I not gonna sit here and repeat myself for Gods know how many times now. Y'all know what's gonna happen. But I'll just remind you, that we have a woman here and it is our top priority to make sure, that nothing's gonna happen to miss Brent."

He straightened in his seat and a flicker of pain crossed his face, as though someone had just punched him in the stomach. The infection had got nothing but worse the last couple of days, but every time one of them had relieved their concern, he had snapped them off, until bitter experience had told them to hold their tongues.

Paul cleared his throat and continued: "Miss Brent, I'm not gonna put you away. Temporarily or not, you are a part of this block and Coffey will have to meet you at some point anyway. But just promise me, that you will stay out of his reach – and if something goes wrong, you'll leave the block immediately and run for help, you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Edgecomb," Ellie said gravely.

Paul nodded. She had all right to be serious. They had all read John Coffeys papers and even though they were just printed words, they had been quite shocking, revealing him as not only a murder of two little girls, but also a rapist.

Brutus cast a sidelong glance at her. She was sitting next to him, so close he could smell her shampoo – or perhaps it was her perfume? It was some sort of pleasant, soft lemony smell, mixed with a flower he couldn't quite put his finger on. He suddenly realized with a sting of guilt, that he hadn't been so close to her in days.

He hated to admit it, but he was avoiding her. And had been since the day in the yard, where she had caught him staring at her, like some old creep. He had made a God damned fool out of himself – but the more he tried to push her away, the more space did she seem to take up in his mind.

He had even had a dream about her two nights ago, just after she had helped during the showers.

But in his dream, she had been the one in the shower, not the prisoners. Just her. Naked. And he had watched her through the fog in the bathroom, the water running down the soft curves of her back and hips…

The dream had still been locked in his body, when his alarm clock went of and he had been so ashamed, he hadn't dared look at her since. She was 27, for crying out loud! If he had been three or four years older, he could have been her father! This attraction was sick…

"Okay." Paul said. Brutus blinked; he hadn't even been aware, that his superior had continued talking. "I guess this's enough chitchat. The prison truck will be here at around eleven, so I think we oughta go back to work. Ya'll know what to do? Brutal…"

"I'll be in the infirmary, 'til you guys need me," Brutus mumbled, pushing the chair back as he rose. He was out of the door, before anything could object.

oOo

Paul looked after his second in command, as Brutus left, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise.

"I didn't know he was helping out today?" he said.

Dean shook his head. "None of us are. I told Bill to remove E-block from the duty list today. You know, with the new prisoner and all…"

"And it went through?"

"Yes, sir, not a problem at all."

"Well." Paul frowned. "I guess you'll have to prepare the cell then, Dean."

"I will."

Ellie didn't say anything. The disappointment from Brutus' rapid retreat felt like a tiny, cold stone in her chest. Hardly notable, but still there.

This is what happens when you get your hopes high, she told her self bitterly.

For a moment she had actually thought that the tall guard liked her. Perhaps even more than that. God would know she liked him. He was always nice to her and she enjoyed his company. But in the past two days, he had done nothing but avoid her. He hardly talked to her and when they ended up in the same room together, he could always find some kind of excuse to leave. Yesterday he had been in the infirmary all day, even though he was only due to be on duty until noon. When Ellie had left at seven, he still hadn't returned. She was getting the feeling, that she had done something to upset him – but what?

Oh, for heavens sake! It wouldn't help a bloody thing to sit here and moan about it. If he wanted to play the cold shoulder, so could she!

She stood up.

"Mr. Edgecomb, are there anything I can do to help?"

"Hmm," Paul responded, a bit absently, as he had already delved into the huge pile of files on his desk. "Some fresh towels and sheets wouldn't come amiss. You know were the laundry room is?"

"No, but if you give me the directions, I'm sure I can find it."

Paul suddenly raised his head, as though he had just remembered who he was talking to.

"Uh, you know," he said hastily, "perhaps it would be easier if Dean showed you the way."

"Sure." She tried not to sound too disappointed. "I'll… go ask him."

Dean was mopping the floor in what was going to be John Coffey's cell, the one closest to the restrain room and across Alice's cell. Ellie made a quick decision at the desk, before approaching.

"Mr. Stanton?"

He straightened. "Yes, ma'am?"

It was surprising easy to tell the little, white lie: "I promised Mr. Edgecomb, that I would get some fresh sheets at the laundry, but I'm not quite sure how to get there and I don't want to bother him again. You think you could tell me how to find it?"

"I would be glad to walk you to it, miss Brent, as soon as I'm…"

"Oh no, you don't need to do that. When I walk out the door, I turn… right, don't I?

Dean hesitated, but finally nodded. "Yes. You have to walk around E-block. The laundry room is in the big building across the yard. You can't miss it."

"Thanks. I'll come back and help you."

"Miss Brent, you sure you don't want me to…"

"Yes, I'll be right back," she assured him, already halfway up the aisle again. "Thank you, Mr. Stanton!"

oOo

The laundry building was indeed not hard to find: It was a great, grey building with the words "LAUNDRY DELIVERY" written in huge, black letters above the door. The smell of clinically cleanness in the air, reminded Ellie of the hospital, as she went through the door.

The delivery room was tiny, hardly bigger than one of the cells at E-block. A wall-to-wall counter divided the room in two, but other than that it was pretty empty. Ellie moved closer. Behind the counter, to the right was an open door, leading into what looked like a warehouse; Ellie could see nothing but shelves and white, freshly laundered linen.

"Hello?" she called carefully.

Footsteps echoed between the shelves and then a guard turned up in the doorway. He was young, not many years older than Ellie, and with a roguish handsomeness like a high school boy. When he saw, who had called him, he stopped and pushed his cap back with a look of disbelief.

"Damn," he said, "I'd started to think that you were nothing but a tell-tale story?"

"Excuse me?"

He smiled widely. "'Cos you are that nurse from E-block, right? Or are they hiding more women around here, they haven't told us about?"

"Oh!" Ellie let out a relieved laugh, when she finally realized what he was talking about. "No, I don't think they are. It's just me for now. Eleanor Brent."

"Terry. Terry Brooks. Very nice to meet you, ma'am."

"You too."

He leaned against the counter. "So, how can I help you?"

"Mr. Edgecomb told me I could get some fresh sheets here?"

"Li'l lady, that is the least I can give ya! I have ev'rything from the big bosses handwashed silky handkerchiefs to table-cloth. So what's it gonna be?"

Ellie smiled. "Just a handful of sheets and matching towels would be fine, Mr. Brooks, thank you."

"You're too modest, my dear. I can get that in a jiffy."

He winked, before disappearing into the back of the delivery room. She heard him whistle behind the shelves for a minute of two, before he came back, carrying an armful of linen.

"There ya go, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"I just need to you sign this." He pushed the pile across the counter, a piece of paper and a pen on the top. "So I won't get blamed, when those klutzes over at E-block loses my fine sheets."

Ellie smiled and signed. "They do that a lot?"

"Naw," he admitted mirthfully. "They're good customers."

She picked up the linen and walked to the door – but before she had even touched the doorknob, the door flung open… and she nearly collide with Brutus' wide chest.

He let the sack he was carrying drop to the floor, looking rather surprised. "Ellie?"

"Mr. Howell," she responded flatly.

He frowned, but she wasn't sure whether it was because of her tone, the use of his last name or just because she was here. Out of E-block.

"Why are you…? Did Paul send you here?" he asked.

"Mm-hm."

He didn't move from the doorway. "You guys need help back there?"

Oh, so that's the problem! she thought, a bit hurt. I'm not allowed to help. You just want me to sit in Paul's office, like a good, little woman and watch the men work.

"Oh, no, we are managing just fine," she responded; she had meant for her voice to stay neutral, but it came out rather chilly and distant. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to get these to Dean."

He finally stepped aside, although somewhat reluctant and Ellie walked past him. He watched her strode across the yard, until she disappeared behind the walls of E-block and his heart dropped.

"Hey, Brutal!" greeted Terry jovially behind him. "How's the moving going?"

Looking down at the laundry in his hand, Brutus finally remembered his errand.

"I, uh…" he began, carrying the sack inside. "I've got some more stuff 'ere, Terry."

Terry eyed Brutus like he had just dropped down from the moon.

"You are one crazy bastard, you know that, Brutal?" he said.

"What'd ya mean?"

"I mean, I wouldn't volunteer for more than I had to, if I had such a fine piece of woman hanging around my block all day." He laughed. "But hey, if you don't want her, I'm free this evening."

It was a quip and Brutus knew that. But yet, there was a part of him that couldn't see the fun in Terry's comment. Brutus wasn't quite sure what happened, but something began stir in him: Something dark and possessive that made him pick up the sack and push it into the arms of the young laundry-guard.

"You just shut up and do your job," he growled, before stomping out the door.

oOo

Brutus returned to E-block at eleven sharp, his mood still heavy and gloomy. And his conscience was hurting, not just because he had nearly ripped Terry's head off (who was happily married by the way, Brutus, you stupid jealous fool!), even thought it weighted enough. But because of his desperate attempts to not fall for her, Ellie now despised him.

Well, he told himself in his dark thoughts. Perhaps it's gonne be easier to get over her now…

But he didn't wanted her to be angry! He wanted to hear her laugh and he wanted to be the reason why she smiled. He rubbed his face. Christ, this was a fine mess…

Dean was apparently the only guard on the block and he gave Brutus a rigorous look, when he walked through the door.

"Where on earth have you been? They're gonna be here any minute."

"Christ Dean, keep your pants on," he muttered, looking around for Ellie, just to find out she wasn't there. "I'm here now, ain't I? Where's Paul?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but was cut blunt by the phone ringing. Brutus picked it up.

"E-block."

"E-block, this is Watchtower 7," said the guard at the other end.

"Yeah?"

"We have a truck 'ere, containing a pris'ner. We're sending 'em through now."

"Right," Brutus said, glaring out the window, were he could see the gate and the walls surrounding the block. Armed men were already there, in case of problems. "Thanks."

He hung up. Dean came up to him.

"He's in the john," he said quietly and slightly worried. "Practic'ly been in there since you left. I think it's getting worse."

Brutus shot the closed toilet door a resigned look and sighed. Paul had been rushing back and forward to the W.C. like a man with food poisoning the past days. At first, Brutus had admired his dedication to his job, but this was getting ridiculous. A sick man could be worse than being a man short. Even Paul knew that. They could not afford weak links.

He hesitated for a second, then walked over and gave the door a quiet knock. No responds.

"Paul?" he called carefully. "Prisoner."

"Christ, gimme a minut!" Paul responded, his voice hoarse with pain.

"You okay in here?"

"For a man pissing razorblades, yeah," Paul groaned. There was a moment of silence, then the toilet finally flushed and the door unlocked, revealing Paul's pale face. He looked like he was about to faint.

Brutus shook his head.

"You should'a taken the day off," he said softly. "Gone see the doctor. Christ, Paul…"

His superior shot him a look of indignation, wiping sweat of his face with his handkerchief.

"With a new arrival? You would know better. Besides…" He paused, carefully selecting his lie. "It's not as bad as it was. I think it's clearing up."

Brutus was ready to protest, but outside the block, the truck had arrived. It honked loudly, as it passed through the gates, saving Paul by the bell. Or the horn.

"Let's look alive, Dean," Paul called to the younger guard.

"Yes, sir."

They split up to find their respective places: Paul down the aisle, Dean at the desk and Brutus by the door. Pulling his keys out, Brutus couldn't help but to seek for Ellie again.

She was here now, waiting in the doorway of Paul's office, like she had been told to. She was watching him too, but when he caught her eyes, she didn't blush like he had done. She just turned her head away, like he was part of the interior.

Brutus suddenly felt like some of those razorblades Paul had talked about, had somehow ended up in his chest, cutting deep into his heart

Forget it, he told himself firmly and clasped his big hand around the keys. You need to concentrate… No weak links, remember?

Forcing his eyes away from her, he glared out the tiny window in the door. The stagecoach had stopped and the guards were already getting out. Brutus frowned. There was something wrong with the truck, he saw that now. The rear end was hanging, like a gun wounded animal that was about to give up.

"Damn," he mumbled to Dean. "They're riding on the axle. What'd they do? They bus' the springs?"

Dean craned his neck, but he wasn't tall enough to get a prober view of the yard outside, so he just shrugged.

"P'haps it was a bumpy ride," he suggested. "God knows how old that truck is."

Brutus turned his attention outside again, just to catch a glimpse of Percy unlocking the rear doors, before swinging them open. Something big moved inside the truck; something that made the entire coachwork shake, before two, giant feet appeared on the step.

Then Brutus' eyes widened, as John Coffey stepped out and the entire rear end of the truck bounced back up where it belonged.