Marrow

Marrow. Part Two.
By BrightEyes
Fandom: Oz/Law and Order: SVU/X-Men. Spoilers through season four of Oz.
Summary: Two new inmates at the Oswald State Penitentiary cause scandal and angst inside and outside the walls.
Warnings: Slash (m/m), Angst, Underage Character, Descriptions of Abuse, Issues of Consent: non-con and rape, Violence, Adult Language and Situations.
Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me. I’m not making money. Don’t sue me, please. This is fantasy adult fiction: rape and sex with minors is NOT OKAY in the real world, got it?
Feedback: Please. To brighteyedjill@yahoo.com.


Oz: Em City

Benjamin Landry walked through Em City, followed by the eyes of dozens of men
already locked in their pods for the evening. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he
mounted the stairs to the second level. In the pod they shared, Vern Schillinger was
sitting on Landry’s bunk. Landry leaned against the glass wall closest to the door. Not
looking up from his book, Schillinger asked, “So what did you and Timmy talk about?”

“He warned me about you,” Landry said evenly.

Nothing he says in that voice is irritating, Schillinger mused, and set
down his book. “What about me?”

“He said that you raped and tortured another inmate, um… Beachum?”

“Beecher. Yeah. I did that,” he said nonchalantly. Schillinger watched the boy
carefully for his reaction. It was slight; a relaxing of tension in the shoulders, a slightly
raised eyebrow.

“Alright.” Landry moved quickly, sitting on the bed next to his pod mate. Close,
but not too close.

Schillinger spared a glance for the world outside the pod. Ryan O’Reilly was
pressed up against the door of his pod, staring. He wasn’t the only one. Shit. Nosy
motherfuckers. “Alright what?”

Landry almost-smiled, and gazed up at Schillinger from under his big eyelashes.
“Mr. Schillinger, I’m not a faggot. I’m young, I know that. But I also know a little bit
about the way the world works.”

Throughout Em City, the lights went out with a series of muted booms, and
Landry was suddenly silhouetted with soft blue light. Almost casually, and oh-so-slowly,
he slid to his knees on the floor. “Mr. Schillinger, I’m all alone here. But I would very
much like your friendship.”

Schillinger’s brain was turning to water. This can not be happening. No way
God loves me this much. Landry put his hands on Schillinger’s legs, leaning in close
to his crotch, stopping just before making contact and looking up at the older man with a
shy grin and a slightly cocked head. Both hands at once went for Schillinger’s pants,
undoing the button, pulling down the zipper, pulling fabric out of the way. Schillinger
inhaled sharply as Landry gently lifted his cock into the coolish, recycled air of the pod.

In the sudden silence, Landry lifted his eyes once more to Schillinger’s. “Please
sir, may I suck your cock?”

Perversely, it was these unexpected words that helped the reeling Aryan regain
control. He knew those words; they’d been said to him before, but never like this, never
in that voice. “Yes, Benjamin, you may.” His voice sounded different to him, not as
strong as he’d have liked, but Schillinger was proud that he’d managed a response at all,
under the circumstances.

His eyes still locked on Schillinger’s, Landry gently, slowly fitted his mouth over
the head of Schillinger’s cock, expertly moving his lips to cover his teeth. His tongue
flicked gently at the tip, then he breathed out, a quick puff of air that dissolved
Schillinger’s ability to think and made the hair stand up on his neck. Oh, he knew tonight
would be special, but he hadn’t expected Landry to do—ah—that. He felt light-headed.
Unsurprising, he reflected, since all the blood seemed to be rushing to his groin.

Landry’s hands were back on Schillinger’s thighs; his fingers dug into flesh as he
leaned forward, taking more of his pod-mate’s throbbing length into his throat. Three,
then four, then five long back and forth bobs of Landry’s head, and Schillinger’s cock
was buried balls-deep in that warm, wet mouth. Staring down at that beautiful sight,
Schillinger was gratified to see a pair of sparkling brown eyes gleaming up at him.

Beecher could never look at me. Like he was ashamed. That prag was nothing
like this….Schillinger smiled as he felt Landry pull back, running his talented tongue
against the underside of his new friend’s now-hard rod. The Cajun gave the tool several
more enthusiastic licks before leaning back to strip off his shirt.

Eyes never leaving Schillinger’s, Landry stood gracefully and let his pants drop to
the floor, followed by his boxers. Then he knelt on the floor, a few feet away from the
bunk. “Sir, I hope we can be friends.”

The predator, the urge for dominance uncoiled in Schillinger’s belly. “Come here,
Benjamin,” he said, patting the bunk beside him. With liquid grace, Landry moved,
kneeling on the bed facing the larger man. Schillinger stood. “If you want to be my
friend,” Schillinger said, drawling his last word, “you’ll do what I say, when I
say, without question.”

“Yes sir,” said Landry, without moving.

“You will show respect to me and to the other members of the Brotherhood at all
times.”

“Yes sir.”

“You won’t fuck anyone except me without specific orders.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will stay off of drugs and away from spics and niggers.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will not talk about our friendship to anyone.”

“Yes sir.”

“And you will turn around right now and spread your legs.” Landry moved,
planting his chest against the mattress and spreading his knees, leaving his ass up in the
air, a beautiful invitation. Schillinger could hear his haggard breathing. Well, for all
his pro façade he’s just as scared as little Beecher. The thought made Schillinger
smile and, if possible, made him harder. He spit on his fingers, rubbing his thumb against
his index and middle finger to moisten them. Then he grabbed Landry’s waist with one
hand, and with the other, eased a finger into the smaller man’s tight hole. Landry knew
how to relax to make the passage easier. Not a virgin, then. Well, nobody who sucks
cock like that could be a virgin.

Once he’d added a second finger with no trouble, Schillinger was done waiting.
It’s not as if a little discomfort will spoil the fun. Stripping off his own
pants with a practiced motion, Schillinger knelt behind his prey, and positioned his
weeping cock at the entrance he’d prepared. Resting it against the ass in front of him, he
waited. “Don’t you have something to say, Benjamin?”

Landry craned his neck around to make eye contact with Schillinger. His voice
was husky from hard breathing and emotion—fear, maybe? “Please, sir, please fuck my
ass,” he gasped out.

“All right, Benny. You’ve been so good, I think I will.” Schillinger clamped his
hands onto Landry’s waist as he slowly thrust his hips forward, bearing down
relentlessly. He heard the younger man hiss, a sharp intake of breath. Schillinger thrust
forward hard, once, and he was in all the way. He held still, breathing in, out, in, while he
willed himself to wait, to make it last.

When he was as under control as he was going to get, he dug his fingers into
Landry’s waist and began to thrust. Each push elicited a pant, almost a grunt, from the
man under him, and Schillinger began to thrust harder, searching for other sounds, new
sensations. Landry began to meet his thrust, pushing back against him in perfect rhythm
as his grunts became incoherent gasping, punctuated with near-shouts when Schillinger
adjusted his angle. The older man reached a hand around to wrap over Landry’s mouth.
The last thing I need is the hacks breaking us up just yet.

Landry tensed as Schillinger’s hand stifled him, and the muscles clenching around
his member proved too much of a good thing. With one last thrust, Schillinger came
inside Landry’s warm and welcoming body. For a moment, he rested, leaning against
Landry’s sweaty back, getting his breath back. Then he shifted, taking his hand away
from his pod-mate’s mouth.

Schillinger lowered himself to the mattress, lying on his side and propping his
head up with one hand as he pulled Landry against the length of his body. The younger
man curled up against the Aryan, nuzzling his curly head into Schillinger’s chest. For
some reason, Schillinger found it endearing, sexy even. No prag had ever wanted him this
much; no prag had ever sought him out. Tobias Bitch-er had had his charms, but this one,
this one had something much more exciting: youth.
*********

Oz: Em City

Keller watched his lover pace the length of the cell restlessly. It was a turnabout of sorts;
usually Keller was the one impatient, hungry for action, and Tobias was counseling
patience and restraint. Not tonight.

“I can’t believe McManus!” Beecher fumed. “After all that Schillinger has done,
to give him that- that child as a podmate. He’ll eat him alive!” He stopped in
front of the bunk, looking down expectantly at Keller.

“Maybe the kid’s tougher than he looks. They say he’s a mutant.”

Beecher resumed his pacing. “Mutant or not, McManus is a fool to think
Schillinger can keep his hands off of that. Poor kid must be terrified.”

“I’m just glad it’s not you, Toby.”

Beecher whirled around to face his lover, wild-eyed. “Fuck that. It could have
been, don’t you get that?! Nobody did anything when it was me. Nobody fucking did a
fucking thing. And now it’s fucking happening all over again!” Beecher retreated to the
back wall of the cell, pressing himself against its coldness, shoulders heaving.

Keller got out of bed and went to embrace his partner. “It’s all right, Toby. It’s all
right. What do you want to do? I’ll help you. We’ll make it all right. Shhh. Shhhh.”
***********

SVU Squad Room: New York City

Detective Olivia Benson sat at the room’s only table, impatiently tapping her pen against
her papers in a nervous cadence. Her partner was gazing out the barred window,
brooding. “Why has this one gotten under your skin, Olivia?” Stabler asked finally. He
turned away from the window. “Fin and Munch did all they could on this case, you
know.”

“I know that,” Benson sighed. “But I want to get through to him. Have you seen
the trial transcripts? From here, not Mississippi.”

Stabler shrugged. “No. We can’t keep that close of tabs on all our cases.”

“Well, this one’s special,” she insisted. “The kid refuses to admit he’s been
abused. He agrees that he was having sex with a 50-something man and his teenage son,
but won’t say that it was wrong for them to take advantage of him. If I could only make
him see-.”

“See what?” Stabler interrupted, and moved to sit next to his partner. “That the
only people he’s had any kind of a long-term relationship with were just using him? That
what he thinks was love was only manipulation?”

“So you have been following the trial.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, grudgingly. “But think about the ‘why,’ here, Olivia. This
kid is holding onto his world-view by a thread, and I’m not sure if it’s worth destroying
that, even if it would put his abuser in jail.”

Benson shook her head. “Then what? How does he live the rest of his life?”

Stabler snorted, moving back to the window. “He doesn’t have a rest of his life. If
he gets convicted here, he won’t be up for parole until he’s 96.”

Benson opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
One of Oswald’s COs stuck his head in. “Detectives? We’ve brought Landry.”

“Bring him in, please,” said Stabler, settling his face in interrogation mode with
practiced ease.

After a moment’s delay, the CO led in Landry. Stabler thought he would have
recognized him anywhere, but, well, this was a different Landry. Munch and Fin had
done this kid’s initial interview, but Benson and Stabler, professional interest piqued, had
wandered into the observation room to watch the cheeky Cajun square off against their
colleagues.



“Tell us about Tuesday night,” Munch instructed calmly.

Landry smiled, his face a beacon of Southern charm. “I stayed in.”

“Can anyone confirm that?” Fin demanded.

“Henri Castille could have,” Landry said.

“So you were with Henri Castille on Tuesday night?” Munch asked.

Landry shrugged. “For a while, at least. He wanted me to go out with him, and I wouldn’t.
So he left.”

“What time was that?” Munch made a note on his pad.

“’Eleven, maybe.”

“What did you do after he left?” Fin asked, leaning on the table.

Landry turned a sly smile on him. “Pouted.”

“So what time did Castille return?” Munch asked quickly.

“Henri got back… um… ‘round three, maybe.”

“Did he say where he’d been?” Fin wanted to know.

“Yeah, he told me…”

“Told you what?” Fin pressed.

“Told me where he’d been and what he’d done.”

“Which was?”

“Bad. It was bad,” Landry said calmly. “So I killed him.” A moment of silence followed that
statement. Munch glanced at the mirrored glass, with a “do you guys believe this shit?” look.

“How’d you kill him?” Fin managed to ask.

“Burned him.”

“How?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Munch said incredulously. Landry said nothing, just shrugged
unapologetically.

“So, was there a fight?” Fin demanded.

“Not really.”

Munch carefully phrased his next question: “Did you plan to kill Henri Castille before it
happened?”

Landry didn’t even blink. “Yeah. I told him if he did what he was going to do when he went
out, I’d kill him. And he told me he was going to, so I knew I had to kill him when he got back.”

“Malice aforethought,” was all Fin had to say.

Munch spared his audience another disbelieving look. “All right kid,” he said. “I think we’d
better take a formal statement.”



Landry’s eyes were pointed resolutely downward as he slunk into the room, hands
cuffed in front of him. The CO pushed him toward the chair across the table from the two
detectives. “You want me in or out?” he asked.

“Out, please,” said Benson, her eyes still on the inmate, who winced as he made
contact with the chair. The CO shrugged and left, shutting the door behind him. Stabler
hit the record button on the tape recorder, then leaned against the wall and let Benson
begin. “How are you, Landry?”

“Fine, ma’am,” he said flatly, eyes on the floor.

“Do you remember us? I’m Detective Benson, and this is Detective Stabler.
We’re with the NYPD Special Victims Unit.” To this, Landry only shrugged.

“We’re here to ask you about a case we’re working on,” Stabler jumped in. “I
believe you know Remy Castille?”

Landry’s eyes flickered to Stabler’s face for a second before returning to the floor.
“Yes, sir.”

Olivia leaned forward across the table. “Listen very carefully, Benjamin. If you
help us, we may be able to help you. Your trial here in New York is still going on. If you
cooperate with us, the state may reduce the charges against you. That means less time
here in Oswald. Has your lawyer explained this?”

Landry shrugged again, still expressionless.

“You don’t want to stay here longer than you have to, do you?” Stabler asked.
Another shrug.

“Benjamin, I need you to tell us specifically what you did with Remy Castille,”
Benson prompted. “To indict Castille, we need to know the nature and extent of the-.”
Don’t say ‘abuse’, Olivia. “Of your relationship. I’m going to ask you some
questions, and all you have to do is answer, all right? You’re not going to get in trouble,
okay?” No response. Benson took a deep breath and looked at Stabler, who gave an
ironic shrug. She launched ahead. “Benjamin, you began a sexual relationship with Remy
Castille in the summer of 2003, correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“At that time, what kind of sexual contact did you have with Mr. Castille?”

Landry seemed at a loss. Stabler jumped in. “Did he touch your genitals?” After
interpreting that for a moment, Landry nodded slowly. “Did you touch his genitals?”
Another nod. “Did you ever perform oral sex on Remy Castille?” No response.

“Blow jobs,” Benson supplied, and was rewarded with a halting nod. “When did
that start?”

“Um… the fall?” Landry ventured.

“The fall of 2003?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Did Remy Castille perform oral sex on you?” Stabler asked. Landry shook his
head. “What about intercourse?”

“Did Remy Castille penetrate you?” Benson specified. Landry nodded. She could
see his shoulders tensing, his bowed head sinking ever lower toward his chest. Bad
memories, kid? If it was so bad, why won’t you admit that you were abused?
“Benjamin, when did that first happen?”

“June 24th, 2004.”

“You remember the date?” asked Stabler, a note of skepticism in his voice.

Landry nodded, his breathing quickening. “It was… it was my birthday, sir.”

Benson felt her heart take a dive for her shoes. She did some quick math.
Twelve. His twelfth birthday. Congratulations, Ben, you can no longer order off the kids
menu, and let me rape you. Stabler watched his partner pale, and put a hand on her
shoulder. She shook him off. If this kid could live it, I can certainly stand to hear
about it, she told herself firmly.

Landry looked very small, slouched in his chair, cuffed hands clutching his knees,
curly head bowed low. Benson suddenly thought, I don’t want to be the cause of that.
“Eliot, I think we’ve got what we need for now, don’t you?” she said, rising abruptly.

With only a slightly raised eyebrow, her partner nodded. “Sure. Officer?” The CO
returned quickly; he must have been just outside the door. “We’re done here.”

“Come on, kid.” The CO grabbed Landry’s elbow and hauled him to his feet.
Before they could leave, Benson strode over to the cuffed inmate and put a hand on his
shoulder.

“Thank you for your help, Benjamin. We’ll talk to the Assistant DA and see what
we can do.”

Landry spared her a look, possibly of gratitude, but the CO was steering him out
the door. Benson watched them go with mixed feelings. At least we have something to
bring back to Alex.

***********

Oz: Em City


“Where’ve you been?” Schillinger demanded the moment his new prag stepped
into the pod.

“Cops, sir. They wanted to talk to me about a case. Some guy I knew on the
outside,” Landry said offhandedly. He stretched out like a cat on the bottom bunk where
Schillinger sat, placing his head in the older man’s lap. He ran a hand gently up and down
the leg he was resting on. “So what happens now?”

“Well,” Schillinger said, leaning back against the wall. “Work detail soon.
Hacks’ll tell you what your assignment is. Then dinner. You come find me when you’ve
got your food, okay?”

“Okay, sir.” Landry snuggled his head into Schillinger’s groin, applying just
enough pressure for the man to feel a pleasant squeeze. Then Landry sat up, abruptly.
“Work detail? You mean I won’t be with you.”

Schillinger smiled at the kid’s distress. “Nope. Sorry sugar. I’ve got a primo work
assignment that took me no small amount of effort to land. But don’t worry. You’ll be
fine.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “You know, we really should mark
you. So there’s not doubt you belong to the Brotherhood.”

Landry gave his pod-mate a sly smile, and Schillinger could almost hear the
wheels turning as a hack called out “Work! Let’s go, ladies!”

Murphy caught Landry by the arm as he exited the pod with Schillinger. “Hey,
new kid. You don’t have work detail today. You’ve got some kind of special class.”
Schillinger raised an eyebrow as, for the second time, he watched Murphy drag away his
reluctant prag.
*************

Oz: Library

“Aren’t I a bit old for classes, Warden Glynn?” Finnessey asked.

Glynn just smiled. “Think of it as continuing education. Part of your rehabilitation
as a productive member of society.” Finnessey smiled back, but skeptically.

“Here you go,” said Murphy, as he deposited Landry in a vacant chair at the
library table and took up a position by the door. Finnessey evaluated the new inmate
seated across from him; young, younger than he’d expected, and sullen-looking, in an
endearing kind of way. He had the kind of innocent face and unspoiled beauty that would
probably cause fights in Oz.

“Great,” said Glynn. “Thank you, Sean. Abel Finnessey, this is Benjamin Landry,
Benjamin Landry, Abel Finnessey.”

“How d’y’do,” Landry muttered.

Southern? thought Finnessey. Oh, real cute. “Nice to meet you.” He turned back
to Glynn. “Warden, what kind of a class is it that the two of us--. Oh.”

Guess that Harvard education isn’t going to waste after all. Glynn kept up his
patient smile. “Yes. Our two resident mutants.” Landry’s eyes got wider, and Finnessey’s
brow furrowed with interest. “We thought that it would be… productive for you to
receive counseling about your abilities, to learn how to control them.”

“That’s magnanimous of you, Warden Glynn,” Finnessey said, unable to keep the
sarcasm from his voice. Glynn couldn’t blame him, after his own previous failures to deal
with Finnessey’s mutancy. Hopefully this attempt would not be such a fiasco. “Well, you
aren’t our instructor, I assume.”

Glynn shook his head quickly. “Of course not. There’s someone coming from the
Xavier Institute.” From Finnessey, an impressed nod; from Landry, only a blank,
questioning stare.

Taking in his fellow inmate’s confusion, Finnessey offered, “It’s a mutant school.
The oldest and the best. So why are they interested in us?” He turned back to Glynn for
an answer.

“We have an arrangement,” was all Glynn said. Before Finnessey could pry more
out of him, there was a crackle from Murphy’s radio.

“Sir, the Xavier rep is here,” Sean told the warden. “Shall I have them bring him
in?”

“Yes, of course,” said Glynn, standing in preparation for the meeting. Though his
conversation with Dr. Grey had been somewhat… unsettling… he felt that with the past
days’ preparations, he should be ready to greet whatever representative they sent.

The door to the library opened, and a bald man in a wheelchair rolled in, followed
by a surly Officer Howell. “Hello. I’m Charles Xavier. You must Warden Glynn. How do
you do?”

Glynn extended his hand down to the wheelchair-bound man for a handshake.
Charles Xavier. Xavier. The founder and dean of the Xavier Institute. A lighting rod for
the mutant rights movement. Here. For my inmates. Wonderful. How am I going to
explain this to the governor? “Well, thank you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.
When Dr. Grey said that she’d send a representative, I had no idea—“

Xavier cut him off genially, “Oh, don’t worry. I’m no different than any other
teacher at the Institute. And we’ve agreed to take turns, you see, at these sessions, until
we know the nature of your inmates’ abilities. Ah, this must be-“

“I’m Abel Finnessey,” Finnessey said, rising and moving around the table to
proffer his hand. Howell tensed and moved to step between them, but Murphy grabbed
her shoulder to hold her back. She glared at the Irishman, but stopped.

“Abel. I knew your wife. I was so sorry to hear about what happened. Lydia was a
wonderful woman,” Xavier said sadly, taking Finnessey’s hand in his.

“Yes. She always spoke highly of you, sir.”

Glynn exchanged a surprised look with Murphy, then turned to the other inmate, who had
made no move to introduce himself. “And this is Benjamin Landry.” Landry peeled his
eyes away from his shoes long enough to glance at Xavier and mutter “hi.” Murphy
rolled his eyes.

“Well, Professor Xavier, shall I leave you to your work?” Glynn asked.

“Yes, thank you Warden.”

“Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. I’ll be leaving Officer
Howell here for your safety-“

“If you don’t mind, Warden, may we have Officer Howell stationed outside the
door?” Xavier asked calmly.

Taking stock of his two inmates, Glynn shook his head. “Professor, I really think
that it would be best-“

“Warden, I assure you,” Finnessey broke in. “Professor Xavier is in no danger
from us.”

The pointedness of Finnessey’s last word made Glynn scowl briefly. “All right.
Outside then. But she’ll be right there if you need her, Professor. Don’t hesitate to call.”
With that, he turned and strode out of the room, followed by Murphy and Howell, who
shut the door behind her.

“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Xavier, wheeling himself up to the table. “Shall we
begin?”
******************

Oz: Cafeteria


Ryan O’Reilly grabbed Beecher and pulled him aside as he filed in for dinner. “Okay,”
said the lanky Irishman. “Here’s what I’ve got so far. The kid’s a mutant. Some
detectives came to talk to him this morning. Word is that in exchange for reduced charges
here in New York, he’s rolling on some big shot Southern businessman. A rape charge.
And the murder he’s being tried for here is a second degree murder charge. The victim is
this big shot businessman’s son.”

“Shit. That fucked up.”

“You’re telling me. I wonder if Schillinger would be so eager to make him his
prag if he knew all this.”

“Are you kidding, Ryan? Schillinger would make a dead goat his prag if the goat
showed proper respect,” Beecher said bitterly.

“Yeah, well. I’ll keep my ears open; let you know what comes up,” said O’Reilly,
and sauntered back to his place in the serving line.

Keller came up behind Beecher and wrapped his hands around the other man’s
waist possessively. “What’d the Mick have to say?”

“The kid’s got some kind of deal going. Reduced charges if he testifies, blah blah
blah. Only the person they want him to testify against is the father of his victim.”

“Wow.” Chris released Toby before the nearest guard could do more than scowl.
“That’s… interesting.”

“And he’s a mutant.”

“We already got one of those.”

“Always room for one more, I guess.”

“They’re getting special counseling now, you know,” Rebadow chipped in from
behind the couple in line.

“Oh yeah?” asked Beecher.

“Yeah. They both started attending some class with a mutant teacher. To help
rehabilitate them and so on,” the old man reported.

“Huh,” said Keller. “Guess school’s out for now.” Indeed, Finnessey and Landry
had just entered the cafeteria.

“Not a lot of mutant solidarity between those two,” observed Beecher. Finnessey
got into line behind Augustus Hill and Hill’s new sponser-ee, some wise-ass—Jameson—
that was his name. Landry casually sidled over to the wall and leaned against it, as if
waiting.

“Waiting for his husband,” Keller observed. “Whipped already.”

Beecher frowned. “Oz sucks,” he muttered as he reached for a tray. While he
followed the line, letting his tray be filled with spoonfuls of unappetizing slop, Beecher
watched Landry. The kid kept his head down, only glancing over surreptitiously each
time some inmates made an entrance. Looking for the person that mattered to him: Vern
Schillinger.

When the figurehead of the Aryan Brotherhood finally did make his appearance,
Landry bounded over to him like a lovesick puppy. Schillinger responded by ruffling the
youngster’s hair. Act like a dog, get treated like a dog, Beecher thought bitterly.
That kid has no idea what shit he’s in for.
*****************

Oz: Library

“If we do all of that, the Hegel execution should run like clockwork,” concluded Glynn.
The faces around the library table were sliding into boredom as the weekly staff meeting
drug on. “In other news-“

Here, McManus bustled through the door, coming to rest in his usual seat with a
handful of unorganized papers. “Sorry I’m late.” Glynn nodded impatiently, but no one
else acknowledged what by now was the time-honored ritual of McManus’ tardiness.

“I was just about to brief the staff on the progress we’ve been making with our
mutant inmates, Tim,” said Glynn, a bit pointedly. “As I told you all last week, our two
resident mutants are now having classes with representatives from the Xavier Institute.
Their first few sessions have gone well. Dr. Grey assures me that these classes will help
them control their powers, not use them against others—inmates or COs. But just the
same, I’d like all of you to keep a sharp eye on Finnessey and Landry. If you should see
anything strange—anything that looks like it might be a manifestation of mutant power, I
want you to report it to Tim. He’ll deal with it.”

Okay then, thought McManus, irritated. Dump that responsibility on
me. Sure, they’re in Em City, but they’re not my personal, pet mutants. “Right. I’ll
deal with it.”

Glynn continued. “What I don’t want is for those two to get harassed because
they’re mutants. The Xavier group is more than a school; it’s also a mutant rights
watchdog group. If they think we’re discriminating against mutants, they won’t fail to
slap the prison with a law suit. Not to mention personal suits against the perpetrators of
the discrimination. Everyone clear on that?” Glynn met each pair of eyes around the table
in turn. “Good. Let’s move on.”
***************

Oz: Em City

“He’s never alone,” Beecher complained. Keller rubbed shampoo out of his face with the
back of his hand, patiently enduring his partner’s near-whining. “I mean, he follows
Schillinger around like a dog. Like a fucking dog! Fuck!”

“Come on, Toby. You’ve been in Oz how long and you don’t know how to
arrange some alone-time with someone?” Keller asked, finally. “I’ll talk to some people,
make it happen, if it’s that important.”

Beecher turned off his shower and joined Keller under the spray, sliding his hands
over smooth, wet, skin. “It is important. Somebody’s got to help him. I’ve got to help
him.”

“We will help him, Toby,” said Keller, and darted in for a kiss. “Together.”
***********************

Oz: Infirmary


CO Bradley rapped on the door of Gloria Nathan’s office to get her attention. “Dr.
Nathan? There’s a Dr. Grey here to see you.”

Nathan put down the budget report she’d been poring over. “Right. I’ve been
expecting her. Show her in, please, Officer.”

Warden Glynn had asked for her cooperation in this investigation the Xavier
Institute was doing, and he’d told her what to expect from Dr. Grey. Truth be told,
Nathan was glad that someone was dealing with the Smart Collar problem. The warden
seemed anxious just to put the whole mess behind him, but it gnawed at Nathan’s
conscience. How many mutants are in prisons where the doctors don’t care that their
patient’s neural functions are being impaired or destroyed? How many doctors would
trade a mutant inmate’s life for their own perceived safety? she reflected glumly.
Probably most of them.

A stir of muttering in the infirmary proper alerted Dr. Nathan to Bradley’s return
with the eminent Dr. Grey. Patients, inmates on bed-pan duty, even the nursing staff and
orderlies had stopped to watch the red-haired doctor’s gracefully progress into Nathan’s
office. No wonder Glynn is cooperating. Gloria stood up in welcome. “I’m Dr.
Gloria Nathan.”

“I’m Dr. Jean Grey. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Gloria gestured for the other woman to take a seat as she moved to
close the blinds on her office windows, thereby shutting out the staring staff and inmates.

“I suppose that Warden Glynn’s told you about our investigation,” Grey began.
Nathan nodded. “I’d like to hear about your experience with the Smart Collar.”

“I’m not sure what you know so far. Our first mutant inmate was Abel Finnessey.
When he came here last year, they’d already installed the Collar. Leo—Warden Glynn—
alerted me that we were getting a mutant inmate, so I read what I could find on the
Collar, which was alarmingly little.”

“Did you contact the company that manufactures the Collar?”

“Yes, actually. They sent me a nice little glossy brochure that told me exactly
none of what I wanted to know. The brochure talked about the ‘mutant threat’ and the
‘tested and proven effective’ Collar. Nothing about how it actually worked.” Jean smiled
sympathetically. Gloria got the impression that she knew the exact brochure.

“So how was Finnessey, when he arrived?”

“Well, I didn’t see him for the first few days. You’d have to ask someone else
how he acted. But I saw him for the first time when he was brought in for some kind of
fit—the guards thought it was epilepsy. It was—.”

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and a nurse poked his head in. “Dr.
Nathan, Officer Eaton’s just taken a shank to the stomach.”

Gloria stood up. “Isn’t Dr. Finnessey on duty?”

The nurse looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Finnessey’s prepping him now, but we
thought…”

You thought an inmate shouldn’t treat a CO. Or maybe that the mutant
wouldn’t do as good a job as a ‘normal.’ Gloria sighed. ”I’ll be there in just a
moment. Help Doctor Finnessey get started, please.” The nurse ducked out. Gloria turned
to Dr. Grey. “I’m sorry about this. Life in Oz.” She grabbed a folder off the top of a pile
and set it down in front of the other woman. “I pulled Finnessey’s file for you. You can
see for yourself what we treated him for during the time he had the Collar. I’ll be back as
soon as I have this patient stabilized.”

************

Oz: Supply Room


Landry’s work assignment for non-class time turned out to be gopher-ing for the
infirmary. Today, some orderly had told him to fetch paper from the supply room so they
could finish printing out something or other. At about 2:30, this errand brought him to the
copy room, where Christopher Keller was working alone. Alone except for Tobias
Beecher, who, at about 2:20, had told Sister Pete that he was after some paper to finish
printing out something-or-other. Like clockwork, the two older inmates were waiting
when Landry stepped in to the room.

“Hey kid,” said Keller with an attempt at a friendly grin that in truth looked
dangerous and feral.

Landry looked suspicious. “Hey. I need some paper.”

“What’s the rush?” Keller asked, stepping forward. “Stay and chat!”

Toby jumped in with his easy, look-I’m-no-threat smile and manner. “Hey, what I
think my friend means is ‘Hi, my name’s Chris.’ And I’m Tobias Beecher.”

Landry suddenly looked harder at the self-effacing blond. “You’re Beecher?”

“You’ve heard of me, then,” said Beecher, taking a seat casually on a box by the
wall.

“You could say that,” said Landry. He looked back and forth between the two
smiling men. “What do you want?”

“Hey, buddy, we just wanted to meet you. To talk,” said Chris, opening his arms
wide. Landry looked skeptical.

“Have a seat,” Beecher instructed, making it sound like a casual suggestion. “You
smoke?” Landry shook his head. “Me neither. It’s bad for you, you know.” Landry
slowly seated himself on a box opposite Beecher. Chris, meanwhile, pulled up an
overturned bucket between the door and the other men, and sat down.

“So how do you like Oz so far?” Beecher asked. Landry shrugged. “Stupid
question. Nobody likes Oz. Well-“

Keller interrupted. “Here’s the deal, kid. We don’t know why McManus put you
in with Schillinger, but it’s crap. We’ve been where you are now.”

Landry turned sharply to Chris. “You have been where I am?” Chris just nodded.

“You don’t have to stay with Schillinger,” Beecher said earnestly, leaning
forward. “McManus will move you, if you ask. Lots of people don’t like Schillinger.
You’ll have protection if you want it.”

“McManus told me about you. What Schillinger did.”

Beecher paled a bit. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

Landry shrugged. “Stuff.”

Keller jumped back in. “Look, kid. What happened to Toby sucked, and he
doesn’t want the same shit to happen to you, okay?”

“Really?” said Landry skeptically. “So you’re doing this out of charity?”

“Or maybe sympathy,” said Beecher. “What have you got to lose here? We’re
offering to help you, no strings attached. That’s probably an Oz first.”

“Then why should I believe you?”

“McManus told you what Schillinger did to me, right?” Beecher asked after a
moment. Landry nodded. “Nobody did anything to help me. Nobody cared. And I don’t
want someone to go through the same thing, all right. That’s all.”

“So, now you’ve escaped Schillinger, right?” asked Landry, looking away.
“You’re free?”

“As free as a man can be in Oz.”

“Maybe it’s different for you. You’ve still got protection.” He glanced
surreptitiously at Keller. “But can you see me on my own in Em City? Can you see me
getting away from Schillinger if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Listen, Landry. We can help you,” Beecher said earnestly, reaching his hand
over to rest on the kid’s knees. “If you let us, we can get you away from that fuck.”

Landry considered for a moment. Then he pulled away, leaning back against the
wall. “But you couldn’t get away, could you? Didn’t he still hurt you? Didn’t he break
your legs? Didn’t he kill your son?”

Keller tensed, ready to jump to Beecher’s defense. Beecher pursed his lips, then
said tightly, “Well, you don’t have kids, do you, so that’s not a problem.”

Landry glared, clearly not amused. Not that Keller or Beecher was either, not any
more. “Maybe I’m better off where I am.”

“Yeah, maybe you are,” snapped Keller. “Let’s go, Toby.” He grabbed Toby’s elbow.

Beecher shook Chris off. “No, hey, it’s not worth it, kid. You’re going to get hurt,
killed probably.”

“No I’m not. Mr. Schillinger protects me. He loves me,” said Landry simply.

“What?!” Keller practically shouted. “Loves you? Holy shit, kid.” Beecher
looked like he was going to be sick.

“Hey—at least I’m good at what I do,” Landry protested.

“What is it that you do? Aside from getting fucked in the ass and slobbering all
over your Nazi master?” Keller shot back, jumping to his feet. Beecher put a hand on his
lover’s arm.

“Fuck you! Schillinger told me all about you,” Landry said, leveling his gaze at
Beecher. “He said you were never that good a prag to begin with, but you did even worse
on your own. I mean look at you—prag of another prag. What the fuck is that?”

Beecher was reeling. This kid, whose eyes were always glued to the
fucking floor, the kid who ended every utterance with “ma’am” or “sir,” the kid who
never raised his voice above a cute Southern drawl was getting in a shouting match with
Keller? I’m going to be sick, Beecher though. Or possibly violent. “Hey,
I’m not ashamed of what I am, all right?” he managed to say. Am I?

“Well you should be,” spat the little Southerner, surging to his feet. “Instead of
running away from Schillinger like a worthless pussy and ending up even worse off, you
should have just stayed.”

“Stayed?” Beecher repeated, his temper winning over his feeling of nausea.
“Stayed to be raped and humiliated and—and--.” He couldn’t find the fucking words for
what that Aryan fuck had done.

Landry broke in before Beecher could collect his thought. “If you hadn’t failed at
even being a decent prag, he wouldn’t have had to do those things to you. If you
hadn’t tried to run away, he wouldn’t have had to hurt you.”

“What! What the fuck kind of a life goal is it to be a good prag!” Beecher
shouted, standing and taking a threatening step forward. It was Keller who had his hand
on Beech’s arm now, as the blond man flushed with anger.

“What kind of a fuck-up can’t even cut it as a prag?” Landry shouted, right in
Beecher’s face. “If you weren’t such a failure, I guess your son wouldn’t be dead!”

Keller let go of Beecher and ran his fist right into the chattering little bitch’s face.
The kid went down into a pile of boxes. Shit, was all Keller could think. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Beecher was just staring, open-mouthed. Keller could practically see
old wounds opening up before his eyes as Beecher was sucked into a vortex of regrets
and self-pity. Shit. “Toby,” he grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and
shook him until his eyes saw again. “Toby, we’ve gotta go. Come on.” Keller dragged
him out the door, sparing a look back at Landry, who was sitting up, expression of pain-
sorrow-anger-whatever- in his big brown eyes. Fuck you kid. You’re on your fucking
own.