Chris Keller’s POV of Season 2 of Oz.

 

Rated R for language and violence.  (Come on, we all know what happened!)

 

Major thanks to Data and Mary, my beta goddesses.  There’s no way this would exist without them.

 

"Chris Keller, Tobias Beecher.  He'll be your sponsor in Emerald City.  He's gonna show you the ropes."

 

Keeping his expression carefully blank, Chris studied the man who -- thanks to whatever strings that fuckwad Schillinger had managed to pull -- would be not only his sponsor, but also his cellmate.  This was Vern's little Beechball?  The 'Harvard Law faggot' he'd been instructed to seduce, betray and ultimately deliver to the Brotherhood for one of their specialty 'final solutions?'  Fuck.  This guy sure didn't look like any pansy-ass lawyer he'd ever seen; he looked hard, like someone who'd already done plenty of time, someone ready to dish out as good as he got.  Of course, a few months of sharing a cell with Vern had been known to have that effect on a man.

 

Repressing a small shiver, Chris picked up his gear and followed Toby down the long, gray hallway, blinking as they stepped out into the bright, open space that set Em City apart from the rest of the prison.  What the fuck?  Chris glanced around surreptitiously, taking in his new surroundings.  A wall of TV screens, computers, it’s own laundry, some weird crows-nest type guard station smack dab in the middle of three tiers of… was that glass?  A small grin curved his lips as he followed the tight ass and broad shoulders of his new playmate to their cell.  Suddenly 'Operation Toby' didn't seem like such an imposition after all.  Compared to the other cellblocks, this place was some kinda Club Med, while Toby looked like he could be a hell of a fuck if he cozied up to the idea.  Setting his prison-issue bedding on the lower bunk, Chris suddenly had no doubt that with the right persuasion -- which was his specialty -- they'd be cozy as two fucking bugs in a rug in no time.  

 

"So, you a fag?" he asked, testing the waters.

 

"No, you?" came the immediate reply in a huffy, challenging tone.

 

"I do what I have to."

 

"Rats in the garden, catch 'em Towser

Cow's in the cornfield, run, boys, run

Cat's in the cream pie, stop her, now, sir

Fire in the mountain, run, boys, run."

 

Okay, maybe not so much hard as a damn nutcase.  Jesus, Vern, what the fuck did you do to this guy? 

 

He shrugged, pretending a nonchalance he couldn't afford to actually feel, then finished making his bed, ignoring Toby until he gave up waiting for a response and wandered away into the common area.  With his head still tilted down, Chris glanced up, circumspectly watching the other inmates of Em City give the ex-prag with the crazed grin and maniacal laugh plenty of space. 

 

Pretty handy case of insanity, he reflected, narrowing his eyes in thought.  After all, this guy was a lawyer and, pansy-ass or not, every lawyer he'd ever known was as devious as hell.

 

~~~

 

Noticing that Toby had made his way to the phone room, Chris sauntered over, casually waiting for Vern's current errand boy, Mark Mack, to make the first move. 

 

"You new, prag? It's gonna cost you ten dollars to use the phone."

 

He felt an icy shiver run down his spine and wondered exactly what the fuck type of stories Vern had been telling.  For all he knew, 'prag' could just be Mack's favorite insult, or it could be Vern's not-as-subtle way of sending a message.

 

"What?" he asked softly.

 

"It's gonna cost you ten bucks to get in there."

 

"Oh, yeah?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Either way, convincing Toby that there was no love lost between him and the Brotherhood had just gotten a whole lot easier, Chris mused, swinging his cast up into the smug bastard's face.  He struggled against the grip of the Aryan who'd immediately jumped him from behind -- damn Nazis always fought like a pack of rabid wolves -- then relaxed again as Toby leapt to his defense, helping him keep Vern's pups at bay until the lady hack who'd introduced them finally arrived.

 

As Mack was led, bleeding and whining, to the infirmary and the attention of Em City's residents shifted back to their own pursuits, Chris plastered his best 'sincere' expression on his face and turned, staring into Toby's eyes.  "I owe you," he drawled, his voice pitched low and intimate.

 

"I didn't do it for you, pal. I hate those Aryan fucks," Toby replied tightly, then hurried away.  Chris treated himself to a brief smile, thinking:  Yeah, and we just did a number on them together, didn't we, pal?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Lying in bed that night, Chris was finding it difficult to sleep.  Toby had been silent and withdrawn during evening lockdown, giving him little opportunity to nurture the small connection the fight with the Aryans had engendered.  He'd left dinner early as well, leaving Chris ample opportunity to casually listen in on the gossip drifting up from only group of inmates he'd seen Toby spend any time with, two old farts and a cripple.  It was mostly bullshit --the latest on some mick with cancer and a fag who confessed to killing a jew when the whole damn prison knew it was Schillinger -- but they'd also said something about Toby being forced to meet with the judge who'd sentenced him to the maximum – fifteen fucking years -- when he'd been convicted.  Gotta hand it to McManus -- he really knew how to make hell on earth just that little bit hotter.

 

As he tried for the tenth time to punch the thin pillow into something more comfortable than a sack of rocks, he heard noises coming from the bunk above him.  Heavy breathing, restless tossing, desperate whimpers  -- either Toby was caught up in a nightmare, or he was having himself one hell of a wet dream.  Either way, Chris mused, he could use it to his advantage.  When the screams began, he was ready, leaping to his feet and dropping his hands lightly onto Toby's heaving chest and stomach.

 

"Hey! Hey!" he called, adding his low voice to the gentle touch, dragging his gasping cellmate from one nightmare to another.

 

"Don't touch me!" Toby yelled, knocking Chris's hands away.

 

"I just wondered what happened."

 

"You keep your fucking hands off me, you fucking faggot!"

 

"All right. All right."  Chris raised his hands in surrender, and then slipped back into his bunk.  Vern really did a number on you, didn't he, Toby?  Made you build up that body and those walls so that no one could get close enough to hurt you again?

 

Chris listened intently as Toby's frantic breaths slowed, heard one last stifled whimper as the man above him rolled onto his side, tugging the sheet and blanket up around him like a shield.  Slowly a smile spread across Chris's face. 

 

Trouble is, the walls aren't quite as thick as you make them out to be, are they, Toby?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning, Toby was awake and dressed before the buzzer even sounded, disappearing into the common area as soon as they were released from count.  He hadn't said a word, and Chris frowned thoughtfully as he carefully wrapped his cast in plastic, his confidence from the night before fading in the harsh light of day.  If he couldn't even get Toby to talk to him, how the hell was he supposed to get the guy to fall for him?  Stalking across Em City dressed in nothing but a towel and boots, he suppressed a frustrated sigh.  It was starting to look like this might take a while, and Vern wasn't exactly known for his patience. 

 

Face turned up to the warm spray, casted arm propped carefully against the wall, Chris blinked to clear his vision as he heard the shower next to him start up.  Although at first startled to find Toby there, he quickly realized that things just might be looking up. 

 

He waited in silence for Toby to make the first move and was quickly rewarded, first by a gruffly shy greeting, then by an apology that he casually brushed aside, as if things like that weren't really necessary between guys like them -- guys who had no one to rely on except each other.  A little empathy, a little reminder of how alone Toby really was, and then it was time to break out the big guns -- the "T" word. 

 

"Well," Toby replied, inadvertently offering up his soft underbelly for Chris to stroke, "it's hard for me to trust somebody."

 

Chris fought back a smug grin as he finished his shower.  He never quite knew what he was going to say during a con until the words came out of his mouth, but he was grateful that his innate ability to bullshit was apparently intact.  Giving the response he knew Toby needed to hear -- understanding served up with a dash of that same patience Chris knew he was going to have to cajole Vern into having -- he gently pushed for agreement.

 

"... why don't we just see what happens, all right?  Yeah?"

 

"All right."

 

"Good," he said, giving Toby a friendly nod as he finished drying off, then enjoyed the feel of that cautious, hopeful gaze as it followed him out of the room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Chris barely glanced up from his cast-restricted workout as Vern and his faithful pup entered the gym.  He understood Vern's reasoning -- compared to the Em City mail run and the cafeteria, the chances of Toby seeing them together were slimmest here -- but he was still wary.  It was way too early in the game for that; if he were caught with the Aryans now, there wouldn't be a chance in hell of regaining the small amount of ground he'd captured.

 

Mark, however, had no such reservations and immediately stalked over, ready for another fight -- a real one.  Glaring down at the irate toady, Chris smirked as Vern sent Mark on his way like a errant child, sobering as he settled onto the bench to continue his workout.

 

"So how goes Operation Toby?" Vern asked, a gleeful and altogether predatory grin spreading across his face.

 

"It'll take some time," Chris replied, noticing the grin start to fade.  Haven't you learned by now that patience is a virtue, Vern?  "But don't worry.  Sooner or later, Beecher'll be mine."  Of course, Vern never had cared much for virtue. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Just wait over there.  Doc will be with you soon."

 

Chris took a seat on one of the hospital beds, watching the leader of the Em City Latinos head off to clean more bedpans.  Hell, he knew Alvarez was only working the hospital ward to score drugs, but he was sure as fuck glad his sideline didn't include dealing with that particular aspect of other inmates' asses.  He grinned, realizing that with the cast off, Operation Toby could finally move into a higher -- and more personally rewarding -- gear.

 

As if conjured by his thoughts, Mark Mack appeared, with what seemed to be a habitual scowl plastered on his ugly mug. 

 

Shit, the guy oughta be thanking me for giving his face a little character. 

 

Chris sighed.  Mack was a class A prick and a moron, but since they had to work together, he knew he should at least try to bury the hatchet.  Vern didn't appreciate dissension in the ranks.

 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wondering if maybe the Aryan leader had arranged this little impromptu meeting to pass along a message. 

 

"I'm checking my broken nose," Mark replied sullenly.

 

"Sorry about that."

 

"Yeah, right."

 

"Well, I'm getting this baby off.  My arm's finally healed."

 

"What makes you think I give two shits, huh?"

 

What's the matter, there, Mark?  Can't even take one little shot to the face for the cause?  Shit, whatever Toby pulled must've seriously damaged Vern's jizz if this is the best he's got.

 

"Hey, I said I was sorry about breaking your nose, but fighting you had to look real or Beecher would've guessed we were in cahoots."

 

"Yeah, well, Schillinger says we have to work together.  But let me tell you, after Beecher's dead, you and me, we got a score to settle."

 

Okay, apology not accepted.  All right then, fuck that approach.  It's not like he was trying to win any goddamn popularity contest.  And once the job was done, it would be a downright pleasure to fuck with the little Nazi.  He'd need something to keep himself entertained once Toby was bagged, tagged and delivered; eighty-eight years was a fuck of a long time.

 

"Anytime you want, day or night, baby," he purred, then went silent as the pretty, young doctor headed their way.  Dr. Nathan.  Yeah, he'd heard all about her.  Half the guys in Em City had whacked off to her image after their mandatory physicals.  Not like there was a hell of a lot of good scenery to choose from in this place.  Chris let out a patently fake scream as she started the saw, then gave her a broad smile as she shook her head, deep brown eyes twinkling with amusement.  Yep, he still had it all right.  Next stop, getting a little physical with Tobias Beecher. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Chris lay his bunk, listening to Toby read.  It was the 'free' period after lunch -- a turn of phrase so ironic that it was damn near insulting -- and he was bored.  He briefly considered breaking out some reading material of his own, then came up with a better idea.  Why settle for a skin mag when he could get his

hands on some real skin?

 

"Hey, Beecher."

 

"What?"

 

"I'm bored."

 

"And?"

 

"Let's go do something." 

 

There was a short pause, then Toby replied, "I am doing something; I'm reading."

 

Chris heard the reluctant interest underlying Toby's response.  "Shit, you got hours to do that during lockdown.  Let's go to the gym."

 

"And do what?" Toby asked.

 

Chris stood, resting his forearms on the edge of the upper bunk.  "We could wrestle," he answered casually, grinning as Toby shut the book, gave him a considering look, then nodded.

 

~~~

 

"So you never wrestled before?

 

"Well, once, in high school. Arthur Wiener got his leg broken by Tad Lefkofsky. I heard that snap, I got up, I got out."

 

"I'll make sure nothing of yours snaps," Chris assured him.  Not yet, anyway.  It certainly wouldn't do to skip a step; Vern had been very specific: first suck him in and betray him, then break his bones, then -- just for kicks -- slit his throat and bleed him like some sacrificial lamb.  Rolling his shoulders to release a creeping feeling of tension, Chris briskly reminded himself that his involvement was limited to step one -- Vern and the Brotherhood would take of the rest -- and now was a perfect time to start.

 

A few instructions, a few quick moves, and Toby was down, flat on his back, arching up into Chris's weight.  Oh yeah, this was going to be much more entertaining than a magazine.

 

"Ow! You grabbed my neck!"

 

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that one."

 

"Let's try it again. Slowly."

 

Slow, fast... anyway you want it, baby. 

 

After a few more pins -- each feeling better than the last, as Toby's body heat started to seep through the thick sweatshirt he'd pulled on as they'd left their pod -- Chris felt Toby's hands get their first solid grip on his waist.  Knowing he could break away, he instead went with the spinning, downward motion and ended up on his hands and knees, Toby draped partially over his back.

 

"Hey, that was good," Chris commented, slighted winded.

 

"You're letting me win," Toby accused, trying vainly to get enough leverage to flip Chris over.

 

"No, I'm not."

 

"Yeah, you are."

 

"I'll tell you what.  Next time, I won't."  With that, Chris took a deep breath, shifted his weight carefully, then bucked Toby off and over.  Toby landed on his side and Chris immediately slid onto him, feeling Toby's hand grasping at the thick material stretched across his lower back as they pressed hard against each other.  As Toby was forced onto his back, the angle of his roll and his unbroken grip on Chris's side pulled Chris over him in a momentary virtual 69.  With a feral grin, Chris got to his feet, watching eagerly as a panting Toby pulled off his light gray sweatshirt, then removed his as well.  Skin.  Yep, things were definitely looking up. 

 

"Show me how you did that," Toby said.  "That flip," he clarified when Chris raised an eyebrow.

 

"Floor moves?  Sure.  Get down on your hands and knees," Chris instructed, keeping his tone light and businesslike.  Toby hesitated for a moment, searching Chris's deliberately neutral expression, then complied.  Chris sank to one knee behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist and gripping his wrist with the other.  Leaning forward, he could feel sweat pooling at the base of Toby's spine, soaking the t-shirt.  He let his hand rest on Toby's stomach in an almost-caress for a moment, then surged forward and up, using a hand on the back of Toby's neck to flip the other man before falling forward to pin him to the ground.

 

When Toby regained his feet, his mouth was curved in a determined grin.  "I think I got it.  My turn."  He gestured for Chris to take the floor position.  Chris knelt, then felt Toby's body curve in behind him, his touch light and unsure, strengthening as adrenaline seemed to override his initial discomfort.  Toby tried to imitate Chris's move, but ended up overbalancing and standing up, making it easy for Chris tuck his head against Toby's stomach and throw them both to the ground.  As Toby bucked up in an effort to break loose, Chris let his hand wrap around Toby's upper thigh, almost, but not quite, copping a feel.  Not yet, not yet, Chris cautioned himself sternly, stripping off his tank top and tossing it to side as Toby pulled off his t-shirt.  Things were going too well to risk a screw-up now.

 

"Wanna try that again?" Chris asked, keenly anticipating the slide of Toby's smooth, wet skin along his own.  The combination of that sensation and the flex of hard muscle -- the unique feel of another man's body straining against him -- fed a craving that had ebbed and flowed throughout Chris's life.  It had woven its way in and around his incarcerations and marriages, but now centered like a laser on one borderline-nutcase, half-naked lawyer.

 

This time Toby's balance was better and he awkwardly managed to pull Chris over, twisting to lie on top of him.  Chris let himself respond naturally, his mouth falling open and his eyes darkening as he absorbed Toby's closeness.  Their eyes met, and for a moment Toby froze, his face open and vulnerable, showing a quick progression of emotions -- confusion, surprise, desire, and ultimately fear -- before the walls dropped back into place and he pulled away.

 

Chris let Toby pull him up, then grimaced as a hack appeared, telling them in no uncertain terms that it was time to get back to their unit.  He sighed, shooting Toby a grin as they gathered up their clothes.  Part of him wanted more gym time, while the rest of him realized that -- all in all -- it had turned out to be a pretty 'educational' afternoon, one that Toby's overactive brain would need time to process before they could move on to the next step.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next day, when they were once again resting in their pod after lunch, it was Toby who broke the silence.

 

"Hey, Keller?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I'm bored."

 

Chris grinned, hearing the smile in Toby's voice.  His podmate had been quiet since the night before, seemingly engrossed in his book, but had apparently finished processing the previous afternoon's lesson and decided that he wanted a repeat performance.

 

"Come on, Beecher, you know we can't go to the gym today."

 

"I know.  I figured we could try something else."

 

Chris froze, his heart pausing for an instant before speeding to catch up.  It could not possibly be this easy.  "Like what?" he asked, deliberately casual.

 

"You play chess?" 

 

Chris bit back a groan as he answered.  "Nah."

 

"You wanna learn?"

 

Tit for tat, give and take, quid pro quo.  Chris knew the terms, lived the concept -- no one gave up anything without thinking they'd be getting something in return.  Sure, Toby.  Let's do something you like.  After all, we're buds, right?  "Yeah.  Why not?"

 

An hour later, Chris knew exactly 'why not' and didn't hesitate to share his epiphany as he made his next move.  "You know this is a stupid ass game." 

 

"Would you just give it a chance...."  Toby's reply sounded gruff and irritated on the surface, but was delivered in a friendly, almost playful, manner.  He and Toby were still facetiously bitching at each other when McManus showed up at their door.  Chris lay back on his bunk, waiting for some kind of shoe to drop.  He breathed a small sigh of relief when he found out this was going to be Toby's problem, then glanced over questioningly as McManus offered his podmate some privacy.

 

"You sure you want me to do this in front of him?"

 

Chris felt Toby's gaze trail over him, unconsciously following the long, lean lines of his body and absorbing the mock-casual sensuality of the pose before meeting his eyes.  Toby turned back to McManus and replied in a surprisingly gentle tone, "Yeah."

 

"Your wife, she died."

 

Forcing himself to remain both silent and still, Chris kept his eyes locked on Toby for the remainder of the short conversation, easily reading the anger and pain that bled out past the rapidly thinning walls.  Torn between cold calculation and genuine sympathy, Chris's head was spinning, and was grateful to be lying down.  Suicide.  Fuck.  Vern would be ecstatic.  Short of something happening to his kids, there was probably nothing that would drag Toby down quicker.  Chris knew he could use this -- knew that he would use it -- but that didn't stop it from being a fucked up thing for a mother to do to her family. 

 

As McManus walked away, Chris sat back up and spoke softly, trying to figure out where he should go with this to get the most bang for the buck.  "Wanna still play some chess?  Wanna go wrestle?  Want me to leave you the fuck alone?"

 

Toby shook his head as each question was asked, meeting Chris's eyes briefly once he fell silent.  "Oh, man," he breathed, then slumped forward over the chessboard, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his clasped hands.

 

Chris leaned closer, pressing his forehead to Toby's, squeezing a tensed forearm with one hand while the other wrapped protectively around the vulnerable nape of Toby's bowed neck.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry," he murmured.  Startled by his own sincerity, Chris quickly released Toby and sat back, distancing himself physically as well as emotionally.  "Look, you wanna cry, you go ahead, man. No one's watching."  He was only mildly surprised when Toby stood and tossed their improvised table aside.  After reassuring the hacks that hurried to their door, he lay back down, eyes on Toby as he faced the back wall, shutting out the world -- and Chris -- in the only way he could. 

 

Maybe after dinner he could get a message to Vern.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Playing cards with Toby in the common room the next day, Chris purposefully avoided looking over when Vern wheeled the mail cart into Em City and stopped nearby.  He hadn't gotten any response to his message the night before, but now certainly wasn't the time or the place.

 

"Tobias, got something here for you...."

 

As Vern walked over and made his special delivery, his pleasure in Toby's pain making him seem almost giddy, Chris kept his eyes on his cards.  Glancing up as Toby opened the envelope and quickly read the short note, he noticed the bearded jaw tightening.

 

"What's the matter?"

 

Cold blue eyes swung up to meet his questioning gaze.  "It's from Genevieve.  She says that I did it.  That I killed her just like that little girl."

 

Chris turned his head to watch as Toby walked away.  He did it, huh?  Fucking bitch.  Like Toby would do anything to make his kids feel any more abandoned.  God knew the guy already felt like shit about not seeing them all this time, said he didn't know how they'd ever forgive him for leaving them half-orphaned like this.  Chris's brow furrowed as the realization hit that -- if things continued as planned -- Toby's kids would actually be orphans, and soon.  Chris had always tried to keep children out of the direct line of fire of his schemes -- figuring, like the wiseguys, that there was just some shit you didn't do -- but he knew the

Aryans had no such reservations.

 

Turning his head back toward the mail cart, Chris took careful note of Vern's obvious glee and got the beginnings of an idea.  Scooping up the cards and shuffling himself into a game of solitaire, he started working out the details.  It would be a hell of a con, but it just might work. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time gym time rolled around, Chris knew he was as ready as he'd ever be.  Knowing that Toby was safely ensconced in a visiting room on the other end of the prison, he hesitated only a moment before making his way over to Vern and the pair of sparring skinheads he was coaching. 

 

"Vern," he said evenly, keeping all traces of either subservience or challenge out of his voice.

 

"Christopher."  Vern's reply was vaguely amused and curious, his good humor unmistakable.

 

"They're looking good," he murmured appreciatively, earning a pleased nod.  "So... you looked like you were having fun today.  You know, with Beecher."  Vern nodded again, his smile growing even wider.  "Yeah.  Shame it'll be over so soon.  I mean, fuck, with the self-destruct mechanism that crazy prag's got...."

 

Chris paused as Vern glanced over at him, one pale eyebrow raised.  Having heard about Toby's drug abuse, Chris was willing to bet it wouldn't take long for the pieces to fall into place.

 

Faced with Vern's prolonged silence, Chris continued, "I bet if he was on the outside, he'd probably be shitfaced drunk in the nearest gutter by now.  And wouldn't that just be the cherry on top for his family, huh?"

 

Chris forced his breathing to remain slow and even as Vern's eyes narrowed and the wheels turned.  If he'd said too much, pushed too hard, he and Toby were both fucked.  If not....

 

"You know, Christopher, you may have just given me an idea."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Heading back to his pod after making arrangements to pick up supplies for the revised version of Operation Toby in two days, Chris was surprised to see Toby already back in Em City.  Leaning up against the far side of a support pillar, he listened in on his podmate's quiet conversation with Bob Rebadow.

 

"So you didn't see them at all?"

 

Toby sniffed, a nervous habit Chris had been quick to pick up on.  "Oh, I saw them for a minute.  They just didn't see me.  It's probably for the best... I was so angry."

 

"I can imagine."

 

"Jesus Christ, Bob.  They found her.  Her own fucking kids!  As if me being in here and her being dead isn't enough for them to deal with.  What kind of mother lets her own goddamn kids find her body?"

 

Moving slowly, Chris slipped away without being seen and ducked into one of the stairwells.  He'd been half-hoping to find Poet or O'Reily or one of the other tit ponies, but instead found himself alone.  And didn't that just fit in perfectly with the memories that Toby's cunt of a wife had just dredged up from the depths of his childhood?  What kind of mother?  Well, apparently all kinds, because he couldn't imagine too many things Mrs. Anthony Keller and Mrs. Tobias Beecher would have in common.  Other than being careless about the time and place they'd chosen to kill themselves, of course.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Late that night, Chris awoke from vague dreams about his childhood to the soft sound of muffled sobs on the far side of the pod.  Rolling over, he saw Toby standing in the corner.

 

"Beecher, what's the matter?" 

 

"I fucked up my life.  I completely fucked up my life.  I'm all alone."

 

Alone.  There's that fucking word again.  Still partially asleep, Chris climbed to his feet and moved to stand behind his podmate.  He could feel misery flowing off the hunched shoulders in waves.  Giving in to a similar ache, one that had been growing since his impromptu eavesdropping had forced him to remember things better left forgotten, he rested his hands on Toby's shoulders, squeezing gently.

 

"No, you're not."

 

"I'm all alone." 

 

Chris ran one hand lightly over Toby's hair and continued murmuring reassurances.  As the sobs persisted, he rested his cheek against Toby's back, closing his eyes.  It dimly registered that suddenly this had very little to do with Vern and his twisted plans for revenge; in the shared, desperate loneliness of the night, it was turning into something far more genuine, and more dangerous. 

 

Resisting the urge to press his lips to the pale, salty flesh of Toby's neck, he heaved a small sigh and instead let his hand trail down the length of Toby's arm toward a safer target.  Maybe tonight neither one of them would have to be alone.

 

"Don't fucking touch me!" 

 

Stumbling back from Toby's violent reaction, Chris raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as Toby sank to the floor, curling in on himself.  He watched for a few moments, then moved back to his bunk, telling himself harshly that he didn't need this crap, that this had gotten way more complicated than he'd bargained for.  He'd already found a way to keep Vern from killing the guy and orphaning three innocent kids; that was plenty.  The day after tomorrow he'd pick up the booze and get the show back on the fucking road.  And between now and then, he'd just have to keep his eyes on the real prize -- getting out from under Vern's thumb.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next day, Chris gave Toby some breathing room, limiting their interaction to group activities, like spending the afternoon playing poker with O'Reily and one of the new inmates, Jiggy Walker, a cheat with a smile a mile wide.  It seemed to work; by evening lockdown, Toby seemed almost grateful to be alone with him, shyly suggesting a game of chess to kill time before lights out.  Relieved that -- despite the previous night's lapse in judgement -- he apparently hadn't lost any ground, Chris agreed, and even found himself enjoying the comfortable silence that settled between them.  When the lights went out, he stripped down to his shorts, murmured a soft good night, and slipped into his bunk.  Tired from his long hours of wakefulness the night before, he dozed off almost before his head hit the pillow.

 

He awoke -- as he often did -- to a strangled gasp and an aborted scream.  Climbing quickly to his feet, Chris rested his hand on Toby's chest, gentling him.  "Hey, hey, hey.  You all right?"

 

Nodding, Toby covered his face with his hands, gasping for breath.

 

Moving the other hand up to Toby's sweat-soaked forehead, he asked, "Same nightmare, huh?"

 

"Yeah.  I'm soaked," Toby replied, brushing Chris’s hand aside as he sat up.

 

"Yeah, let's get you out of those," Chris offered, helping his still-shaken podmate out of his bunk, then his shirt.  They'd come a long way since that first nightmare, Chris mused, turning aside to get rid of the wet t-shirt and grab a towel as Toby slipped out of his boxers.  Glancing down, he took a long look at Vern's calling card before draping the towel across Toby's back.  He let his hand rest there for a moment -- long enough to make sure Toby registered the soothing touch, but not long enough to demand a response.

 

"Thanks," Toby said softly, making no move to pull away.

 

Seeing the swastika again gave Chris an idea.  He'd heard bits and pieces of the story by now -- some from Vern, some from Toby himself -- and knew that Toby had turned to drugs to deal with being pragged.  So, maybe the most visible reminder of that time could be the key to pushing him back to alcohol. 

 

"We need to do something about that tattoo," he said, laying his groundwork.

 

"Oh, yeah?  What are we gonna do?" Toby asked in a huffy, sarcastic tone that under any other circumstance would've had Chris throwing him up again a wall.  Instead, he just smiled.

 

"I dunno.  Let me think on it, huh?"  As his slightly abashed podmate shrugged in reply, then stepped into a fresh pair of boxers, Chris ran his hand down the side of Toby's neck and onto his shoulder in a leisurely caress.

 

"You're all right."  He waited for Toby's nod and softly murmured agreement before lying back on his bunk, legs splayed, one arm thrown over his face.  Aware of Toby's lingering gaze and thoughtful silence -- one thing you could count on with Toby, he was always thinking -- he waiting a few moments before covering himself with the blanket.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Just when you think it can't get any worse than chicken nuggets again, they manage to find something even more disgusting to serve up for dinner, Chris groused to himself, heading straight for the sink.  The call for count came as he was halfway through brushing his teeth and he grimaced before wandering out to stand beside Toby with the toothbrush still clenched between his teeth.  With the mood he was in, it'd probably be the only way to keep from mouthing off.

 

Toby glanced over, then leaned in close, making distinctly unlawyerlike suppositions about the approaching hack's most likely sexual perversions.  He grinned wickedly as Chris nodded, smiling around his toothbrush in response.  Or maybe, Chris amended, taking a sidelong glance of his own, Toby's ability to use words like other guys used shanks was exactly what had made him such a success at his old profession.  As the door sealed behind them for the night, Chris finished brushing his teeth, reminding himself once again to not make the same mistake Vern had.  Underestimating Toby's intelligence at this point could easily get both him and his unsuspecting podmate killed.

 

While Toby settled into the chair with his latest novel, Chris dug a small notepad and a pen out of his footlocker.  Using their door as a makeshift desktop, he started a hurried sketch, then moved to the bed when the pen stalled because of the awkward angle.  Setting his internal switch to 'bullshit,' he took a deep breath, then kicked the new-and-improved plan into gear.

 

"Got a surprise for you," he announced, continuing to sketch.

 

"A surprise?" Toby asked, resolutely keeping his eyes on his book. 

 

Chris grinned at Toby's attempt to seem disinterested, then shared a couple of off the cuff ideas for tattoo modification with him.  The actual sketches weren't really the point, of course.  They were just an excuse, a lead in to the real reason for their conversation.

 

"Which leads to the second part of my surprise," Chris purred, reaching under his pillow.  He turned back to Toby, cupping a small glass jar delicately between his palms.

 

"What's that?" Toby asked needlessly, both his recognition and fear of the liquid evident on his face.

 

Leaving the bed to crouch in front of Toby, Chris plastered an encouraging smile on his face and replied, "Moonshine.  101% pure alcohol.  It's like the old West.  Cowboy gets shot, you gotta remove the bullet.  You take a couple snorts of this shit, you're not gonna feel anything."  So come on, cowboy, let's pony on up to the bar.

 

"There's only one problem with that," Toby said blandly.

 

It took some effort, but Chris managed to keep his expression innocently puzzled as Toby began his explanation.  Letting his enthusiastic grin fade slowly into a disconcerted frown, Chris waited until Toby was done before nodding his understanding, breaking eye contact and moving back to the bed.

 

"Don't be mad," Toby admonished him.

 

"I'm not mad."

 

Sounding more amused than concerned, Toby replied, "Yeah, you are." 

 

"No, it was a stupid idea.  I just didn't think things through," Chris mumbled, crumpling up the top sheet of the notepad and tossing it across the room.  "It's my problem.  I don't think anything all the fucking way through." 

 

Glaring at the mangled wad of paper, Chris began to realize just how true that actually was, especially lately.  Riding around town tweeked on meth, robbing that store, agreeing to Vern's plan and then getting friendly with Toby -- none of that really reflected a hell of a lot of forethought.

 

"I hate it when you're self-deprecating.  It's so cute."

 

Cute?  Despite himself, despite the careful planning that had gone into this moment, Chris couldn't help grinning at that.  Toby was a grade A nutjob all right.

 

Later that night, Toby woke from yet another nightmare.  This time Chris pretended to remain asleep, listening carefully to every move as Toby climbed down from his bunk and retrieved the jar of moonshine from its hiding place.  He smelled the sharp tang of raw alcohol as Toby removed the lid.  Slitting his eyes and risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw desire for the sweet oblivion the clear liquid promised evident in every line of his podmate's body.  After long moments of struggle, Toby replaced the jar with its payload of poison intact and returned to his bunk, trembling with unassuaged need.  Listening as Toby's harsh breaths slowly slipped into the steady cadence of sleep, Chris realized that it was only matter of time now -- probably no more than a couple of days -- and it would all be over, at least as far as he was concerned. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next day, an increasingly impatient Vern tracked Chris down in the gym for a progress report.

 

"So he didn't drink the moonshine?"

 

"Nope," Chris replied, continuing his bicep curls.

 

"Fuck."

 

"But he was close."

 

"Close? What close? The whole idea here, the whole beauty of this plan, is that we keep digging up all the guilt and shame and all the shit that Beecher's got inside of him until he can't live with himself, until Beecher destroys himself."

 

Yeah, I know, Vern.  It was, after all, my idea.  Not that I want you to remember that little detail.  At least if Toby brings himself down, he has a chance of bringing himself back up.  Hell, he's done it before.  Make him angry enough; give Toby someone to hate beside himself – you and me being at the top of the list -- and I'm betting he can do it again.

 

"The alcohol's the key," Vern continued, and this time Chris couldn't resist interrupting.

 

"No, Vern, I'm the key.  Beecher loves me.  He won't admit it yet, but he loves me.  I'll get him to drink."

 

"And I win."

 

Seeing Toby enter the gym, Chris took full advantage of the situation and shoved Vern away, wishing he could follow it up with a punch.  Unfortunately, Vern was no Mark Mack.  "Fuck you, you fucking redneck!"

 

Looking startled and angry, Vern stumbled back, then – following Chris's gaze -- took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Toby watching them curiously.  "Eat me, jizzball!" he replied angrily, then stalked toward the other end of the gym.

 

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya?" Chris called after him, then walked over to Toby, who was waiting on the other side of a chain link barrier.

 

"What the fuck was that about?"

 

"Who the fuck knows?" Chris replied, still glaring in the direction Vern had headed.  Gentling his tone and his expression, he turned to Toby.  "I hate what that cocksucker did to you."  Chris frowned briefly, realizing how frighteningly easy that had been to say.

 

Toby stared after Vern for a moment, then met Chris's eyes.  "Come on," he said, leading the way to the wrestling mats without further comment.

 

Chris hurled one final insult in Vern's direction, then settled in for another heated grappling match with his podmate.  He had the distinct impression he was running out of time, that if he didn't get Toby to drink soon, Vern would change the plan again.  What he needed was something to soften Toby up a notch, something that would allow him to get that final foot in the door.  But what?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After the wrestling match, they headed for the showers and – once again -- Toby himself gave Chris the answer he needed.

 

"My folks got the last of the kids' stuff moved in.  They said maybe in a few months, once things have settled down, we'd try another visit."

 

Bingo.  A visit from the kids.  Either it would go great and Toby would want to celebrate, or it would be a disaster and Toby would need a little liquid comfort.

 

"I don't understand.  Your parents decide whether or not you get to see your own kids?"

 

"No.  They think, all things considered, I shouldn't spend time with 'em yet.  Y'know, seeing me like this might do more harm than good. "

 

"Seeing you like this, what the fuck does that mean?"

 

"You know," Toby murmured, turning off the water and reaching for his towel.

 

"Beecher, you're their father.  For Christ's sake, everything they've been through, finding your wife, their mother, dead."  Chris finished rinsing off and walked over to join Toby at the half-wall they'd draped their towels over.  "They need you, not their grandparents.  You."

 

"You think?" Toby asked quietly, obviously looking for a reason to be convinced.

 

A wave of the longing he'd locked away the other night swept through Chris as he glanced over at his podmate.  Trust me on this one, Toby.  They need to feel less alone, less abandoned.  His voice dropping to a near whisper, he replied, "Despite everything you've gone through, one thing hasn't changed.  They are your blood." 

 

With that, he left Toby alone to think, reluctantly admitting to himself that he hoped it went well, that he and Toby would have one last good time together before he had to turn him over to Vern. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sitting alone in the laundry room, Chris idly watched his clothes spin and thought back on the already hazy conversation he'd had with Bonnie right after lunch.  Toby hadn't shown up after his work shift that morning -- he'd probably been too excited about his kids coming to eat -- so Chris had decided to do some catching up with his latest, and favorite, ex.  When the collect call had connected, he'd been surprised to find a man on the other end of the line.  Except it wasn't just another man, he remembered, the words a low growl even in his own mind.  Lifting the jar of moonshine for another swig, he grimaced as it burned its way down.  Nope, it was Bonnie's new husband, who'd reluctantly handed over the phone, but only after warning Chris off from trying anything with his old lady.

 

Sighing, he set down the jar, then turned and smiled as an obviously elated Toby knocked on the plexiglass wall and entered the room.  The visit must've gone well, then.  Now what was he supposed to do about that?  Oh yeah.  Get Toby to drink.  Shit.  He'd made a pretty good dent in this particular jar already, but, fuck it, there was plenty more where this had come from.

 

"You're doing laundry?" Toby asked, in the intimate, slightly amused tone he'd taken to using when they were alone.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You hate doing laundry."

 

"Yeah," Chris replied again, taking another drink.

 

Toby looked around worriedly, then stepped closer.  "Chris..."

 

"I'm celebrating your reunion."

 

"Are you nuts?  They're gonna see you," Toby continued, reaching over to take the jar away. 

 

Vaguely, Chris considered that he should let him, that getting Toby to drink involved letting Toby get his hands on the moonshine, but some odd little twist in his gut made him push his podmate away instead.  "I don't care!"

 

"All right," Toby said softly, backing up to lean against the row of washing machines. 

 

His view of the spinning clothes blocked, Chris studied Toby instead.  Something was different about him.  Oh, hey.  "You look good without a beard," he murmured as it finally hit him.  'Good' was one word for it.  Younger, more vulnerable, less insane, happier -- although that probably had more to do with the kids than the beard.

 

"What happened?" Toby asked.

 

Chris thought for a moment, then shook his head and waved off the question, not really wanting to talk about it.  In his experience, talking -- other than slinging bullshit -- was highly overrated and created more problems than it solved.  Toby apparently didn't agree.

 

"What?"

 

Figuring that in the long run it would easier to just answer now rather than having Toby bug him all day, Chris relented.  "Remember I told you I got married three times?  Four times if you count Bonnie, who I married twice."

 

"Uh-huh," Toby acknowledged, pushing himself up to sit on the washing machine.  "And why did you get married so often?" he asked, the smile on his face evident in his voice as well.

 

"Call me old-fashioned.  Before I fuck 'em, I marry 'em."  Toby laughed, probably in a combination of disbelief and surprise, neither of which Chris could blame him for.  "Problem is... the sex.  It's never as good as it is in the beginning.  And once the sex sucks, I realize I got nothing in common with them." 

 

His smile fading slightly, Toby replied, "Genevieve and I had everything in common, 'til..." glancing around to indicate everything that Oz represented.

 

Nodding, Chris pointed a finger at Toby in agreement.  Yeah, Toby's a bright guy.  Shoulda known he'd understand.  Chris's lips twitched in an abortive grin as he considered telling him the rest.  What the fuck.  Why not?  "Bonnie just got married again.  I shouldn't care, right?  I divorced her twice.  I got no claim on her."  He paused, wondering if Toby was buying this any more than he was.  Judging by the hunched shoulders and sympathetic, hangdog expression, he didn't think so.  "Bitch."

 

Toby sat up straighter, a serious, decisive look appearing on his face.  "Come here."

 

Opening his mouth in a silent laugh, Chris leaned back for a moment.  What did you trying to pull, Toby?  Christ, you don't even have a clue what's really going on here and you think, what?  You're gonna make it all better?  You are crazy.

 

"Get the fuck over here," Toby ordered gently, that relaxed smile Chris had seen more in the past few minutes than in all the weeks leading up to this moment reappearing. 

 

Chris's low chuckle faded as he realized that maybe he didn't have a complete grasp of the situation either, and where the hell did that leave them?  He could only watch blankly as Toby hopped down and walked over, hesitating only a moment before resting his hands on Chris's shoulders.  They stared at each other in silence, and Chris realized that he'd never seen quite that expression on Toby's face before.

 

"I love you."

 

He'd told Vern Toby loved him, had seen it coming a mile away, but hearing the actual words, and the matter of fact way Toby said them, took Chris by surprise.  It felt good, as he'd expected, but not in the way he'd expected.  Maybe it was Bonnie getting remarried, or the booze, or maybe it was just that Toby was too damn easy to genuinely care about.  Whatever the reason, the warmth flooding his body felt like a hell of a lot more than just satisfaction with a job well done. 

 

His mouth creasing into an awkward half-smile, Chris decided to leave the thinking to Toby.  He'd worked hard for this, had wanted it longer than he cared to admit, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.  "I love you, Toby," he whispered, then leaned forward.

 

As their lips met, Chris drank in Toby's unconditional surrender, eagerly letting that warm feeling transform into the type of heat he could deal with.  But Toby didn't just surrender; he responded, wrapping one hand around Chris's neck and kissing him back with a passion that Chris had never anticipated.  Holy shit.  Where were the walls, the fear, the mistrust?  This was not what he'd expected, not from Toby, and not from himself. 

 

Grasping for control, Chris stepped forward, pressing Toby back against the machines.  He heard the knocking on the glass and nearly pulled away, but was distracted when Toby made a soft sound of denial in the back of his throat.  When the knocking grew louder and more insistent, Chris's temper exploded and he whirled around, using the momentum of the turn to hurl the jar as hard and as fast as he could.  Watching it shatter against the clear barrier, he focusing his anger at the whole fucked up situation -- Bonnie, Toby, Vern, the interrupted kiss, and, most of all, the sick feeling inside that made both his stomach and chest ache -- on the guards rushing into the room.  Fighting and cursing every step of the way, Chris was by turns dragged and carried away -- first from the laundry room, then from Em City. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Summarily denied the fruits of his labor -- and well over half way to a drunken stupor -- Chris continued his hopeless battle all the way to the Hole.  He'd moved from cursing to incoherent shouts about the time the hacks had tossed aside his pants and boots, not letting up until they pried him from the door and tossed him into the barren room.  Unsteady even on his hands and knees, he crawled to the center of the small cell and lowered himself slowly to the concrete floor.  In the short moments before the alcohol flowing through his bloodstream rendered him unconscious, Chris smiled, remembering.

 

When he first woke up, Chris briefly considered the possibility that he'd been beaten and left for dead.  His body ached from long hours of contact with the bone-deep chill of the floor, but it was the pounding of his head and the roiling sensation in his stomach that clued him in to the reality of his situation.  Groaning, he rolled slowly onto his back, rapidly shifting 'having a hangover in the Hole' to the top of his 'don't ever fucking do that again' list.  Hangovers were a little slice of hell even under the best of circumstances, but this -- nothing to drink, no way to clean up, no drugs, and nothing to lie on but an only-occasionally-hosed-down floor -- redefined the whole concept.

 

Lying as still as possible, Chris managed to drift in a state of semi-consciousness until the door swung open and a tray appeared.  His stomach took another dangerous roll as the smell of whatever was masquerading as dinner drifted over, and he immediately gave up any notion of actually trying to eat for a while.  Water, though, now that was doable.  Not as good as a nice, strong cup of coffee, but hell, he hadn't had one of those since landing in Oz; why should tonight be any different?  Sitting up, he reached for the almost quaintly old-fashioned tin cup, noting in passing that the food looked even worse than it smelled.

 

Climbing carefully to his feet, he made his way slowly to the corner with the obligatory bucket in it.  After long, blissful moments that went a hell of a long way toward making him feel nearly human again, he retreated to the far corner and stretched out on a mostly clean section of floor.  After a mercifully short time, he fell asleep again.

 

~~~

 

Eyes closed, Chris leaned forward, blindly seeking Toby's lips, which, as they had earlier, parted eagerly.  Toby's arms slipped around his neck, pulling him closer.  Their bodies touched, and he realized that somehow, miraculously, they were both naked.  Groaning, he wrapped his arms tightly around Toby's waist and felt a jolt of pure electricity pass between them as their hips instinctively aligned.  He rocked once, experimentally, grinning into the kiss as Toby moaned his approval.  Shifting his hands to Toby's hips, Chris set a hard, fast rhythm, not knowing when a sharp rapping on a see-through wall would interrupt them again.

 

Desperate for air, he pulled away from the kiss and felt Toby's head drop to his shoulder, felt both fingers and teeth digging into tender flesh.  Panting, his hips lost their smooth rhythm as he came, jerking in hard, short thrusts against the other man's damp skin.  As Toby's body stiffened and his head lifted, Chris opened his eyes, expecting to see the freshly-shaven face tight with pleasure.  Instead, he watched in horror as Vern, who had pulled Toby back with a vicious grip on the soft, blond hair, slit his lover's throat.

 

Screaming, Chris jolted awake.  Still gasping for air, he sat up, hugging his knees to his chest.  He was completely and utterly screwed, he realized abruptly.  What had started out as a con, a game, was suddenly achingly, brutally real.  Yeah, Toby loved him.  He knew that, had known it for a while.  That was, after all, the point of the whole setup.  What he hadn't known, what he'd been willfully blind to, was that somewhere along the line, he'd fallen into the exact same trap. 

 

Shifting to lean back against the wall, he forced himself to take deep breaths until his heart stopped pounding in his ears.  The question was, what the fuck was he going to do about it?  Idly trailing his fingers through the slick wetness coating his stomach, Chris leapt from one impossible scenario to another.  The only solution was to take Vern out of the game, but that was exactly where he ran into a wall. 

 

Soon his head started to ache again, and Chris gave up thinking as a lost cause.  There were too many variables in this new game for him to handle alone; the only decision he'd been able to make was to tell Toby the whole story as soon as he got back to Em City.  Between them, they'd figure out a way to handle Schillinger.

 

I'm not sure how, but, fuck, Toby's a bright guy; he'll figure somethin' out.  All we gotta do is get the motherfucker alone someplace, then find some way to pin it on someone else.  It's not like Glynn and McManus are gonna bust their balls over Vern.

 

With that settled, there was nothing left to do but wait.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Chris stood as the thick door swung open, catching his airborne clothes before they could land on the filth-encrusted floor. 

 

It’s about fucking time.  Jesus Christ, how long was I in there?  That hangover alone felt like it lasted a week. 

 

Scrubbing a hand across his jaw, he figured it couldn't have been more than a few days.  Quickly pulling on his pants and boots, he headed into the hallway, more than ready to get back to Em City.  As he tugged the well-worn t-shirt down over his ribs, he wondered what time it was and whether or not Toby would be anywhere near their pod.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the common area and saw Toby sprawled across the top bunk; a grin flashed across his face as his podmate jumped down and met him at the doorway. 

 

"Chris, at last.  Give me a kiss."

 

Jesus Christ.  The place reeked of booze.  As Chris pushed past his wobbling roommate, he corrected himself.  Toby reeked of booze, and not just the moonshine that he'd left stashed under his pillow.

 

"You're drunk."

 

Not just drunk.  Filthy, stinking drunk, probably for the whole time he'd been gone. 

 

You goddamn asshole.  Ya know, for a day or two there I actually thought... but, no.  You just had to let Vern win one more goddamn time. 

 

Chris felt the plans he'd made in the Hole shatter like glass, leaving him empty. 

 

"You bet your ass I am.  Did you miss me?  Christ, I missed you.  Come on, let's fuck."

 

Chris drew back, feeling his lips twist into a disbelieving frown as the emptiness was replaced by the sharp sting of rage.  This wasn't the Toby he'd kissed in the laundry room; this was every rich prick who'd propositioned him, every 'law-abiding citizen' who'd been eager to slip a hardbodied street kid a few bills to blow him in a dark alley.  When he'd gotten a little older and wiser, he'd turned the tables on assholes like that, figured out how much better it was to use them instead.  He should've never forgotten that lesson.

 

"I don't wanna fuck you, Beecher.  I don't even wanna be in the same room with you."

 

Chris stalked out of the pod, suddenly desperate for a shower to wash away the rapidly overpowering stench of the Hole, Toby's binge, and his own stupidity.

 

"Where are you going?  Chris..."

 

"Hey, don't fucking touch me."  Toby, of course, just had to follow him, whining and pawing at him as if Chris owed him something.

 

"If I did something, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to..."

 

Jesus Christ!  He wouldn't go away, he wouldn't shut up -- didn't the fucking moron have one ounce of self-preservation left in his whole damn body?

 

"Why don't you keep your voice down, huh?  Look, I had a lot of time to think about things in the Hole and one of the things I've decided on is you and me are through."

 

There.  Direct fucking hit.  He watched as pain and confusion finally -- finally! -- bled through the veil of alcohol dimming Toby's bloodshot blue eyes.

 

"Oh, Jesus, what did I do?"

 

Toby's anguished plea and earnest expression, so much like the one he'd worn in the laundry room just before their lips met, slipped neatly under Chris's radar.  For a moment the rage abated, and he thought that maybe -- if Toby would just let it go for a while, give him a chance to think -- there might still be a way to work this out.  "Look, we'll talk about this when you're sober."

 

"Chris, what did I do?"

 

Silently acknowledging that Toby was incapable of letting it go, Chris stalked angrily toward the temporary sanctuary of the shower room.  Once again, Toby stepped in front of him, standing as close as he could without actually touching.

 

"Leave.  Me.  Alone," Chris warned, stepping around him, each word a distinct command.  He needed to get away.  Now.

 

"If it's the drinking, I can stop.  I can stop the drinking.  I can," Toby continued, grabbing Chris's arm and spinning him around.

 

Glancing down at Toby's hand, then over his shoulder at their rapt audience, Chris realized that Toby had cornered him, leaving him with only one option.  Hell, to be honest, he'd known from the beginning that it would have to end this way; he just hadn't expected to care so much.  Letting his anger rise to the surface, he pushed Toby away, knocking him to the floor.  "Don't fucking touch me," he growled, listening to the other inmates' scattered applause and laughter as he walked into the shower room.  Stripping quickly, he let the hot water work on his knotted muscles, deliberately putting Toby, Vern and anything other than trying to feel clean again out of his mind for as long as he could.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time Chris finished his shower and headed back to their pod for a shave, Toby had disappeared.  The call came for dinner a few minutes after he'd dressed, and he found himself instinctively searching the cafeteria for a glimpse of his podmate.  He frowned as his gaze passed over the table they usually shared with some of Em City's other non-affiliated miscreants.  No Toby, but plenty of disapproving glances, most of them shifting away quickly as he met them with a steady glare.  Fuck if it's any of their business.  As if they have a clue what's going on.

 

He jerked in surprise as a lump of... something -- marginally better than the slop in the Hole, but not by much -- slammed forcefully onto his tray.  Cyril, giving him a look of wounded anger that, in its childlike purity, cut him to core.  And next to him, his brother, neutral on the surface, but calculating, trying -- as always -- to figure all the angles.  Moving quickly away from those sharp green eyes, Chris found a mostly unoccupied table and forced himself to eat.  Out of everyone, he figured that Ryan would be the most likely to understand; it's not like he hadn't done some truly fucked up things to the people he cared about.  Glancing up, he caught Cyril staring at him, whispering something to Ryan.  As Ryan shook his head and Cyril's expression shifted to confusion, Chris suddenly remembered the look on Toby's face as he'd fallen to the floor.  Pushing away his half-eaten dinner, he stood and made his way back to the cellblock.

 

For the second time that day, Chris found Toby sprawled across the top bunk, this time semi-conscious, barely rousable for evening count.  He'd obviously already gotten his hands on more alcohol, and Chris eagerly used that additional betrayal to fuel the anger that had already started to fade.  He spent the long hours from lockdown to lights out listening to Toby's drunken snores and wondering how long it would be before Vern decided to finish this.

 

~~~

 

Projecting a calm that belied the combination of anticipation and dread that had settled in his stomach during the night, Chris went about his usual routine the next day, with the pointed exception of ignoring Toby's existence as much as possible.  He moved around the obviously hung over man in silence as they washed and dressed for the day, offering none of the friendly touches and playfully sarcastic comments he'd accustomed Toby to over the past few weeks.  He felt the sad blue eyes following him as he headed for a shower and then breakfast, but Toby -- probably afraid of a repeat of the previous day's humiliating scene -- kept his distance. 

 

A similar pattern repeated at lunch, and by the afternoon Chris felt on top of his game, enough so to accept Ryan's offer of a chess match.  He knew O'Reily was just looking to find an in, some way to satisfy his endless curiosity, but Chris was too wise to the Irishman's tactics to let anything slip.  Finding himself actually enjoying the dual challenge, he let out a pleased laugh as he moved his queen and put the other man into checkmate, but when he looked up to gloat, he made the mistake of following Ryan's somber gaze -- right to Toby.  Their eyes met for the first time that day, and although his smile stayed locked in place until his podmate wandered away, Chris felt a tightness growing in his chest.  Frowning, he dropped his eyes to the table, suddenly feeling like one of the pawns on the chessboard. 

 

Bullshit, he thought, pulling himself together long enough to raze his defeated opponent before he left for the dinner shift.  I'm playing this game by my rules; this time Vern's the pawn, and tomorrow it's his turn to lose.

 

Later that night, Chris allowed himself to meet Toby's haunted gaze one final time as the lights went out.  He knew it would be the last time he'd see anything other than hatred in those eyes and, although he let nothing but a dispassionate blankness show on his face, sleep was a long time in coming.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

On the way to breakfast the next morning, Chris hung back from the rest of the inmates, falling into step with the oversized Aryan hack currently in charge of Em City. 

 

"Metzger."

 

"Yeah, Keller.  What do you want?"

 

"I need a meet with Schillinger.  Today." 

 

"What for?"

 

Chris restrained himself from rolling his eyes. 

 

I swear to Christ, Vern's gotta be the only fucking Hitler wanna-be I've ever met who has more than two brain cells to rub together.  "Just tell him the fruit's ripe for the pickin', okay?" 

 

Leaving the confused hack in his wake, Chris strode quickly down the hall, shaking his head in amazement.  A few hours later, he was entering the library.  Picking a book a random, he took a quick look around, then slid into the seat next to Vern.

 

"So?"

 

"I been out of the Hole two days, I haven't spoken more than ten words to Beecher."

 

"Yeah, I've seen him.  He's a fucking mess.  He's on the ledge."

 

Chris smiled in response to Vern's obvious delight.  Apparently convincing him to end this was going to be a piece of cake.  "I say it's about time we pushed him off."

 

Vern nodded thoughtfully.  "Okay, then.  But there's been a small change in plans."

 

Fuck.  Now what?  Had Vern changed his mind about leaving Toby alive to suffer rather than killing him?  "What?" he asked, letting the softness of his voice mask his worry.

 

"With Mark out of the picture, I'm going to need a couple of extra hands, so Metzger's gonna play delivery boy and you'll be working with me."

 

Chris nodded, his gut twisting for a moment before he managed to crawl back behind the wall of anger that had sustained him for the past two days.  "So, later this afternoon then?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Kneeling on the mat beside Vern, Chris waited impatiently for the show to begin.  Despite himself, despite his feelings for Toby, he knew that part of the rush he was feeling was pure anticipation, his internal predator rising to the surface.  He hadn't felt like that without drugs since... well, in a long time.  A small part of him -- the part that had driven him to protect Toby and his kids in the first place -- was disgusted, but the rest of him relished the feeling.  It would make this next, final step just that much more convincing, both to Vern and to Toby.  Vern needed to believe that he was going along with this wholeheartedly, and Toby... Toby needed to hate.

 

The door to the deserted gym swung open and Chris watched as Metzger ushered Toby in, carefully locking the door behind them.  Flashing a brilliant smile as Vern waved, he greeted Toby and climbed to his feet.  For a moment Toby just stared, then -- howling his anger -- rushed at him, grabbing him in a clinch and nearly knocking him to the floor.

 

Chris laughed in triumph as Metzger pulled Toby off and dragged him back in a chokehold.  Perfect, Chris thought, stepping closer with Vern at his side.  There was nothing left of the dull sheen of confusion and depression that had clouded Toby's eyes for the past two days; instead, they glittered with rage.

 

"You know him?" Toby snarled.

 

Chris tilted his head slightly as if he didn't understand the question, then ratcheted his smile up a notch.  "Say what?  Oh, yeah, yeah, we've known each other a long time.  I've known Vernon since we were both doing time up in Lardner."  He tossed an arm around Vern's shoulders, felt Vern reciprocate and give him a friendly pat on the arm.  "I was 17 and he saved my life from some big, dumb nigger who wanted me to be his prag."  Pulling Vern with him, he stepped closer to his vainly struggling podmate, murmuring, "Nah, I don't think so," before planting a kiss on the side of Vern's head.  "I've owed him ever since." 

 

Watching closely as the last shreds of disbelief faded from Toby's expression, Chris saw his eyes flit from Vern's face, then back to his own, the hatred unchanging.  To seal the deal, he leaned close, then whispered, "I don't love you."  He paused to laugh as Toby let out a low moan.  "I've never loved you, not for a second."  He let his hand rest condescendingly on Toby's face for a moment as Vern giggled his enjoyment, then backed away onto the wrestling mat.

 

"Let him go," he instructed the equally amused hack.

 

"Uh, Chris..."

 

"No, let him go!"  Although the outcome was a foregone conclusion, he wanted Toby to go down fighting.  As Metzger allowed Toby to break free of his hold, Chris crooked a finger, motioning him closer.  "Let's see what you got there, Toby, this time for real."

 

With another shout, Toby rushed forward, ducking down to hit Chris low in the waist, succeeding this time in bowling him over.  Wrapping his legs around Toby's waist while struggling to keep scrambling hands from wrapping around his throat, Chris was peripherally aware of Vern and Metzger moving closer.  With adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins as he literally fought for his life, the next moves came easily. 

 

Keeping a tight grip on Toby's right arm, Chris lifted one leg up, hooking it over Toby's shoulder, wedging his boot under the struggling man's chin.  In that hold, Toby was practically immobilized and Chris twisted slowly, hearing the loud snap of the breaking bone only a split second before Toby's scream.  As Toby fell onto his back, writhing in pain, Chris quickly repeated the hold on the other side, this time locking both ankles under Toby's chin.  Filled with the twisted joy of a successful hunt, he laughed up at his beaming ex-benefactor as Toby's other arm gave under the same pressure. 

 

As Toby's second scream echoed through the room, both Vern and Metzger moved to Chris's right side, toward Toby's wildly flailing legs.  "My turn now," Vern ordered.  With Chris still wrapped around Toby's torso, Metzger stepped down on Toby's leg, holding it in place.  With a exultant shout of "Sieg heil!" Vern raised his leg high, then brought it crashing down, his jackboot shattering the bones in Toby's leg.  The third scream faded into a whimper as Toby's body propelled him headlong into shock, and Vern frowned in frustration as the final break resulted in nothing more than a reflexive jerk. 

 

Chris untangled himself from Toby's limp body and climbed to his feet, knuckling his chin to the side until his neck cracked.  A chill ran down his spine as the sound reminded him forcefully of what he'd just done.  He paled further when Vern -- the nascent frown blooming into a full-fledged scowl -- reached for his knife.

 

Fuck.  The bastard's so pissed about that last break that he's going to cut him anyway.  And there's not a damn thing I can do about it without getting us both shanked, unless... come on, Keller, they got brawn on their side... use your fucking brains.

 

Stepping closer, Chris laughed and clapped Vern good-naturedly on the shoulder, distracting him.  He met the icy blue gaze with a ribald wink.  "Shit.  Did you see his face?  And that's just the beginning.  Wait'll the little bitch wakes up."  As a slow smile spread across Vern's face and a gleam of anticipation warmed his eyes, Chris felt his muscles begin to relax.  Before Vern could reconsider, he added, "Come on, let's get out of here.  I'm fuckin' starved." 

 

Nodding his agreement, Vern motioned to Metzger to unlock the door, then cautioned, "You better head back to Em City first.  And keep your distance for a couple of days, until the heat's off."

 

"Sure thing, Vern," Chris replied, and headed for the door.

 

"Oh, and Christopher?"  Chris paused, looking back over his shoulder.  "Good work today."

 

Chris plastered a cocky grin on his face, then headed into the hallway, masking the trembling of his limbs with the fluid motion of his customary saunter.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

All through dinner -- which, for the sake of appearances, he forced himself to eat, despite the tightness that started in his throat and eventually spread throughout his whole body -- Chris waited for the beefy, uncaring hands of some anonymous hack to land on his shoulders.  He knew that if Toby talked, Vern and Metzger would cover for each other and throw him to the wolves in a heartbeat.  Fair enough, he figured.  Maybe some Hole time, maybe solitary.  Hell, maybe even a few years tagged on to his sentence, like that would make a fuck of a difference. 

 

Of course, knowing Toby and his history with McManus, it was just as likely he wouldn't talk.  Yeah, Chris amended, as he made his way back to Em City and endured the measuring gazes of his fellow inmates, Toby'd probably keep his mouth shut, stewing in his own juices until that devious lawyer's mind of his cooked up something... unique.  He sniffed ruefully, painfully aware of the empty space to his right during count.  That was Toby all right, unique.  He'd certainly never met anyone like him, and no one could accuse Chris Keller of not getting around.

 

The hiss of the door sealing behind him seemed unusually loud, and Chris felt a jolt of claustrophobia sweep through him as he narrowly eyed the vacant room.  Taking a deep breath, he lay back on his bunk and idly flipped through a magazine, displaying a studied nonchalance to anyone who cared to look. 

 

It was only after lights out that he allowed the facade to crack.  No longer able to ignore the emptiness of the top bunk, Chris stood, running his hands lightly over the carefully made bed.  Scrubbing at his face with both hands, he stared blankly out into the bleak grayness of Em City at rest, wondering if somehow, against all odds, there would be some way to make this right.

 

<fin>