Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Prison Rose ❯ Chapter 5

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 5

 

“Warmth. I'm warm,” Berkley thought as he snuggled deeper in the blankets. His face felt cold from the chilled, damp air. A few clouds of confusion rushed through his mind; but, he pushed them away, too comfortable to deal with his imaginations. “Not my imagination,” He thought as he awoke. A slim body was moving behind him and now that he was aware of his body, he realized there were arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders and waist. One hand slowly caressed his chest in an effort to comfort him. He opened his eyes, momentarily surprised by the dingy gray surroundings; then with the force of an explosion, the events from the day before flashed into his consciousness. He shivered slightly and the body moved closer. His original thought that somehow Diana had returned to his side was dashed when he felt the flat chest of a man press against him. Even through the blanket, there was no way he could mistaken it.

 

“It's all right, Albert,” Gideon whispered from behind him. “I can't believe you made it through Rikers without breaking down. You've never done time before. You're not a criminal.” He paused and swallowed hard. “This isn't the place for you.” He shifted his left arm from Berkley's waist to his arm, slowly tracing over the tense muscles until he was able to stroke along the blonde's clenched jaw. He combed his fingers through his hair before moving closer to kiss him gently on the nape of the neck. “Don't worry. We all go through it. It's not a show of weakness; it's a show of strength. It proves that we're adapting so we can survive the horrors of this place.”

 

Berkley choked as he tried to speak. He cleared his throat softly and tried again. “You sound as if you've gone through this before.” Even though he knew about Gideon's history, his cover wouldn't have that knowledge.

 

“Yes, I have.” Gideon snuggled against the larger man. He cursed the fact he had two blankets and their clothing between them. He'd have felt more comfortable without those barriers. “When I was a kid, I defended myself against another student and ended up being sent to kiddie prison. He was a black kid who was always harassing me because of my family's beliefs. He'd lie about what he did and by the time the teachers would get there, I'd be the one fighting back. He'd drop his hands and say that I'd attacked him. Because he was one of the only black kids in the school and I was an evil white kid with parents who taught the truth about blacks, they believed him. The day I was persecuted for, he'd pulled a knife on me. He'd actually stabbed me before that; but, I couldn't admit that he'd bettered me. Out of desperation, I grabbed the knife out of his hand and struck back at him and stabbed him in the chest. I couldn't believe I'd done that and I felt horrible. I thought I'd killed him.” He shivered at the memory. He could remember how it had felt to push a knife into the other boy's body and it frightening him to this day that he'd been able to do that to another person. He blinked at the confusion he felt over that word choice. “No, not person,” He corrected. “When I realized he was still breathing, I told him to lie still that I would get him help. I, I, I,” He stuttered. “I did get him help. I told the teacher what had happened; but, it didn't matter.” He shook his head, rubbing his face against Berkley's broad back. “They called the cops and had me arrested. They pushed to have me tried as an adult; but, I was only fourteen; so, the judge refused their request. No one was around for the fight; but, that kid turned up ten people who were willing to lie and say that I was the one who brought the knife and that I'd been the aggressor.”

 

“That must have been terrible.” Berkley's face crinkled in confusion. He remembered reading the trial transcripts and had noted the discrepancy between Gideon's description of the fight and the events leading up to the knifing with the numerous witnesses the prosecution had called. There had only been one person who testified on Gideon's behalf, a teacher at his school who talked about the code of silence that had been ordered by the district concerning what she termed abuse of Gideon by the small band of black students at the school. Since her student didn't hide his family's belief in white supremacy, he was an automatic target for the minority groups. It was made easier by the fact that he was small for his age and wasn't as strong as they were. “Why was the other student believed over you?”

 

“The superintendent of the district was black and he hated my family. I grew up in an area where our beliefs weren't embraced and were frowned upon. Even though the student population was predominantly white, the powerful people in the district and many of the teachers were black or Hispanic.” He tried to snuggle closer to the man next to him. “They knew what was happening and made it policy that the blacks and others like them were given preferences. They didn't have to do the same amount of work for their grades and were given special treatment in the lunchrooms. Even when it came to use of the bathroom, they could leave without asking and walk the halls without passes. It was sick.”

 

Berkley rolled his eyes. He didn't believe things were that discriminatory; but, in the mind of a child, they might have appeared that way. That idea gave him pause and made him think about the incongruities he'd seen growing up; he knew the sport's jocks were given passing grades even when they didn't complete their assignments. During football season, the players didn't even have to come to school on Fridays when they had away games. Their state-champion wrestlers were given extra food at lunch and weren't charged any extra. “What if most of those players had been black? And the champion wrestlers had been as well? Would I have believed it was racially motivated discrimination?” Berkley frowned over questions. He'd been raised in a family that was accepting of everyone and stressed that skin color, country of origins, religion, and gender had no bearing on what someone could do or how far they could go. “But, if my family stressed a belief of racial superiority, would I have jumped to the same conclusion as Gideon?” He would like to think he wouldn't have; but, the kernel of doubt had been seeded and now, Berkley wasn't so certain. “Who helped you through your period of adaptation?”

 

“No one. I was attacked within my first hour of being locked up and spent the entire time in solitary confinement.” His voice broke several times and was barely audible.

 

“I'm sorry.” Berkley meant it. “I'm glad you're here for me.” He shivered as he thought about going through this alone or with a cellmate who ridiculed him for his weakness. “How long have you been in this time?”

 

“Almost six and half years.”

 

Berkley turned to look at the younger man. “You're kidding.” Gideon shook his head. “How have you avoided being hurt by Wayne and his gang?”

 

“I was knifed the first night. After I got out of medical, I was placed in solitary confinement again. Wayne forced my re-entry in the general population four weeks ago.” He sighed and laid his head on Berkley's shoulder. Even though he was supposed to be comforting and supporting the blond, he felt as though he were the one being comforted. He could feel the underlying strength in the man next to him and knew that once he got through this night, he wouldn't need comforting any more. He wanted to make the best of it. Maybe if he established a connection now, his cellmate wouldn't push him away later. Maybe he'd be able to feel safe for the rest of his stay. “At least until you're released because you're innocent,” He admitted with sadness.

 

“Four weeks ago,” Berkley thought. “The killings started three weeks ago. I'm sure it would take at least a week to set up the first hit. J.J. should check the visitor logs and see who visited him when he got out of solitary confinement.” His thoughts continued as he dug through what he'd learned from Gideon's story. He wasn't surprised when the little man moved closer to him and even managed to press against him in such a way that he had to wrap his arm around him. “I should make him move to his bunk,” He said as Gideon snuggled even closer.

 

“Albert?” Gideon asked. Berkley was silent, deep in his thoughts and still not one hundred percent adjusted to his cover name. “Albert?” He asked again, this time looking up to see if the other man was asleep. “Hey, Albert,” He prompted as he rubbed his hand over Berkley's chest.

 

“Oh, shit,” Berkley thought as he realized Gideon had been trying to get his attention for a while. “I'm sorry. I was thinking,” He started as he struggled for something to say that would diffuse the other man's suspicion. Most people responded to their name being called. “I was thinking of how comfortable I feel right now.” He turned and smiled. He was rewarded with a massive smile back.

 

“I'm glad you're comfortable. You aren't too warm, are you?” Gideon seemed giddy over Berkley's simple words. “You felt so cold after you fell asleep. I know that was because of the stress of everything last night; but, you needed to warm up.”

 

Berkley's eyes opened a little wider as he thought about that. “How did you know I was cold?”

 

“I changed your clothing and wiped off your face. Your hands and feet were so cold.”

 

With a start Berkley checked over what he was wearing. As Gideon had said, he wasn't wearing the jeans and sweatshirt from the day before. Now, he was comfortably dressed in a pair of loose sweatpants, t-shirt, and at least two pairs of socks, he decided when he wiggled his toes. He turned and looked suspiciously at the little man next to him.

 

Gideon held up one hand and tried to explain his actions. “Jeans are so uncomfortable to sleep in. Yesterday morning when you changed, you had marks from the night before. I didn't want you to chafe or become irritated. Don't worry, I didn't do anything to you. I'm not like that.” He moved away and mashed his body against the wall. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done anything. I've angered you. I'll move to my bunk.” He started to gather up the top blanket and make good on his statement when Berkley stopped him.

 

“You brought your own blanket?”

 

“Yes, you said things were moving to quickly. I let you keep your blanket to yourself and laid on top of it before covering both of us with mine.” Gideon held up the edge of his blanket and showed Berkley the truth of his words.

 

“That was very thoughtful of you. So was your changing me. I don't like falling asleep in jeans because the edges do hurt and can cut off my circulation. I guess I shouldn't buy such tight jeans.” Berkley wrestled with his thoughts. He knew he should send the little man to his own bunk; but, doing so would appear ungrateful. Right now, things were progressing nicely and he wasn't sure if that advancement would be slowed or stopped if he made too much of this. “Stay with me,” He said even though he knew he would regret it. “Tell me more about yourself.” He reached over and pulled Gideon back to his side and waited for him to get comfortable. It surprised him that the man's warmth seemed especially soothing to his bruised ribs and to his fears. His heart was no longer racing at the thought of having to change for the assignment. Somehow, he knew, he just knew, that he wouldn't change as a person. He would still be Berkley Rose, Commissioner of the 27th Precinct. The changes he had to make to act as Albert Schmidt would be part of him; but, that part would be small and could only help him become a stronger person. “Relax and talk to me until I fall asleep, please Gideon,” He said as he rubbed his cheek against the soft brown hair resting on his shoulder.

 

“Okay.” Gideon was pleased by the unexpected shift in his cellmate's personality. He'd always been good at keeping the people he cared about comfortable and happy; this time would not be an exception. He knew he needed this man to protect him; seeing him in action convinced him of that. Some how he knew, deep in his gut, that this man was a born protector. It was as much a part of him as being a caretaker was part of his own personality. He snuggled closer to the larger man and after hesitating a moment longer, reached out to lay his hand on Berkley's chest. “What can I tell you? I'm not an interesting person.”

 

“Anything,” Berkley prompted. He knew what he would like to hear; but, he didn't want to throw out any questions unless Gideon provided an excuse, a lead in, for them. “And, everyone's interesting. You just have to be willing to see them for who they are. We've all had experiences that allow us to grow and that growth over time, is what makes us interesting.”

 

“No, some people are born to be interesting.” Gideon shook his head.

 

“I disagree. Babies are interesting because they're, well, babies,” Berkley said with a soft laugh. “They're cute and adorable and always doing something to make you smile. But, they grow up and unless they encounter events that make them grow, change, think about their world, or expand their horizons, you end up with a teen or adult who has no knowledge of whom they are or how to think for himself. Or herself,” He added as an afterthought. He was used to using the male form to designate both genders; but, he wanted to see if Gideon would follow his lead in this area as well. The convict showed signs of being a mimic of the person he was around. “Perhaps in an effort to please,” Berkley thought. “It's that growth that allows an abused child to grow into a caring parent. Or a person raised to never question anything she was taught, to become a teacher who instructs her students to question everything. To find out the truth by using their own intellect,” He stopped, afraid that he'd tripped himself up by following this line of thought.

 

Gideon was still for several minutes. “You didn't grow up in a family that believed in white supremacy. Right?”

 

“That's right. My family was all about equality. They believed that anyone could grow up to be whatever they wanted. Race, gender, country of origin, religion, etc, didn't matter,” Berkley said softly. He hoped the fact that he believed in those values couldn't be heard in his voice. “If a person wanted something bad enough, they could achieve it thought hard work and dedication. Sometimes, some people would need a hand up; but, they were never to be given a hand out. As a child, I wasn't always sure of the differences between those two ideas. Now, I do understand the differences. A person who wants to succeed will never take a hand out. They'll live on the streets or in their car before they'll accept government assistance. They'll work three part-time jobs and still be home to make dinner for their children; then, they'll stick around to help them with their homework and to tuck them in at night. The house might not be spotless or someplace you would invite your neighbors; but, it'll feel lived in and filled with love.” Berkley shifted slightly, sneaking a glance at Gideon. He was surprised to see a look of longing on the younger man's face. “I wonder what he's thinking?” Instead of asking the question, Berkley continued with his small dialogue. “The person who wants a hand out, well, they're an entirely different mind-set. They look at the world through a film of negativity. They'll blame everything on someone else. These are the people who don't really want to succeed because that would mean taking responsibility. They're the people who live by taking from others.” Berkley paused, trying to choose his words wisely. He didn't want Gideon to believe he saw him as the later. “An example from my childhood,” He began. His story from earlier had worked so well, he was happy he had something relevant for this situation. “My parents moved from our small town to a city. In my new school, there were kids who used to pass through the lunch line without having to pay for their meals. The cashier just waved them through the check out. I didn't understand why that was happening. I'd been home schooled until that point and, frankly, had never been taught about things like welfare and government assistance. After watching that for about a month, I actually asked my parents about it and my mother explained that those children were probably in families where they expected someone else to care for them. That the parents didn't want to provide for their children.”

 

“What about those who couldn't provide for them?” Gideon asked.

 

“She didn't believe in the government providing assistance for anyone. The children who were getting assistance through the churches and other private groups in the area paid for their meals using money their parents earned by volunteering with the organizations. Those children were proud to be able to pay for things. It showed in the way they carried themselves and the way it offended them to be grouped with the welfare children.” Berkley was amazed at the vitriol he still felt toward the parents of those children. “All they did was breed and teach dependency.” He rubbed his eyes and felt himself drifting off. He was tired and the warmth radiating from his bed-partner wasn't helping him stay awake. “My mother explained how the government welfare programs worked and how they bred dependency. She also used an example that showed the government's knowledge that the programs wouldn't develop independent, free-living people. In Florida's swamp areas where manatees live, there are signs warning fishermen, boaters, and tourists not to feed the manatees. Under the main warning, it gives the reason. It makes them dependent on humans and stops them from foraging and acquiring things for themselves.”

 

“Just like with people,” Gideon said with a nod. “I'd never thought about it that way.”

 

“Exactly. I hadn't either. But, what she said made sense. When you get something without working for it, you're less motivated to do things for yourself. A person sits back and expects it. They wait in their government paid for home or apartment and wait for their caseworker to come to take them to the store, to the doctor's office, or even to school. They expect the government to pay for their schooling, medical care, food, clothing, and every other need.” Berkley paused not wanting to push things to far. “They learn to expect the hand out and will reject a hand up since the later requires them to be responsible for themselves.”

 

“It's like a guy I met in boot camp,” Gideon began. “He'd been raised in a welfare home and appeared proud of it. He used to talk about how he'd joined the military to get away from that sense of dependency; that he wanted to do things for himself and succeed. He only made it halfway through camp because he discovered that he would be expected to do things for himself. When he complained, he was told that everyone was going to be treated exactly the same in the military. Just because he thought he was disadvantaged didn't mean that he was. He would be expected to do his part, just like the rest of us. He ended up being kicked out when he refused to carry his pack during a march. He complained that his back hurt. My back hurt, so did everyone else's, but, we grabbed our packs and marched.” He shook his head. “I wouldn't have wanted to go to war with him.”

 

“Neither would I,” Berkley agreed. “You were in the military?”

 

“Army,” Gideon clarified. “I was in for five years. I enjoyed it, a lot. I liked the sense of camaraderie and how everyone was expected to hold up their part of the job.”

 

“Then why did you get out?” Berkley asked softly. He'd gotten the feeling from Ryo that the young man had gotten out because of the investigation into weapon's thefts; but, he wanted to know the reason from Gideon.

 

“I couldn't get anyone to listen to me. I knew about crimes that were happening and even had the evidence. But,” He sighed. “No one would listen to me. They believed my commanding officer. He denied the wrongdoing. When it because obvious to everyone that something was happening, they laid the blame at my feet. At the time, Captain Russell was my lover. In fact, had been almost from the moment I got to the base. He was everything I thought I wanted in a lover. He had platinum-blond hair, blue eyes, a beautiful smile, forceful commanding voice that could also be warm and loving, and most of all, his entire being screamed safety and security.”

 

“That description's familiar,” Berkley thought as he pictured the prison warden. “I suppose if Gideon had ever met him, he'd have had a similar reaction.”

 

“I'm small. I always have been. I barely made the military height and weight requirement and definitely didn't have the physical strength of everyone else. I craved a feeling of security. I know now, what I really wanted was to feel loved.” Now that he was talking, he couldn't stop. He'd wanted to tell his story for so long; and now, with a tiny question, his cellmate had released all the pent up need to tell someone, even someone who couldn't stop what had been set into motion all those years before, about his fears, his reasons for things, and the crimes that he'd helped commit in the name of love.

 

“What about your parents?” Berkley whispered against the soft brown hair.

 

“They were killed while I was in prison. When I came out, I was put in foster care,” Gideon's voice broke as his body shook. “I didn't even get to go to their funerals and I still don't know where they were buried.”

 

Berkley closed his eyes and momentarily wondering if what Gideon said was true. They hadn't been able to find anything on his parents after 1986, which would have been about midway through his incarceration. “It might be true,” He admitted.

 

“I'm positive they were killed by one of the black gangs. The cops wouldn't tell me anything though. But, my parents had been threatened before and no one had done anything about it.” He sighed softly and forced himself to relax. “I wish I knew the truth; but, no one can find it out now. It's too late.” He wiped away a tear before it was noticeable, or so he thought. “I wish someone would tell me the truth.”

 

“I can understand why you wanted security and love. It's hard losing a parent, let alone both at the same time. It must be far worse not to even have the closure of a funeral where you can say good bye.” Berkley understood losing both parents at the same time. His own had been killed by a drunk driver running a red light during the weekend he graduated from college. “Why did you believe Captain Russell would give you that security and love?”

 

“When I went into the military, I wanted to stay in long enough to qualify for the GI bill so I could have help for college. I wanted to be a teacher. Toward that goal, I wanted to go into a specialty that would give me experience I could use in education. My tests, indicated that I would best fit into a clerical position and I was assigned to the weapon's depot because of my natural ability with firearms. Captain Russell was the head of the department and ruled everything with a steel fist. When I showed up, his first reaction was to laugh. I wasn't what he'd expected. But, I quickly proved my worth by putting everything in order and showing him discrepancies in the paperwork. It wasn't until six months later, after the discrepancies got even worse; that I realized he was skimming weapons and ammo off each order. Initially, I went to the investigative division of the military police. They questioned him and believed it when they were told that there wasn't a problem; that the discrepancies were the results of normal government mistakes.” Gideon snuggled closer. With each word, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten. “They were satisfied with his answer and dropped the investigation. It was clear to me that he was in command and could diffuse any situation. When he found out that I had been the one to go to investigations, he informed me that I would take the fall if anything happened. I'd fallen hopelessly in love with him and had hoped the investigation would make him stop. It didn't. He increased the rate he was smuggling weapons off of the base and bought my silence by making me the face of the `organization' as he described it. That was the point when I realized he had an entire network handling the weapons transportation and distribution. I intellectualized what we doing by saying it's our tax dollars buying those weapons. Since the military wasn't using them, they should be put in the hands of people who will use them.”

 

“It didn't bother you,” Berkley asked quietly.

 

Gideon nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah. It bothered me. But, the captain assured me the weapons were being sold to people who would avenge my parent's deaths a thousand times over. That and the fact he could put everything on me, helped alleviate my guilt. Also, I loved him. I was willing to do anything to maintain his love.” He frowned as he realized parallels in other areas of his life. He shook it off. To face it would cause more problems than he could deal with. “When the first Gulf War started, the clear evidence of missing weapons couldn't be ignored and another investigation was started. This time, a very good investigator handled it. He had the face of an angel and the brains to go along with it. He's a cop now. Here in New York City, no less.” Gideon's voice took on a hint of resignation. “He's the reason I'm in here now.” He sighed. “I wish I could have told him the whole story. I doubt it would have made a difference; but, maybe it would have. The captain and I had set up the paperwork to point to me if another investigation ever happened. I'd agreed to resign and work from the outside and he would diffuse the investigation from the inside. He said that he knew people and they owed him favors, big favors. When the investigator got close, I resigned as planned and he made certain documents disappear so the paper trail no longer existed. But, he didn't want me to stay with him. That had been part of the plan. Instead, he found a new clerk and sent me here, to New York City. I didn't know anyone. I'd never met anyone else in his organization. But, they were all like us; so, I fit in. It was like a family in a way. We took care of each other; but, I was still the one on the outside. I was alone even though I did my job well. I had guards and people who called me `sir'; but, I didn't have a protective relationship anymore. After the captain gave his approval, I started hiring people of my own to help with weapons distribution and to protect me. It took a while; but, I found a person who made me feel as safe as the captain had.” He hid his face and tried to turn away.

 

“What is it, Gideon?” Berkley asked.

 

“I feel as if I'm misleading you.” He sat up and looked into Berkley's face. “If I ever get out of here, I will go back to my lover. I don't think you're one to just have sex. There has to be something between you and the other person. I don't want to hurt you.”

 

“You won't hurt me. I've already made up my mind to protect you. Right now, I'm not interested in sex. It was an enticing offer; but, I got the feeling you were offering yourself to me out of desperation, not out of any real feeling. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you so I didn't hurt your feelings, or offend you, or worse, make you distant. You love someone else and that's more than reason enough not to embark on anything in here. And, it's the best reason I can think of to say, no.” He was shocked when Gideon seemed almost ready to cry. “It's okay.” He reached up to brush a lock of hair back into place.

 

“No, it's not. You're going to risk yourself for me. I need to do something in return.”

 

“Talk to me. I like learning about other people.” Berkley chuckled. “You can wash my laundry and give me backrubs.”

 

“Okay!” Gideon chirped as he perked up.

 

“I was joking.”

 

“I know. I'm not. I want to do something for you. I can't allow you to place yourself in harms way for me without doing something in return. By the way, I give a very good back massage.” He snuggled back against his cellmate. “And, I'll keep you warm at night. The muscles in your shoulders and back tighten up when you're chilly. If I keep you warm, you'll wake up with less pain.” He rubbed his cheek over Berkley's chest.

 

Berkley sighed. “All right, if it makes you feel better.”

 

“It does.” Gideon sobered. “If something happens to you, I'll care for you. The people I care about tend to get hurt,” He admitted. “I hope this time is different.”

 

“What do you mean by people you care about getting hurt?” Berkley asked, even though he already knew the answer.

 

“I don't get many visitors; but, one of my friends came to see me to tell me several men I'd hired had been murdered. We assumed it was by gangs who we'd refused to sell weapons to. What made it worse is that horrible lies were planted on them. One of the guards I'd hired, Michael Astor, was murdered and whoever killed him lied and said he was a Jew. Another man, Justin Greer, was one of my distributors and they said he was married to a black. I know of six of my friends who have been murdered since I've been out of solitary confinement. I don't want anyone I care about hurt.”

 

Berkley was confused. This entire investigation stemmed from belief that Gideon was the one directing the killings. “The notes were in his handwriting,” He thought. Then another point hit him. “Six? We only know of five.” He thought for some way he could get all six victims names out of the young man. “If we're missing a death, we're missing evidence that could lead us to the killers.” After realizing he couldn't think of another way to get the information, he dove into the mix. “Who were the other friends? Sometimes it helps to remember the people you've lost. It helps keep them with us a little longer.”

 

“The first murdered was Michael Astor. He was a wonderful man with a beautiful wife and two children.” Berkley nodded for him to continue. “The second was my chief accountant, David Cragen. He wasn't married or anything; but, he was in a committed relationship with someone. The third was the head of our security, Jonathan Branch. He was single, but looking.” Gideon snuggled closer. Somehow this did seem to be helping. As he talked about each person, he remembered how special they were to him and how they had enriched his life. “The fourth was Justin Greer. He left behind a woman he'd loved since they were children. They didn't have children; but, they'd always wanted some. The fifth was Mitch Lord, my distribution manager.” Berkley filed the name away so he could give it to J.J. when they spoke. “The weird thing is, they didn't leave a note for him. They just murdered him. They tried to ruin the names of everyone else; but, they just killed Mitch. He was so gentle, too. He was in love with the Fredrick Lawson, my last friend to be murdered. I'm terrified more will die. I don't want to lose anyone else.” Suddenly, he pushed himself into a corner of the bed. “Oh, god! Trey! They might go after him next!” Gideon was almost hyperventilating in panic.

 

Even though he already knew, Berkley asked quietly. “Who's Trey?” He sat up and gathered the small man into his arms. “Who's Trey?” He repeated in an even lower voice. “Maybe there's something that can be done.”

 

“Yeah. Your attorney,” Gideon mentally grabbed the one line of hope he could see. “He could get a message to the police. Not through the tip lines, those don't work. They'll protect him. Yes. I'll write a note telling where Trey can be found for the police and one for Trey so he knows he can trust them; that they're protecting him because I'm worried.”

 

“But, who is Trey?”

 

“My lover,” Gideon said in a voice that was barely audible.

 

“I'll give the messages to my attorney. If there's anything he can do, he'll do it.” He privately cheered at the breakthrough, minor though it was, it was a glimmer of hope that they'd get the information they needed so he could get out of there. A knot in his gut made him worry. He didn't want to leave Gideon inside, completely unprotected and vulnerable. He had a suspicion that the young man wouldn't handle being abandoned very well. Even worse, if he ever discovered the subterfuge, Berkley suspected it would push him even deeper into his radicalism. “It'll be all right. You'll see.” He brushed through the man's soft brown hair until he fell asleep. His own eyes drifting shut, he stretched the young man out and covered both of them with the blankets. “Good night, Gideon,” He whispered before kissing him gently on the forehead. He had a momentary flash of panic that immediately evaporated. “One thing you were right about, Gideon. I am a natural protector. But, my original reason for being here is changing. I was certain you were guilty; now, I'm not so certain. What if your words are true? Why are you here now? Why didn't you just tell Ryo everything? He would have listened. He's an excellent investigator and would have wanted to get everyone involved, not just you. I have so many questions. I hope I can find all the answers.” His thoughts slowly became jumbled and faded as sleep reached up to drag him into its depths. “Good night, Gideon.”

 

“Yo! Whitey! You better not have fucked his ass! Get out here you two love birds,” Wayne growled as he slammed the cell door open. “Move it!” He almost screamed.

 

Berkley snapped awake, rolling to his feet even before his eyes were open. Gideon wasn't so quick and barely got his eyes open before the guard was inside their cell.

 

Seeing his newest conquest fully clothed and moving easily, Wayne assumed he must have been the one on top. He didn't pause and stepped into the punch he aimed at Berkley's jaw. His fist connected solidly with the half-awake man sending him flying over the desk chair. He knew with the blond out of the way, the little white supremacist would be easy game. He'd just turned toward Gideon, assuming that the tall man would be down for the count, when a powerful hand grabbed his wrist. He turned and encountered the menacing glare of the man he'd just `knocked out'.

 

“I wouldn't recommend doing that again. You won't get another free hit,” Berkley whispered with barely controlled rage. “Now, leave us. We won't be going to breakfast this morning.”

 

Wayne's eyes almost bugged out of his head, he'd never struck someone with that much force and had them pop back to their feet. He pushed forward to grab the now cowering man and was again stopped by the same white hand. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled away and stood free of any restraint. “I hope you brought plenty of food. Your cafeteria privileges are suspended until Monday.” He smirked and reached out to touch Berkley's face, wiping his finger through the trail of blood dripping from his broken nose. “If you play, I'll feed you,” He whispered.

 

“I don't play well with others,” Berkley said with a smirk. From the first time he'd heard it, he'd loved that line from the old movie `Hackers' and had always wanted a chance to use it. It felt so subversive for some reason.

 

“Cute,” Wayne said with a laugh. He recognized the line. “You better watch who you do play with. People can get hurt.”

 

“You can't even remember the lines from a movie,” Berkley said with a scoff. “How do you expect to keep me interested. No memory, no looks, no brain, why would I settle for the worst choice when I can have something much better.” He was trying to bait the guard. He already had a broken nose and probably a concussion, he felt dizzy; but, if nothing else came out of this assignment, he wanted Wayne punished for his abuse.

 

“What's better than this?” Wayne asked as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick. “You've never seen any better.”

 

Berkley almost doubled over in hysterics. “Yeah. I've seen something a hell of a lot better.”

 

“So have I,” Gideon said as he giggled from the corner of Berkley's bed. “Yesterday and last night in fact.”

 

With a shake of his head, Berkley slowly untied his sweatpants and pushed them lower on his hips. “If the size of your dick is how you judge someone, I think I've got you hands down.” As he finished his sentence, he pushed his sweats even lower and pulled himself free. “What's best? I know how to use what I've got.” His point presented, he straightened his clothing and acted like nothing had happened. Inside, he wondered how this had broken down to a child's game of `Who's Bigger'.

 

“Fuck me,” Wayne said as he stuffed himself back in his pants. Regaining his bravado, he stepped forward and slapped the taller man. “Do you know how to use that to punish someone? I do and when the comes, you're going to know punishment.” He paused for emphasis. “At it's best, Fucker.”

 

Berkley smirked as he thought, “Keep it up, each hit's another nail in your trail coffin.” He stayed silent and simply stood proudly. His fears were hidden away deep in his heart and now, with them out of the way, he wasn't going to be pushed around any more. He would not back down from this bully and would not allow himself to be intimidated.

 

“Don't you have anything to say?” He snapped his head around and glared at Gideon who was giggling softly. “What are you laughing at?”

 

“Even I'm bigger than you are. All this time, I've been terrified of you and now, now I know it's all talk.” Gideon pushed the blanket away and opened his boxers. “Since we're being childish, I guess I should get in on the act. You're the loser in the size contest.”

 

“Would you like to try another game?” Berkley asked as he stepped into Wayne's personal space. “No? I didn't think so. Leave us alone. We have better things to do.” He sat on the edge of his bed and felt Gideon move to rest against his back.

 

“Fucker,” Wayne said again.

 

“Great vocabulary there, Wayne,” Berkley allowed his derision to reverberate in his voice. “What happened to, `White Fucker,' `Lily,' `Pretty-boy,' or my personal favorite, `Fuck you, Bastard'.” Berkley paused a moment and then shook his head. “That's right, the `Fuck you, Bastard' comment came from one of your little gang-members. Forgive me, I can't tell any of you apart.” Berkley's sarcastic words perfectly matched his expression.

 

“I will break you. I'll have you begging for mercy as I watch you bleed.” Wayne left the cell and slammed the door shut with every ounce of strength he had. “Jacob, cafeteria's off limits for these two.” He glanced back into the cell, hoping to see some reaction out of the two men.

 

“We're fine,” Berkley said with a saccharin smile.

 

“You'll pay.” Wayne snarled and then left them alone.

 

“Oh, god, what did we just do,” Gideon whispered as he crumbled into a quivering puddle. He moaned quietly as Berkley petted over his back, trying to give him some comfort. After he'd stilled and moaned one last time, he pushed himself up and knelt in the corner of the bed. “You were wonderful; but, you know he's going to come at you with everything he's got.”

 

“I know. But, something snapped. I just wasn't afraid of him any more.”

 

“He was small, wasn't he?” Gideon giggled at the memory.

 

Berkley shook his head. “No, even before that. He put everything he had into that punch and it didn't knock me out. My nose is broken and I think I've got a concussion; but, I wasn't incapacitated.”

 

“Oh,” Gideon managed to say as he realized how much pain his cellmate had to be in. “I'm sorry; I didn't think. Stay there.” He jumped out of the bed and grabbed a washcloth from their shelves. He quickly soaked it with water and brought it back to the bed. “Lay back,” He whispered as he helped Berkley lay down. “I'm sorry,” He whispered over and over as he dabbed at the blood until the cloth was red. He rinsed it out and returned, worried that the blood wasn't clotting. “I think you need to go to the infirmary.”

 

“No,” Berkley said as Gideon pressed the cloth against his face. “You'd be an open target. It'll stop.” He was starting to feel lightheaded and had to fight to stay conscious.

 

“Albert? Albert?”

 

Gideon's voice sounded far away to Berkley. He barely caught himself from correcting the inmate's name use. “Gideon, it's all right.” He cracked his eyes open and licked his dry lips. “I need something to drink.”

 

“One moment.” The small man moved away and returned quickly with a can of something that he poured into a metal mug. “It's warm; but, the sugar and caffeine should help.” He helped Berkley roll onto his side and held the mug to his lips. “Drink,” He prompted quietly.

 

Berkley took several sips of the warm Coca-Cola Classic before lying back down. “Thank you.” He reached up and felt his nose. It was already swelling and he felt the broken bones shift even under his ginger touch. “I must look like hell.”

 

“That doesn't matter. You look wonderful to me.” He pushed Berkley's hands back to his sides. “Don't play with it, it'll start bleeding again.” He wiped away the last of the blood and was relieved when no more took its place. “It's not quite straight; but, once your raccoon eyes go away, it won't be noticeable. Unless you know what to look for,” He added as an afterthought. He brushed the blonde's hair away from his face and gently caresses the outer edge of Berkley ear. “Lay here quietly for a while. Then try sitting up.”

 

“We missed breakfast,” Berkley said in confusion as darkness closed in around him and he passed out.

 

“I know. We're going to miss lunch and dinner. I hope you told your attorney to get you more chocolate bars. We might be living off them this weekend.” He looked down at his now unconscious cellmate. “I know what we said this morning; but, I really wish you would take me in payment. It wouldn't be cheating because I think I could easily love you,” He whispered.

 

Thirty minutes later, Jacob passed by their cell to see how much damage Wayne had inflicted. He wasn't surprised to see Schmidt resting on his bunk. What was surprising was seeing Gideon up and moving around as if he hadn't been touched. After glancing around and verifying that Wayne wasn't around, he leaned against the bars. “Hey, Gideon. I thought Wayne tried to kill both of you this morning. He was pissed when he saw you sleeping with his target.”

 

“He punched Albert. Knocked him over the desk chair; but, he didn't lay a hand on me. Albert stopped him.”

 

“Wayne hit him, full-force?” Gideon nodded. “And he got up?” Gideon nodded with a wide grin. “Damn, tough old bird. How much damage?”

 

“He's got a broken nose and lost a lot of blood,” Gideon said, all the worry he felt clearly there for everyone to hear. “I think he has a concussion; but, he's resting. Once he gets something to eat, he should be okay. Do you think you could get some more juice and soda to us? We should have brought even more last night.”

 

“I'll see what I can do. Wayne's boys are coming.” He moved away from the bars. “I'll come get him when his attorney arrives.”

 

“He might not leave me. He thinks Wayne will attack me when he's not here.”

 

“He's probably right. But, he has to meet with his attorney. Don't worry, I'll come up with some excuse.” Jacob moved further down the passage and acted like he was checking cells. Wayne passed by him, close enough smell the scent of sex on his clothing; but, Jacob ignored him, trying to behave as if nothing was different.

 

Gideon watched Wayne walk by from the edge of Berkley's bed. He shivered a little as Wayne started to reach for the cell door and almost collapsed in relief when he pulled his hand back and moved on. He returned his attentions to the man who'd protected him, saved his life in his opinion. He removed the blood-tinged rag from the blonde's eyes and grimaced when he saw the clearly evident bruising around them. He stood and ran the water until it was as cold as it would go and soaked a clean rag in it. It wasn't as good as ice; but, it would help with the swelling. He settled on the edge of the bed again and gently settled the folded cloth over the darkening eyes before moving to the desk chair to watch out the cell door.

 

Almost an hour later, Berkley groaned and pushed the towel off his face. He had a horrible headache and wanted nothing more to take a soak in a hot bath in the comfort of his own home. His entire upper body ached and he felt as if his eyes would never open completely. His nose was stuffed and his mouth and lips felt like he'd been standing in front of a fan with his mouth open.

 

“Albert,” Gideon said as his cellmate moved. “Here, drink this,” He said quietly as he pressed a bottle against the blonde's lips. “Slowly,” He cautioned as Berkley tried to gulp the sports drink.

 

Berkley pulled away and groaned as he tried to move his stiffened shoulders. The muscles didn't want to move and cramped in complaint. “I need some aspirin.”

 

“You're blood isn't clotting now. You can't have an aspirin. It'll thin your blood.”

 

“I know; but, my head and back are killing me.” Berkley groaned again as his back protested again.

 

“After you eat something, I'll give you a massage. It'll help.” Gideon frowned as he moved to Berkley's side. “Wayne is denying us access to the showers as well. For today at least,” He added. “I'll help you change your clothes. I couldn't get your pants off because they were wet.” He grimaced at Berkley's confused look.

 

“Why were my pants wet?” Berkley asked before he realized that his bladder must have let go when he passed out. “Don't explain,” He said as he held up a hand. “I know what happened. How embarrassing,” He said as his face heated up with a deep blush.

 

“It's all right. It happens,” He said from experience. “But, we need to get you out of those pants. They'll chafe you. Plus, it'll make you more comfortable.”

 

“Yeah,” Berkley said with a nod. He struggled to stand and felt the earth heave under his feet as he started lose his balance. “Oh,” He managed to gasp out as darkness threatened to swallow him again.

 

“Slowly, slowly,” Gideon said softly as he steadied the larger man, tucking himself under one arm so he could provide some support.

 

“I'm okay.” Berkley managed to stand straight and shuffle a couple of steps. “How bad does my face look?”

 

“I've seen worse.” Gideon's comment drew an irritated look from the taller man.

 

“I'm sure I have as well,” The commissioner said with a lopsided grin. He moved to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't surprised to see the bruises around his eyes. He knew his nose was broken. What did surprise him was his darkened upper lip. He didn't remember Wayne striking him there. “But, his fists are a lot larger than his dick,” Berkley thought evilly. He managed to smile and immediately grimaced at the pain. “Damn,” He said before he could stop himself.

 

Gideon was immediately at his side. “What's wrong? What can I do for you?”

 

Berkley found the young man's attention disconcerting and strangely comforting at the same time. “It's okay. I forgot about my split lip.”

 

“Split lips,” Gideon gently corrected. “And, they're very dry which make it worse.” He reached up and touched Berkley's cheek. “I'll help you change your pants at least.”

 

“I think I need the help. I'm afraid bending over is out of the question.” Berkley was shocked at how lightheaded he felt. He must have lost more blood than he'd realized.

 

“Do you want a pair of jeans or sweats?”

 

“Jeans. If I don't put them on now, I'll have to change when my attorney gets here.” He stopped as he realized that when he left, Gideon would be easy prey. “I can't leave. It'll be open season on you.”

 

Gideon shook his head as he picked out a pair of jeans from Berkley's collection. “No, Jacob said he'd figure something out. He'll get me out of here so I'm safe.”

 

“I hope so,” Berkley said softly. He really didn't want anything to happen to the little man now that they had an understanding and an established dialogue. He knew he could get the answers they needed; it was a matter of time. “And my not getting myself killed,” He admonished himself. Looking back, he realized how stupid it had been for him to bait Wayne as much as he had. For a moment, he wondered what the warden would say when he heard about it. Berkley pushed his sweatpants over his hips and leaned over slightly, wavering on his feet.

 

“I'll get them,” Gideon said gently. He didn't want to embarrass his protector anymore than he already had been. He pushed the pants down to pool around Berkley's feet and steadied him as he stepped out of them. He quickly drew warm water in the sink and added some soap. After readying a washcloth, he moved forward to wash off the other man's legs and groin.

 

“I can do that,” Berkley said softly as his face flushed in embarrassment. He had no idea how he'd be able to follow through on the action; but, he was determined that he would be able to do it.

 

“Okay,” Gideon said softly. He'd been looking forward to touching the other man; but, he was determined not to scare him off. “I'm willing to help you as much as I can.”

 

“Thank you. It's just.” His words were cut off as Gideon pressed a single finger to his lips.

 

“Shh, it's okay. I understand. It's not a matter of dignity; it's proving that you're still strong. To yourself; not me,” He clarified.

 

After a moment's hesitation, Berkley nodded and took the offered cloth. He struggled against darkness but managed to wash off his groin and thighs. “I can't reach any lower.” He handed the towel to Gideon. “Please?”

 

“Of course.” “With pleasure,” He added silently. He gently finished washing Berkley's legs and quickly rinsed the towel in the sink before draining the water and soaking the towel in the fresh, warm water. “Can you do this?”

 

Berkley nodded. He quickly wiped away the soap from his groin and upper thighs and allowed Gideon to finish the job.

 

“I'm glad I can do something for you,” Gideon said softly as he finished rinsing Berkley's feet. “It's small payment; but, at least it's something.” He stood and rinsed the rag again before hanging it on a hook to dry. He finished drying Berkley's legs and then helped him with his boxers and jeans. As he stepped back to watch the tall man button and zip the tight material, he smiled at the slight bulge that was evident in the jeans. “He won't admit it; but, he's turned on by me.”

 

“You mentioned food?”

 

“Yes, we have plenty from yesterday.” Gideon smiled as he helped Berkley settle into the desk chair. “I hope you're hungry,” He said as he pulled away the towel he'd draped over the breakfast plate he'd prepared.