Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Prison Rose ❯ Chapter 4

Prison Rose

 

by Mori Ryoshi

 

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE or Sanami Matoh's wonderful characters.

 

Summary: A murder investigation requires an undercover assignment in New York City's Sing Sing prison. The job requirements include: knowledge of weapons, blond or light brown hair, and a protective personality. Ryo would be perfect; but, he arrested the suspect in the first place. Enter Commissioner Berkley Rose, tall, blond, violet eyes, and perfect for playing the part.

 

Dee's warning bells are set off when the events begin to unfold. Will his predictions be correct or is his internal radar off this time? How will a cop deal with one of the most difficult situations a person can be placed in? And, what the heck is wrong with that guard?

 

 

Rating: NC-17, adults only

Warnings: Yaoi, violence, racial hatred, mature themes, loving sex, and rape (chapters will be clearly marked)

 

Pairings: Ryo/Dee, J.J./Drake, Berkley/?, OC's/OC's

Timeframe: The present

Series: None, standalone story

 

 

Prison Rose

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Back in the relative safety of their cell, Berkley and Gideon settled on their bunks. Gideon had taken a book with him and was pretending to read it, while Berkley simply lay there wondering why he hadn't been smart enough to bring something to work on. The noise level in their section had increased to a stadium-roar from several minutes, when Wayne's boys had first left the shower. Now, everything had settled to a loud murmur as the inmates talked about what had happened. At one point, Wayne had stood in front of their cell glaring in at the two caged men; but, then left without saying a word. As the minutes passed, the commissioner became lulled into a relaxing haze where he drifted at the edge of sleep.

 

“Hey, New Guy, Schmidt,” Gideon called softly from his perch on the top bunk.

 

“Yes?” Berkley came wide-awake. Maybe this would be the beginning of the dialogue he'd need to get some answers. “Or at least develop the rapport I'll need to get some answers,” He admitted.

 

“Where'd you learn to move like that?” Gideon gave up pretending to read his book and laid down on his side to wait for his cellmate's answer.

 

“I was a small kid. Scrawny and sickly looking, that made me an easy target for the school bullies. I was always tall and skinny and they equated that with weakness. I was weak; but, that's beside the point. Well, one day, the school bullies decided to have some fun and beat the hell out of me. I came home from school with a broken wrist, several deep cuts from being knifed, and what turned out to be a major concussion. My parents weren't home; they were away in Europe.” So far, Berkley wasn't straying from actual events from his childhood. “My sister patched me up the best she could; but, we didn't know enough to set my wrist. We just wrapped it and doped me up on my mom's pain-killers.” He laughed at that memory. “Morphine gives quite a kick.” That drew a chuckle from the other man. “I didn't go to school the rest of my parents' vacation and by the time they got back, I'd missed close to two weeks of classes and, worse, my wrist had started to heal incorrectly. It had to be re-broken and set correctly. By the time I was back home, my mom had managed to get the entire story of what had happened out of me.” Berkley remembered how disappointed his mother had been. She'd berated him and repeatedly asked him why he couldn't be like the rest of the family. “I'd always been an embarrassment for my parents.” His voice cracked as the memories flowed through his mind. “My father was tall and powerfully built and had never had a problem being bullied. Even my sister, four years younger than me, was stronger than I was.”

 

“Now, that sucks,” Gideon said softly. He remembered seeing evidence of old injuries when he'd studied the other man in the shower. He'd noticed the surgical scars, evidence of compound fractures, and deep scars indicating extensive muscle damage. Now, he had some idea of where some of them had come from. It also explained the way the other man held his left hand; the wrist slightly bent and held close to his body. He'd bet that was the wrist that was broken. “They broke your left wrist, right?”

 

Berkley's eyes flew up at Gideon's correct words. “Yes. How did you know?”

 

“You still favor that hand and wrist. When you stand, you keep that hand closer to you and the wrist is always bent as if you can't completely straighten it.” Gideon's simple explanation showed how well he observed other people and the way he could fit what he saw with what caused the behavior in the first place.

 

“I didn't realize I still favored it.” Berkley wondered what other things he telegraphed without realizing it. He knew there was a lot in his past that he'd prefer people not know about and other things that would make it more difficult to hold a position of authority. He pushed those thoughts from his mind because he knew there was nothing he could do about it right away. “Back to the story,” He knew he'd be thinking about things a lot more now. “When my mother got the whole story, she grounded me for being bullied and informed me, that I was going to learn to defend myself. Two days later, I was enrolled in several martial arts classes, a boxing class, and a Greco-Roman wrestling class. That last one was a waste. What bully is going to wrestle you to the ground using traditional, scripted moves.” He shook his head at the memory.

 

Even though Berkley was irritated by the memory, Gideon found it intensely stimulating to think of his bunkmate wrestling him to the ground. He wouldn't mind being taught some wrestling by the tall, powerful man. “Maybe it could lead to something more.”

 

“It was immediately evident from the classes that I wasn't strong enough to defeat someone using only strength; so, the instructors focused on my speed and agility. Both of which, I had plenty of. When a punch is combined with speed and surprise, it can do as much damage as one delivered with the most powerful force. I learned some basic takedowns and how to use what strength I had to inflict the maximum amount of damage. The original intent was to facilitate my escape. It worked well until the bullies started banding together to take me on as a group.”

 

“You just waded into six men in the showers. I know they were the newest guys Wayne has; but, still, that's a group.”

 

“I know. But, they came at me singly or as pairs. That's easier to deal with than ten guys coming at you at one time. Especially if those ten guys are used to fighting side-by-side.” He shrugged even though Gideon couldn't see him. “It also helps that I finally filled out through some hard work in the college weight room. Now, I'm a lot stronger than I was before; but, I've kept as much of my speed and agility as I could.”

 

“Can anyone learn this stuff?”

 

Gideon's question made Berkley's eyebrow quirk in surprise. “Of course.”

 

“Umm,” Gideon started as he rolled over on his back, unconsciously duplicating Berkley's pose. “Could you teach me? I mean, not just teach me. Keep me safe, defend me, until I can do it on my own?”

 

Berkley was silent for several minutes trying to figure out how this fit into his scenarios. He hadn't expected the convict to want to learn defensive techniques and he wasn't sure if he should add more weapons to the man's arsenal. “How have you kept yourself alive until now?” He asked to buy himself a little more time to analyze the situation.

 

“I've been faster than the bad guys. Outside, I hired people who would protect me.” Gideon shivered. “In here, I've been trapped with animals.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder, imagining what his cellmate must be doing on the bunk below. “You're probably wondering, `What's in this for me?' I can't offer you much, in here. You can have me. As long as you're gentle.” He frowned when the other man was still silent. “I can do things for you on the outside. If you need help dealing with things, people, before your appeal, I can have those things taken care of.”

 

Berkley's jaw dropped as he realized what Gideon seemed to be offering. “I haven't even been tried yet. I don't have to wait for an appeal.” He hoped it didn't sound like he was jumping at the offer to quickly. He didn't want to sound desperate or to readily trusting. “But, how do I know I can trust you.”

 

Gideon rolled over with a triumphant grin on his face. “Gotcha,” He thought as he hung over the side of the bed, wiping away the grin. “You don't. But, if I get killed in here, you'll never know what might have been.”

 

The commissioner nodded. He didn't want to reject the man outright; he knew that wouldn't be believable since sex was the primary currency in prison. It was used in trade for protection, extra food, and even in some instances friendship or love. “I'll have to think about it. But, I'll teach you a few things while I'm thinking. No one should be at the mercy of animals.” He had to think of a person in the woods being chased by wolves and mountain lions so he didn't grimace over his last statement. He'd believed the most difficult part of this assignment would be dealing with the inmates, rape-gangs, and abuse. But now, he knew the worst part was going to be maintaining the illusion of being a white supremacist. Each time he used a piece of the rhetoric from the websites J.J. had provided, he felt the bile rise in his throat. “It's only going to get worse,” He reminded himself. He hoped it didn't become second nature the way he knew some of the other things would. He'd realized over breakfast that morning; that it was already second nature to scan the cafeteria looking for immediate threats. He hoped that was the only part of this assignment that he'd take with him.

 

“Thanks.” Gideon flopped back on his bunk, his triumphant grin returning. “He'll take the offer. He doesn't want to spend any more time inside than he has to.”

 

The rest of their morning passed quickly and soon Wayne was standing in front of their cell yelling at them to get out there so they could leave for lunch. Once the two of them were lined up with their backs against the bars, Wayne looked them both over. He grinned when he saw the newest bruise in Gideon's collection just starting to blossom. “At least they did part of their job.” He looked at Berkley and studied his face, searching for any sign that he'd been marked. “You're a bit tougher than I thought you were. That won't last.” He grabbed Berkley's jaw and forced him to look at him. “Those were the weakest boys in my crew. Let's see how well you hold up against someone with some street experience. Or better yet, my boys who were in the military and learned to kill for real. They shouldn't be in here; they were simply doing what the government had trained them to do.” He smirked. “They were cleaning up the gene pool. Isn't that what you white bastards want to do?”

 

Berkley pulled his face away from Wayne's grasp only to have it grabbed again, this time even harder. “That's it. Leave some marks. I'll have J.J. document it; so, when the time comes, I can get you put on the side of the bars where you belong.”

 

“That's right. These boys were eliminating the better part of the gene pool,” Wayne hissed with a hint of sarcasm. “White Fucker.” He slapped Berkley with enough force to split his lip a second time. “Yeah, it's going to be a lot of fun breaking in your lily ass and busting up your pretty-boy spirit.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Berkley growled deep in his throat. He'd seldom been pushed to the point where he wanted to rip a person apart; but, Wayne was pushing him to the edge. He clenched his fists until his well-manicured nails pierced his skin. The hint of pain was enough to drag him back to the awareness of where he was and the perilous nature of his situation. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. It wasn't easy. His heart was pounding in time with his rage. He desperately wanted to scream at Wayne, `The gene pool doesn't need cleaned up. Everyone has a role to play and everyone is equally important.' Even more, he wanted to tell the guard that he wasn't a racist. That he was only there to get answers so lives could be saved.

 

“That's right, Lily,” Wayne said as he released Berkley's jaw. He smoothed his fingers over the commissioner's skin, gently, in stark contrast to the painful grip he'd used just moments ago. He knew how confusing the contrasting stimulation was and had learned how to use it to the maximum advantage. “You're pretty.” He leaned close and whispered into the blonde's ear. “You'd look a hell of a lot prettier sucking my cock or screaming as I rammed it deep in your ass. You won't have anything to fear from my crew if you become my slave.”

 

“Fuck you,” Berkley hissed under his breath. “Why do you want me? You've got plenty of people to satisfy you. I could smell it on you this morning.”

 

Wayne slapped Berkley again, then followed through with a punch that slammed his head against the bars.

 

“Wimp.” The commissioner knew he was treading on dangerous ground; but, he'd taken the same instant dislike to Wayne that the guard seemed to have taken with him.

 

“That was nothing. I don't want you too marked up before I have a chance to rape you. Afterward, you'll always have my marks to remind you of your pleasure.” Wayne gave the blond a last slap, then ran his hands over his chest and stomach, stopping at his waist. “Oh, so tempting,” He whispered. He pulled his hand away as Jacob called for everyone to start moving.

 

Gideon pulled Berkley toward him and forced him to move to keep up with their place in line. “Come on, he didn't force us to the back of the line.” He shook his head and studied his cellmate. “I don't know what the hell you did to piss him off; but, he's really got a hard on for you. You need to watch your step. He can make your life miserable or worse, prevent help from reaching you if you get into trouble. Like this morning, I'm positive he kept Guard Jacob away from the showers, even though it would normally be his responsibility to monitor it.”

 

“There was someone in the locker room. Why didn't he do anything?”

 

“He's deaf.” Gideon scoffed and shook his head. “He wouldn't be able to do anything anyway. All he does is sit in there handing out and collecting the locker keys.”

 

“Oh,” Berkley managed. “Equal employment opportunities at their best.”

 

The mismatched pair quickly gathered their food and went to the same table in the corner near the single white guard. Berkley was already thinking of it as their table. That realization startled him. “I've got to get out of here.” He fought the urge to run and instead sat down, Gideon inside so he would be protected, and began eating.

 

The roar in the room was enough to keep the commissioner nervous and his eyes never stopped scanning the milling inmates. He quickly picked out three of the six men from the shower. Two of them were already sporting very nice bruises. He spotted the last three talking to Wayne near the exit. He wished he could read lips so he knew what they were saying. The ringleader and the man who'd run seemed to be making some argument, their hands gesticulating in emphasis of several points. Even though he couldn't read their lips, he understood their body language. The men must have been reprimanded for failure and were trying to defend themselves.

 

“It's okay. They won't try anything else today,” Gideon whispered after misinterpreting Berkley's concentration for readiness for another immediate fight. “Knowing Wayne, he'll hold off the next attack until we're lulled into a sense of security.” When Berkley snapped his head around to look at him, Gideon shrugged. “What? I'm able to read people.”

 

Berkley filed that information away. If Gideon was good at reading people, he might figure out why the commissioner was there. He'd need to gain the man's trust to ward off the possibility of that outcome. “Who else do we need to worry about? Blackwell?” He mentioned the other guard specifically, because while he'd felt that the man was mean and maybe cruel, he didn't sense any deep-seated malice or hatred.

 

“No, Blackwell does what Wayne tells him. He doesn't have the gut-bound hatred of people that Wayne does. He can be bought with your chocolate bars. I've also heard rumors that he'll intervene with Wayne on your behalf if you give him a blowjob.” The white supremacist shivered. “I'd rather suck off any other animal than touch my lips to one of those. But, I've heard some of the things Wayne's done to other inmates over the years. Supposedly he killed one because he raped him so much. Tore him inside or something, then, left him screaming in pain in a supply room until he finally bled to death. It was blamed on the rape-gangs; but, Wayne is the rape-gang in our section.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He dictates who gets fucked, when, how many times, by whom, etc. No one gets raped by the gangs unless he tells them to do it. Now, people who have sex because they want to, that, he doesn't control. If you see guys having sex and the one on the bottom isn't crying or begging for mercy, that's usually by mutual consent. In here, sex is currency. In my case, it's my only currency in here. That's why I offered myself to you.” He looked at the table in embarrassment. “I represent myself and few people visit me. Those who do,” He paused and shrugged, “They can't or won't bring me anything. I don't have anything else to trade. I'm not in a work crew; so, I don't have any money. Without money, I can't afford smokes, candy, or other things I could use for trade. I won't let those animals touch me. That means I can't get anything from them. They have stuff brought in all the time. The guards regularly bring in drugs, money, weapons, and other things for them.” He swallowed hard. “So, I only have myself to offer. I'm not stupid enough to think you would protect me for free.”

 

“Even though I already did,” Berkley said quietly.

 

Gideon glanced up, his shock clearly evident on his face. “Yeah. No one should take that risk and get nothing in trade.”

 

The two men finished eating in silence. Each one thinking about what they'd learned about the other.

 

“Mr. Schmidt,” The guard everyone called Mr. Taylor said as he stopped at the foot of the table Berkley and Gideon were sharing.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Your attorney is here to see you. I'll escort you to him. Do you need to pass by your cell first?”

 

Berkley thought a moment and looked at Gideon. “If I'm going to protect him, I mine as well start now.” After gathering together the last of his food on the several slices of extra bread, he slipped it into his shirt and nodded to Gideon. “You should come with us. At least you're a little safer in your cell.” He turned back to Guard Taylor. “Is that okay?”

 

“Yeah,” He said as he smiled. He was oddly relieved that Gideon had a protector now. He'd been worried that one day, he'd come to work to hear the little man had been killed or maimed. While he didn't condone coddling prisoners; he did believe they should do their time; he didn't agree with torturing anyone and much of the behavior of the other guards and especially Wayne's gang of inmates bordered on torture, at least in his opinion.

 

Gideon and Berkley quickly disposed of their trays and followed the young guard to their cell. Berkley gave Gideon the food he'd taken from the lunchroom and indicated that he should finish it. Once Gideon was safely behind the bars of his protective cage, the guard and commissioner went to one of the private meeting rooms. “I'll bring in your attorney.” Mr. Taylor left, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

Glancing around the room, Berkley noted the one-way mirror and a small, unobtrusive speaker that probably contained a microphone. He suspected more than one prosecutor had listened in on meetings between defense attorneys and their clients. He walked to the window and wondered who was on the other side of it, watching him.

 

“Mr. Schmidt, I'm sorry I couldn't make it here earlier,” J.J. said as he bustled into the room.

 

Berkley choked back laughter when he turned around and saw how the young man's appearance had changed since the day before. “Oh, my god, J.J.,” He finally managed.

 

“What? You don't think this is professional enough?”

 

“Shh, there might be someone else listening in.” Berkley settled into the closest chair so his back was to the window.

 

“No one's listening in. Ryo's in there.”

 

“He thought of everything,” Berkley observed as he relaxed slightly.

 

“Dee thought of it,” J.J. admitted. “So what do you think? Do I look the part?” J.J. turned around slowly so the commissioner could see his neatly pressed suit. While he always wore perfectly cut, expensive clothing, the suit was especially spectacular. It had been perfectly tailor to show off J.J.'s slim build to the best advantage. He'd paired the rich chocolate brown suit with a pair of expensive and perfectly shined leather wingtips. But, the clothes weren't what had shocked Berkley. His detective had dyed his hair a deep, rich auburn that set off his blue eyes, which were now partially hidden behind clear-glass lenses set in frameless glasses.

 

“Did you dye your hair?”

 

“Nope. It looks real, doesn't it? It's actually a wig.” He shifted one edge so the commissioner could catch a glimpse of his lavender hair.

 

“Very real.” He nodded in approval. He'd left all the secondary preparations up to his detectives and he was happy to see, they were flying with the assignment and pulling everything off perfectly.

 

J.J. sobered and sat in the second chair. He noticed the deep bruises Wayne's fingertips had left on Berkley's jaw and the sandpaper scrapes on his hands. “How are you holding up?”

 

“I'm all right. I've got some problems with a guard and I beat up a few gang-members in the shower; but, over all, I'm doing fine.” Berkley rubbed his jaw, wishing the bruises would disappear.

 

“I'm sorry I didn't make it in soon enough to see you off yesterday. Um, Drake and I got involved in something and I didn't get there until after you'd left.”

 

Berkley grinned. He'd figured something like that had come up. “I hope it was something fun,” He said while leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. He winked before leaning back in his chair. The thought of his two detectives having some loving fun entered a sense of normalcy in his life.

 

“Who gave you those bruises?”

 

“The guard.”

 

“Damn it. I thought they were here to protect the inmates.” J.J. was irritated and he let it show.

 

“It's a racial thing,” Berkley said dismissively. “Gideon, my cellmate, is a white supremacist and the guard is black. He assumes since I'm white and housed with Gideon that I must also be a racist. He's just showing his own bigotry.” Berkley tried to downplay the guard's behavior. Anything that would ring alarm bells, might trigger the chief's order for immediately pulling him out.

 

“That guard's an idiot.” J.J. opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder filled with printouts. “Dee sent these in for you.” Berkley nodded. “Also, have you made any progress gaining Gideon's trust? I suppose it's too much to hope for; but, we all want you out of here as soon as possible.”

 

“Actually, I have made some progress. This morning, Gideon was being attacked in the showers. I'd thought about the possibility of that scenario and followed through on protecting him. Those were the men I beat up.”

 

“How many?” J.J. leaned forward, very interested in what had happened. He was surprised the commissioner actually seemed happy about being in a physical altercation.

 

“Just six and they weren't trained well enough to know how to fight as a unit.” Berkley shrugged. “It wasn't much; but, it definitely impressed Gideon. Back in the cell, he offered himself to me as payment for teaching him to defend himself and to protect him in the interim. He also offered to take care of things on the outside. He inferred that he could deal with people and things that might help my chances of an appeal. That he could have them taken care of before I got a hearing.”

 

“He must like you,” J.J. said with a grin. At Berkley's surprised glance, he pointed to the folder. “Read Dee's information. It'll explain a lot.”

 

“Oh, before I forget,” Berkley said as he flipped open the folder. “Could you bring more chocolate tomorrow? And, maybe something for me to read?”

 

“Anything in particular?”

 

“Milk chocolate and dark chocolate bars, hardtack, and some Lifesavers.” Berkley paused and thought a minute. “Maybe some Sci-Fi and adult manga. Something in the fields of medicine, law, and general science or physics would be nice as well.”

 

“Should I bring you some hand cream, baby oil, or lubricant?”

 

“Behave, Detective Adams.” Berkley ignored the suggestion and started reading Dee's reports. After the first two pages, he understood J.J.'s ribbing. “So, Gideon's gay.”

 

“At least bisexual.”

 

“Dee hasn't found evidence that he's ever dated a woman.” Berkley glanced at his detective over the top edge of his glasses. “I guess we lucked out. I'm his type.”

 

“Yeah. Everyone of the men he's dated have had similar features, all of which, you possess.” J.J. grinned like a maniac. “Plus, he likes being on the bottom. Dee has an interview with one of his past lovers in there. The guy was heartbroken when Gideon left him. Evidently good old Gideon is quite the charmer.” He flipped through the folder until he reached the neatly typed transcript. “If he cares for someone, he will do anything for them. This guy was original one of his protectors and he describes one situation where he'd been badly injured and Gideon had stayed with him constantly until he was out of danger. Even after he was released from the hospital, he talks about how much Gideon did for him. It's not just about sex with this guy; he seems to fall in love almost instantly and he literally tends to his partner's every need. He's very feminine in that respect.”

 

“What broke these two up?”

 

“Gideon went to prison and refused to allow Trey to visit him. I think he specifically says that he was told that Gideon didn't want him to see him with the animals.”

 

Berkley finished reading through the interview and was amazed at the amount of information Dee had come up with. “How did Dee find this guy?”

 

“Gideon's website. Trey's been updating it on a regular basis. He leaves love letters on it. I guess he's hoping Gideon will get computer access in here.”

 

“Wouldn't matter anyway. These types of sites are filtered out,” Berkley mentioned almost as an aside. He leafed through the rest of the file. “Tell Dee that this was extremely helpful. I've been trying to use my own experiences with Gideon. I don't have to remember as many lies that way. But, this shows me a few other areas I can explore when we're talking. The section on his gambling habits might be even more interesting. I brought a deck of cards; maybe we can get a small game going.”

 

“He'd probably jump at the chance. Watch out, though, he was good enough to enter some of the major tournaments.” J.J. returned the file to the briefcase and removed the next order of business, Ryo's problems with the receiver and recorder units. “Tomorrow, you need to figure out some reason to bring your large bag, the one with the wires, to our meeting. Ryo's tech from the electronics lab figured out the problem with the set up you were sent in with. The system is programmed on a frequency that is used in this area. Zale's setting up something new that uses a slightly off set? I think that's what they called it, off set frequency. As a bonus, the base will have a secondary broadcast unit that will send to a second receiving unit at the hotel. Dee wants to try monitoring your feed at least some of the time.” J.J. pushed the folder over to Berkley. “Those are the specs. But, the most important thing is to get the new wires in your bag. If you bring it to me tomorrow, they can replace them overnight and I'll bring it back the day after.”

 

“The day after is Saturday. There's no visitation on Saturday or Sunday,” Berkley reminded his detective. “I'll bring the bag tomorrow. I'll just put it inside the smaller one and bring it under the excuse that I'm using it to carry the candy back to my cell.”

 

“That works,” J.J. agreed with a nod. “I don't like it that you'll be without backup for two days.”

 

“I'll have backup if I need it. The panic alarm works, if there's a problem, I'll use it.” Berkley didn't like the idea of not having a recorded backup; it seemed things might go more quickly than he'd expected. If he could gain Gideon's trust, even if under the guise of lover, he might get answers well ahead of schedule. He read through the information Ryo had sent in to familiarize himself with the new system. It would have a greater recording range than the ones they had now. He hoped they would pick up some of Wayne's threats. “That reminds me. Zale was going to try placing wires in some of my clothing. Was he successful?”

 

“No, he dropped that idea because the wires wouldn't survive the industrial washers they use here. He's trying to come up with some alternatives. Maybe even a new medical bracelet that has a microphone in it.”

 

Berkley looked disappointed at that thought. He'd hoped that would be a possibility because he already knew Gideon had a tendency to chat over food. “When you bring in the candy, add some meal replacement bars as well. The one guard takes pleasure in cheating us out of part of our eating period.”

 

J.J. jotted that down. “Do you need anything else? I wasn't joking about the hand cream and baby oil. It's supposed to get dry in here, especially with their heating system. I know your hands tend to get dry anyway. Only your dirty mind turned something innocent into something else.”

 

“Maybe it was the additional suggestion of lubricant,” Berkley said with a smirk.

 

“Oh, well, yeah, that might have had something to do with it.”

 

“But, yes, hand cream or baby oil would be nice.” He rubbed over his hands and frowned. “Maybe a basic first aid kit as well. Some antibiotic cream would help these heal faster.” He held up his hands.

 

J.J. nodded. He figured he'd add a few extras to the first aid kit. Many things could have multiple uses, bandage scissors could also work well as weapons. He'd had a case several years ago where the killer used a pair of bandage scissors to cut off his victim's fingers so they couldn't be identified. He failed to remember that identification could also be made using dental records. They'd followed the victims and finally identified a single person who knew all of them. He ended up being the killer. During interrogation, he not only confessed to the killings they knew about; but also, confessed to several they hadn't discovered yet. He didn't think the commissioner had the stomach to chop off people's fingers to get information; but, the threat might work well as a last resort. The detective frowned over that idea and mentally chastised himself for even thinking it. “Geez, where did I get that idea?” He asked himself.

 

“Um, J.J.,” Berkley prompted as he waved his hand in front of the young man's face.

 

“What?” J.J. startled out of his thoughts.

 

“I was asking you how things were going at the precinct.”

 

“Fine. Commissioner Craig showed up this morning. She said that she wanted to familiarize herself with the precinct, just in case she's called upon to deal with something. Frankly, I think she wanted to see if she'd fit in. She went into your office like she owned it and made some comments about things she wanted to change. She even changed a couple of officer assignments, which really pissed the chief off.”

 

“Why didn't he say something? She's not supposed to be acting as our commissioner unless there's an emergency. I figured she'd at least come over to familiarize herself with the precinct. There's nothing worse than showing up and being thrown to the wolves without any knowledge of what to expect. That's what happened when I came to the 27th and it wasn't pleasant. Since no one told me that the 27th was where the stuck people they didn't want around, I assumed we were supposed to succeed and pushed things in that direction. I know I stubbed some toes all over the place with my behavior; but, look at us now, we're the best precinct in the city and state. And, in my opinion at least, we're top in the nation.” Berkley frowned over the idea that Commissioner Craig might disrupt the careful balance he'd achieved at the 27th and undo some of the changes and improvement they'd all accomplished. He knew he had the best men and women on the force and he didn't want their lives disturbed by his absence, at least any more than necessary. “Ask the chief to print up a form called `Declaration of Orders in Absence' and bring it in tomorrow. If anyone has a problem with it, just say I faxed it from Quantico. If they ask to see the fax, more like faxes, since I'll probably need to fill out a form every few days, contact Diana, her number is in my Rolodex, and ask her to set something up for you. She knows what's happening and should be willing to help.”

 

“Thanks, Sir. The chief was ahead of you.” J.J. pulled out the appropriate forms and handed them to his surprised commissioner.

 

“You guys are always a step ahead.” He quickly filled out the forms. The first order was for the revocation of any homicide partnership changes unless both pairs of lead detectives, Dee and Ryo and J.J. and Drake, as well as the chief of the department approved the changes. J.J. hadn't mentioned anything concerning other departments; but, he suspected if Craig made changes in homicide, she'd be making changes in other places as well. He listed the requirements for partnership changes in each of the other departments before adding one last specification, the assignment of an office for Commissioner Craig. `In the event of an emergency during my absence, Commissioner Craig shall have use of the primary empty office in homicide. The department chiefs will handle all specifics for the precinct with the emergency commissioner role limited to that of outside support personnel.' Berkley's neat script spelled out Commissioner Craig's limited role for the 27th. “If she has problems with my orders, tell her to take it up with One Police Plaza. They're the ones who assigned her the position and I'm not going to allow her to go beyond their original specifications.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” J.J. said happily. He hadn't wanted to bring this to Berkley's attention because he'd believed it was something that nothing could be done about and would be a distraction for the older man. When the chief had handed him the forms, J.J. still hadn't thought it was appropriate. It wasn't until he watched Berkley's entire body relax as he was filling out the forms that he started to understand that it wasn't a distraction; that it had actually helped the commissioner be himself for a brief period.

 

“I doubt I'll need to fill anything out tomorrow; but, you'll want to bring one Monday.” Berkley gave his detective a wide smile. “Is there anything else I should know about?”

 

J.J. thought for a minute then perked up and danced in his seat. “Drake gets his cast off tomorrow. We'll have the weekend all to ourselves.”

 

“I think you should keep the lubricant, J.J.,” Berkley said with a laugh. “You're going to need it.”

 

“Yeah. It'll be a lot less work for me now that Drake can move. I enjoy being on top as much as the next guy; but, I love variety.” He danced even more in his chair.

 

Berkley rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock. “I should be getting back to my cell. Dinner's at five and I'm hoping to get the chance to talk to Gideon before we leave.”

 

“I understand. I hope some of this stuff helps. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon and maybe you'll have more information for us. I'll make sure to have plenty of chocolate, candy, and other goodies.” He mentally added lubricant. He knew even if the commissioner didn't use it; he might be able to trade it to one of the other inmates for something more useful. He packed his briefcase and stood.

 

“Thanks, J.J.,” Berkley said as he stood.

 

“You're welcome, Sir. Just come back to us soon.” He walked to the door and banged on it. A guard escorted him out, closing the door on Berkley.

 

“Mr. Schmidt,” Mr. Taylor said quietly as he opened the door and waved him over. “I'll return you to your cell.” The walk back was punctuated by noise from the various sections of the prison, the almost constant banging of pipes, and the sound of the inmates in constant motion. He didn't know how people could spend most of their lives behind bars, dealing with the noises, and smells, he wrinkled his nose as an especially noxious odor reach him. He waited patiently outside the cell as Mr. Taylor opened it and waved him inside.

 

Gideon was prone on his bunk, apparently reading a book. He put the reading material down and looked at his cellmate. “How'd it go with your attorney?”

 

Berkley nodded. “Good. He believes he can get some of the evidence thrown out and the statement against me is from a convicted killer. There's a good chance that will be thrown out as well because there's no corresponding evidence of its accuracy.” He sighed and settled into the desk chair. He hadn't expected this to be so tiring. He was more exhausted after doing nothing, than he normally was after working most of two shifts at the precinct.

 

“You'll get used to the boredom. It's hard at first. You're tired all the time.” He turned over on his side and smiled down Berkley. He liked what he saw. “It doesn't help that the beds are so horrible. The least they could do is give us double beds instead of these things.” He poked the mattress of his bunk.

 

“They are bad,” Berkley agreed with a disgusted smile. “Really bad. I should have gotten a note from my doctor for bringing my mattress with me. My air mattress would feel so good right now.”

 

“Oh, now I'm jealous. I had a nice mattress; but, it wasn't anything like one of those adjustable ones. Was that what you had?”

 

“Yeah.” The commissioner smiled. He really missed that bed.

 

“Have you thought about my offer?” Gideon asked quietly.

 

“I have. Give my attorney another week to get some things tossed out. After that, I'll ask him what things might be the most problematic and we'll see what can be done about them.” Berkley covered his mouth as he yawned suddenly.

 

“Why don't you go to sleep? I'll wake you in plenty of time for dinner.”

 

“I think I will.” Berkley climbed into his bunk and fell asleep almost immediately.

 

At quarter till five, Gideon climbed down from his bunk and sat on the edge of Berkley's. He reached out and touched the other man's hair. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have been given this man as his new cellmate. He was everything he could have wished for. He pulled his hand back and settled for watching him instead. His even breathing indicated that he was deep asleep. His face had lines, some deeply set, that held everything from worry to laughter. He smiled as he thought about Berkley's rich violet eyes. He'd seldom seen eyes of that color without the additional help of colored contact lenses and he strongly suspected this man's eye color was natural. He hadn't found any care products for contact lenses during his search the previous day and the man wore glasses. Most people didn't wear both and no one would try wearing contact lenses for extended periods of time without being able to properly care for them.

 

He gently touched Berkley's arm and felt his muscles move under his fingertips. He figured he could explain away the contact by saying that he was trying to wake the other man up. More than anything, he wanted him to stay asleep a while longer so he could watch him. Over the next several minutes, he gently explored his cellmate's arms and chest and was getting ready to move onto his neck and face when Berkley moaned in his sleep and pulled away. He pulled back and decided he'd pressed his luck far enough. “Schmidt,” He prompted softly. “You need to wake up for dinner.” When the other man didn't stir, he gently shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up.” “Darling,” He added mentally.

 

“Huh?” Berkley slowly opened his eyes. He'd been having the most wonderful dream and hated for it to end.

 

“It's almost time to leave for dinner,” Gideon said softly. He reached out to touch one of Berkley newest bruises and grimaced. “I don't understand why that animal had to touch you like that. Those must hurt. I wish there was something I could do for you. Take your pain away.” He leaned forward unconsciously.

 

“They don't really hurt.” Berkley sat up carefully. He barely avoided striking his head again by slouching. His head still brushed it.

 

“You can have the top bunk, Albert.” He returned his hand to his side. “It has more headroom.”

 

“No, if Wayne ever gets it into his head to corner us in here. You're better off being up there. At least you would be out of his reach.” Berkley was surprised at the relieved expression that crossed Gideon's face.

 

“Thank you. I know you won't allow anything to happen to me.” He moved a little closer to Berkley and slowly wrapped his arms around the larger man's shoulders.

 

“Gideon,” Berkley said as he pulled away. He tried not to put the other man off. He needed to allow the man some hope if he was going to get information out of him. Since he believed his only collateral inside was his body, he needed to allow him the illusion that something was possible.

 

“I'm sorry; I've offended you.” Gideon pulled away and moved to the desk chair. He looked so dejected that Berkley had to fight the urge to comfort him.

 

“You haven't offended me. I'm just not comfortable with how quickly things are moving, Gideon.” Berkley swallowed nervously. “Also, I just left a relationship.” He knew that wasn't the entire truth. He'd broken up with Diana almost a year previously and hadn't done as much as date since then. “Maybe that's why I feel so uncomfortable,” He thought. “It would definitely explain my dream earlier.” That dream confused him. The feeling of warmth still wrapped its arms around his body and seemed to caress his heart. “Very confusing,” He mumbled to himself.

 

“What's confusing?” Gideon asked quietly.

 

“I'm sorry. I was talking to myself.” Berkley waved the small man off. “I was thinking about the dream I was having before I woke up. I can't remember what it was about. The particulars at least,” He clarified. “I can normally remember my dreams. But, the feelings from it, they're still touching me as if I'm not completely awake.” Berkley ran his hands over his face. “Geez. Are you ready?”

 

“Yeah. The facilities are all yours.”

 

“Thank you,” Berkley said as he thought about how formally Gideon had begun speaking. It was as if the longer they spoke the more the small man mimicked his mannerisms and speech patterns. He thought about that as he washed his face off and relieved himself. As he was washing his hands, he caught a glimpse of Gideon in the mirror. The man was hunched over rubbing his arms. He gave all the indications of being in physical pain. “I don't remember him being injured this morning,” Berkley thought as he dried his hands and turned to him. “Are you all right, Gideon?” He asked quietly as he took a seat on his bed. “They didn't hurt you this morning, did they?” He couldn't believe the concern he felt for the guy. Nothing about this case made sense anymore. The villain didn't appear to be a villain at all. In fact, he seemed defenseless and abused.

 

“No, they didn't hurt me. They frightened me.” Gideon seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. He shifted in his chair and studied the floor. “I was really happy when you showed up and saved me. I think they would have hurt me this time.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Hurt me bad.” He looked up.

 

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” Berkley said as he leaned forward and placed a supportive hand on the other man's shoulder. “I won't allow it.” He couldn't believe what he was saying; but, he was becoming increasingly convinced that everything wasn't as it appeared. Jacob appeared at their cell door and waved at them. “Come on, let's get something to eat. Everything will be all right.” He gripped Gideon's shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

 

“Yeah. Okay.” He leaned against Berkley momentarily and was thankful the large man didn't pull away this time. Maybe if he slowed down, he'd get further.

 

The pair left the cell and lined up as usual.

 

“Come with me,” Jacob said softly, waving down the passage. When they were out of range of the other inmates, he stopped. “Wayne's on the warpath tonight. I'm taking you to the cafeteria; so, you can get food. Then, I'm bringing you directly back to your cell. You'll eat there.”

 

Both inmates nodded their agreement. At least in their cell, they could eat at their own pace and not have to worry about other inmates. The cafeteria was empty of inmates, only the kitchen crew was on hand. They loaded up their trays and even took extra nonperishable food they could keep on their shelves. Berkley took extra cans of juice, soda, sports drinks, and milk sealed in boxes that didn't require refrigeration. Gideon grabbed several boxes of cereal, some prepackaged cakes, extra slices of bread, pats of butter, and several packages of jerky.

 

Jacob watched the pair fill their trays and wondered if they had worked something out ahead of time. Their choices of extra food shoehorned together perfectly. He almost told the taller of the pair not to put things in the pocket of his shirt, then thought better of it. If Wayne stayed on the warpath, it wouldn't be unheard of for him to completely deny the pair access to the cafeteria. Regardless of the blonde's medical requirements, he knew the head guard would do it.

 

Berkley wondered if Gideon and he were pressing their luck with how much food they were taking. He waited anxiously for the order to stop and was privately relieved when it never came. He couldn't believe what he was doing; he'd never horded food before; stored food away in his pantry, yes, but never anything like this. The fear that he'd be denied access to food was suddenly a hard pit in his stomach. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and it was just another layer of fear he hadn't prepared himself for.

 

“Hey, you don't have to worry. You'll return to normal when you leave here.”

 

Berkley looked at Gideon and couldn't keep the shock off his face. “What do you mean?”

 

“This,” He waved at their trays. “When you leave, you'll be able to put this behind you. You won't feel the need to horde food or be on constant watch.” He turned away and looked at a stack of donuts. “The need to have a safe place; um, well, that will stay with you.” He shivered slightly as he thought back to his childhood. “Forget what I said. You'll put most of it behind you; some of it, you won't be able to lose. And, a lot of it, you'll never be able to forget.”

 

“Somehow that's not very comforting,” Berkley whispered. He hadn't thought about the possibility that he would be changed, possibly radically changed, by this. Now that he was inside, he knew that he wasn't coming out the same. No matter what he'd indicated to J.J. and would continue to project, he knew he was already changing. He just hoped he'd come out a man similar to the one he was when he went in.

 

“I'll get you back to your cell,” Jacob said from just past Berkley's shoulder. “I don't want you to be here when Wayne and his crew show up.”

 

“Lead the way,” Berkley said as he picked up his tray. The trio rushed back to the cell and Berkley and Gideon were barely safely ensconced inside when Wayne started the rest of the section's inmates toward the cafeteria. He paused in front of the cell and glared at the men inside. He growled when he saw their trays piled high with food. When he finally walked away, Berkley released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “This is going to be war, isn't it?” He asked softly.

 

“Yeah. All out war,” Gideon agreed as he dug into his plate of food. “Eat up, you never know when he'll come in here and clear out all your food.”

 

“I have to have my stash.” Berkley was beginning to see benefits of his supposed medical condition.

 

“He won't care. Remember, he's left people to bleed to death. He might enjoy watching you go into a diabetic coma just because it'll give him a hard on and control over you.” Gideon brushed his hand over Berkley's sleeve. “If he does steal everything, we'll find some way to keep you safe and healthy, even if your blood sugar causes you problems.”

 

“Thanks, Gideon.” Berkley surprised himself by really meaning it. He was quickly adjusting to his cover and was surprised that as long as he didn't have to deal with the racial issues, he was fine.

 

The two men ate in silence. When they'd eaten their fill, they stored the rest of the food on their shelves and even tucked some behind their clothing in case of a Wayne-directed raid of their cell.

 

“We should see if we can pry out one of these bricks. We could hide some food that way,” Gideon suggested.

 

Berkley froze as he realized what they were doing. He stumbled away from the shelves and curled up on his bunk, afraid of what he was already becoming. He'd taken on his cover personality completely and felt as if he was slipping away. He held himself and rocked. When Gideon sat on his bed, he looked up actually scared. “What am I becoming?”

 

“A survivor,” Gideon whispered as he moved closer and wrapped his arms around his cellmate. He remembered his own breakdown; having to deal with it alone. “A survivor,” He repeated even more quietly.