Marrow

Marrow. Part Four.
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. Oz belongs to Tom Fontana, X-Men to Marvel, SVU to Dick Wolf. 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: Warden’s Office

“Warden, Dr. Grey is here,” Floria’s voice said over the speaker.

“Send her in,” said Warden Glynn through clenched teeth.

The tall, pretty doctor walked in calmly, briefcase in hand, and sat down without
waiting for an invitation. “Do you want to start, or should I?” she asked calmly.

“Go right ahead,” Glynn said tersely.

“I was very upset to hear about the incident on Thursday,” she began. “I’m sorry
that it happened, but I think it could have been a lot worse.”

“Worse?” snapped Glynn. “A mutant unleashed his powers on my guards. How
could it have been worse?”

“He could have killed someone. But he didn’t, did he?”

“No. But not for lack of trying.”

“Warden, how much has Landry told you about what his abilities are?” asked Dr.
Grey carefully.

“Nothing. He hasn’t discussed them with me, McManus, our psychologist,
anyone.”

“Well then. I’m not going to break his confidence by telling you what you don’t
already know. But I can guarantee you that if we hadn’t been having sessions with
Landry, there would have been dead bodies in Em City.”

Glynn looked searchingly at Dr. Grey. “How much do you know about what
happened?”

Grey shook her head. “Not much. They wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone,
except that there had been no deaths. Was anyone hurt?”

“Landry knocked out four COs and one inmate. Two of the COs and the inmate
have some first- and second- degree burns, but they’re otherwise fine,” Glynn reported.

Grey let out a breath Glynn hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Warden, you
have no idea how close you came to a real tragedy. I’m sorry that people got hurt, but it
could have been so much worse. What about Landry?”

“He’s in Ad Seg. Administrative Segregation.”

“Is he all right?” Jean asked anxiously.

“For the most part. He’ll be fine.”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“When he gets out, Dr. Grey. In twenty-eight days.”

“He has to stay in Ad Seg for a month?”

“That’s the standard term. He injured four of my officers, not to mention a fellow
inmate. And he attacked Tim McManus. Landry has to serve the full term.”

“He attacked McManus?”

“Well, apparently he pushed him. But that was all. He was out of the way when
Landry used his… powers.”

“Your SORT team got a chance to use their new toy, I suppose?”

“What? Oh, yes. The disrupter. Yes. If it hadn’t worked… We might have had a
problem.”

“So it did? Work, that is?”

“Yes. Like a charm.”

“And did it ‘disable’ all the mutants?”

“Yes,” said Glynn, somewhat guiltily.

“And how’s Finnessey?”

“Recovering. He took a few… scrapes when the SORT team came in. But it
appears that the disrupter left no permanent damage.”

“Did you think it might?” asked Grey sharply.

Glynn narrowed his eyes. “Dr. Grey, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not my
inmates, and not my COs. I use the tools I have to to get the job done.” He took a deep
breath and released it. “I’m going to have to talk to the Board of Governors about
continuing with these lessons. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand, Warden. I just want to make sure you’re well informed.” Dr. Grey
drew from her purse a plain manila envelope and slid it across the desk to Glynn. “I’ll be
in touch,” she said, and walked out.

Glynn picked up the envelope. He toyed with the clasp for a moment, then opened
it and dumped out its contents. A police report? He reached for a black-and-
white photograph half-hidden under another document. Attached to the photo was a
hand-written sticky note, which read “Landry has gained control and restraint through the
training and counseling provided at Oswald.” Glynn flipped up the note to look at the
photo. The captain underneath read “remains of Henri Castille,” which was fortunate,
since Glynn might not otherwise have known that the thing in the photo was—had been,
at least—a human body. I guess you’re right, Dr. Grey, he thought, putting the
picture down. It could have been much, much worse.

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

Oz: Em City

“Sit down,” roared McManus the moment Schillinger stepped into his office.
Schillinger strolled over to the chair in front of the desk and sat, his patented nice-old-guy
smile firmly in place.

“What can I do for you, Tim?”

“You can stop fucking with Benjamin Landry, for starters,” said McManus.

“Fucking with him?” said Schillinger innocently. “I don’t know what you mean. I
have nothing but love for that kid.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” fumed the assistant warden. “Okay, Vern. What about the
hair?”

“Guess he got tired of the old look. Kid did it to himself, ask anyone.”

“The new tattoo?”

“Also self-inflicted. Although I think that Hoyt guy might have supplied. Man’s
got a serious thing for ink-.”

“The black eye?”

“That was not me. I don’t hit Landry.” I don’t need to. Vern
leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but between you
and me, Landry mentioned that Keller was the one who hit him.”

McManus just stared at Schillinger incredulously. “All right. That little scene in
the quad today. You gunna tell me you had nothing to do with that?”

“That’s right, Timmy. Nobody can predict what a man will do when his sentence
comes down. As you may have noticed, our boy Ben is a bit…” Vern pretended to
consider. “Fragile. A delicate little flower. Maybe a bit unstable. How are you, by the
way? Big Bad Ben didn’t push you too hard, did he?”

“If I find any evidence that you have touched that boy, Schillinjer, you
will spend the rest of your time at Oz quoting Mein Kampf to the rats in Solitary,
got it?”

Schillinger kept smiling. “Sure, Tim. Whatever you say.”

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

Oz: Infirmary

“Ryan!” Cyril called as his older brother appeared in the infirmary door. “Hi!”

“Hey bro,” said Ryan O’Reilly, strolling over to the bed where his brother lay. “You’re
awake.”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Look.” Cyril held out his right arm, which was wrapped in
bandages from wrist to shoulder. “I’ve got big band-aids. And sunburn,” he added,
pointing to his face, which was indeed a robust pink shade.

“Yeah, look at that,” said Ryan, giving a falsely amused chuckle. I am going
to kill that motherfucking cracker freak of nature cocksucking-

“Where’ve you been, Ryan?” Cyril asked, derailing Ryan’s train of thought. “You
weren’t there when the thing happened.”

Fuck me. I am the worst brother ever. “Yeah, I know. Sorry Cyr,” Ryan
said sincerely. “I had some business to do in the gym. I was only gone for a minute. I’m
sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Cyril graciously. “I don’t really remember what happened,
anyway. Just woke up here with my arm all hurty.”

Yes, thought Ryan. I am definitely going to kill that faggot-ass Nazi-loving-

“Ryan?” Both O’Reillys turned at the sound of that particular voice. Gloria
Nathan stood, clipboard in hand, a few feet from the bed. “I’m glad you’re here,” she
said, moving to stand on Cyril’s other side. “Cyril, I’m ready to release you, but I need to
tell you and your brother some things about that arm, okay?”

“Okay,” said Cyril happily.

“Sure,” said Ryan, watching the doctor carefully. “What’s the deal?”

“Well, the arm’s got some second-degree burns that range from mild to fairly
nasty. There might be some scarring.” Nathan waited while Ryan took that information in
with just a faint twitch of his lip. “Cyril needs to come here twice a day for us to change
the bandages and apply burn cream. Otherwise, keep the bandages dry and take it easy
with that arm: no lifting, excessive movement, or boxing.” Cyril smiled at that. “If the
first-degree burns on your face or body hurt, Cyril, you can use some of this aloe.” She
handed him a tube of lotion. “That should help make it feel cooler.”

“Thank you Dr. Nathan,” said Cyril.

“Thank you, Gloria,” said Ryan.

“You’re welcome. I’ll get an Officer to take you back,” she said, and walked
away.

Ryan watched her go, anger building somewhere just under his heart. He shoved
it away to deal with later, and put on a benign smile for his brother. “All right, Cyril.
Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

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

Oz: Counseling Office

“Sister Pete?” said a CO from the doorway. “That detective’s here.”

“Okay, Jan. Send her in,” replied Pete.

“What detective?” asked Beecher, turning away from his computer.

The nun smiled. “She’s here to see you, actually. To ask a favor. I told her she
could meet you here.”

“Oh.” Beecher was vaguely shocked. What favor would a detective want from
me?

The CO, Katz, Beecher recalled, returned with a cute, intense-looking brunette.
“Welcome,” said Sister Peter Marie, extending a hand. “I’m Sister Pete, as you might
have guessed.”

“Olivia Benson,” said the lady, shaking the proffered hand. “And this must be-“

“Tobias Beecher,” Beecher said, standing and putting the detective through
another handshake.

“Have a seat, detective,” said Pete. “Coffee?”

“Please. Black is fine,” said Benson, settling on the couch. Before Beecher could
resume his seat at the computer, Pete gestured him over to the armchair by the couch. The
nun busied herself with the coffee.

“Mr. Beecher, I’m glad you agreed to see me.”

Beecher glared at Sister Pete, but her back remained stubbornly turned. “Well,”
he said at last. “I admit I am curious why you wanted to meet with me.”

“Well, I won’t keep you in suspense. I know you weren’t a criminal lawyer on the
outside, but Sister Pete tells me you’ve been very helpful to some of your fellow
inmates.”

Beecher leveled another glare at the nun, but she was taking her time at the
coffee. “Not really. Kareem Said, now he’s the champion of the people.”

Benson smiled. “I don’t know that Said would be interested in this case. From
what Sister Pete tells me, you’ve already taken an interest in this one. Benjamin Landry.”

Oh yeah, Pete was definitely lingering over the coffee pot. “Landry,” said
Beecher flatly.

“So you do know him,” said Benson.

“I’ve met him. We’ve talked.”

“Do you know anything about his case?”

“No,” said Beecher slowly, surprised to realize that it was true. Although he’d
never had Augustus Hill’s seemingly omnipotent grasp of each inmate’s particular
offence, his work typing up psych evals generally kept him well-informed about
everyone’s dirty little secrets. But not Landry. No, he’d never even seen Landry’s file.
A deliberate oversight? Now that Pete was approaching with coffee for the lady
detective, he could see in her slightly guilty eyes the truth; she’d omitted Landry’s files
from his work on purpose. Why?

“Well,” Benson continued. “It’s unfortunate, really. We couldn’t cut him a break
here in New York because the deal he made with us didn’t pan out. His sentence just
came down, you know.” Beecher nodded. Oh, did he know. “Well, his trial in Mississippi
was somewhat… questionable. Our ADA doesn’t have time to go over it, especially since
it isn’t really her fight. I thought that if you could at least go over the trial transcripts, that
maybe-.”

“I’ll do it,” said Beecher. Sister Pete furrowed her brow in surprise.

“You’ll do it?” asked Benson, who had clearly been prepared to continue her
pitch.

“Sure,” said Beecher. Maybe I’ll learn something useful. “Kid needs all
the help he can get.”

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

Oz: Cafeteria

“Hey! Vern, buddy!” Ryan O’Reilly shouted jovially, snaking out from behind
the serving counter and hustling Schillinger away from the crowd of prisoners waiting in
line. “How’s it hanging?”

Schillinger glared at O’Reilly. The Irishman smiled back, satin over steel.
Fucking nosy Mick. “What?” Schillinger asked impatiently.

“I heard your prag’s getting out of the Hole today,” said O’Reilly, leaning
casually against the wall.

“What do you care?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re going to be dealing with his behavioral
issues.” Ryan kept smiling. Officer Bradley walked by, sparing the duo no more than a
glance. Innocent little chat, Officer, no problem here, go on about your business you
fucking morons.

“Stay out of my business, got it, Paddy?” said Schillinger calmly. Nobody tells
me how to treat my own fucking property, got it, pal? Besides, you think I don’t know that
my people are just as scared as you are of my little mutant problem? I’ll take care of it in
my own way, thank you very much you prying weasel. “I keep my own house in
order.”

“Okay, fine,” said O’Reilly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Then he
leaned in close to Schillinger’s face. Close enough to bite. “If your fucking psycho mutie,
redneck prag comes near my brother again, you are over.” Without waiting for a
response, O’Reilly turned and strode back to the serving line to stand by Cyril.

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

Oz: The Basement

McManus winced at the door’s angry squeal as he entered Ad Seg, the infamous
“Hole.” The CO with him was carrying Landry’s clothes, but didn’t put them down. Yet.
The inmate himself was sitting naked in the corner hugging his knees to his chest,
looking like little more than skin stretched over a gawky skeleton, mottled here and there
with yellowy patches of healing bruises from the SORT team. He peered at McManus
from under his characteristic brown curls that had grown back like weeds.

“Hi Benjamin. We need to talk,” said McManus.

“Are they okay?” asked Landry softly. His already husky voice had an edge,
rough from disuse.

“Who?”

“The hacks. And Cyril. Nobody would tell me.”

“Officer Holtz and Officer Emerson had some burns, and so did Cyril O’Reilly.
But they’re fine now.” McManus heard Landry exhale sharply, but in the dim light he
couldn’t read the inmate’s facial expression.

“I’m sorry,” said Landry. “Sir,” he added hastily. “And I’m sorry I pushed you.”

McManus scoffed. “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse. But you will not attack a
member of this staff again.”

Landry studied his feet. “No, sir.”

“There is no fighting in Em City.”

“No sir.”

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t bounce you down to Gen Pop.”

Landry was silent for a moment. “Can’t defend myself in Gen Pop, sir,” he said at
last.

“Who do you need to defend yourself from?” Landry shrugged. “I’ve talked to
Vern Schillinger, Benjamin.” Landry glanced up quickly, then back down. “He’s not
going to bother you. If he gives you any shit at all, you come to me, and I’ll deal with it,
all right?” Landry nodded vaguely. McManus sighed.

“Landry. I want your personal assurance that there won’t be any more displays of
mutant powers.”

“No sir,” the kid muttered, so softly McManus almost missed it. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Ever. I mean it. I’d hate for you to spend the next 83 years in solitary.”

“Yes sir. I’d hate that too, sir.”

McManus nodded to the CO, who threw Landry’s clothes on the floor. “Glad we
understand each other. Now get dressed.”

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

Oz: Em City

Landry was waiting in their pod, freshly showered and dressed, when Schillinger
got back from afternoon work detail. “Welcome back, darlin’,” Schillinger greeted his
prag. “I was hoping you’d be out today. A little birdie told me it was your birthday.”

Landry’s eyes lit up for a moment with pleasure and surprise. “Sir, I didn’t know
you knew.”

“Of course. What don’t I know? Come on sugar,” he said. “We’re going to the
gym.”

That was how Landry came to be alone in the gym, the traditional hunting ground
of the Aryan Brotherhood, with Schillinger, a handful of Aryans, and some bikers, and no
hack in sight. As soon as they walked in, Schillinger had thrown him to the floor and two
of the Brotherhood, without much visible effort, had seized him limbs and pinned him,
lying on his stomach.

Kid’s not struggling, Vern observed. At least, not yet. I guess he is
well trained. Schillinger squatted beside Landry’s head. “Hey Benny Boy. I know
you’ve just come out of the hole and all, but I thought I’d get the guys to help give you a
welcome back party. You see, I had some time to think while you were locked up.” He
nodded to one of his cronies, Adler, an armed robber in for 12 to 20, who began to
disrobe. “Ben, there’s some breeds of dog that are just too dangerous to keep. They may
act affectionate, eat out of your hand, play fetch, but they could turn on you at any
minute.”

Adler stood over Landry’s prone form and unrolled a condom over his freed cock.
Schillinger watched the kid’s breathing speed up, watched him crane his neck backwards
to try to see what was happening. Schillinger grabbed Landry’s chin with one hand and
turned his head back to look at his master. “Like you, Little Ben. That display in the quad
was unacceptable.”

“But sir, I-,” Landry blurted a bit desperately, but Schillinger held up a finger to
silence him.

“What is your purpose in life, Ben?” he asked.

“To serve you, sir,” said Landry miserably.

“And you only do..?”

“What you tell me to, sir.”

Schillinger leaned in close to Landry. “Did I tell you to use your freaky little
mutant powers?”

“No sir,” Landry whispered.

“No. Exactly.” Schillinger gave his prag a quick, close-mouthed kiss on the lips,
more of a symbol than an actual physical act, and said, “Go ahead, Adler.”

The big neo-Nazi knelt behind Landry as the two Aryans holding him lifted the
small man’s hips and pulled down his pants. The black iron cross tattoo stood out starkly
against Landry’s pale flesh. Schillinger stood, his eyes fixed on Landry, who was staring
up at him as if trying to read in his master’s cold blue eyes what he wanted him to do.
Nothing, honey. I just want my boys to see you suffer, is all. You’re the lesson
here.

Adler took his stiff member in hand and positioned it at the entrance to Landry’s
ass. He grabbed the kneeling man’s hips and began, agonizingly slowly, to press forward.
Landry hissed through his teeth; he’d been a month in the hole away from Schillinger’s
amorous attentions, and Adler had used no lubrication. Schillinger smiled down at his
prag from his casual position on the sidelines. “It’s okay, sugar. You have my permission
to let Adler fuck you,” Schillinger said with cheerful malice.

Landry panted a couple of times, trying to get his breath, perhaps. Then,
perversely, he pushed his hips backwards against Adler, sheathing the man’s cock further
into his resisting hole. Adler gave a small gasp and Landry’s mouth turned up at one
corner, just a little, just enough to produce a hint of dimple.

You little fucker. In a flash, Schillinger was squatting by Landry’s head
again. He grabbed a handful of that silky hair and shook him sharply. “This is not a
participation event, sugar. This is a learning moment. So learn.” Schillinger nodded back
to Adler, who pushed forward again, sheathing the rest of his length with a grunt.

With Schillinger holding his prag by the head, one Aryan twisting his arm behind
his back, another sitting on his legs, and Adler buried balls-deep in his ass, Landry could
hardly move even if he’d wanted to. Then Adler began to thrust, slamming into this
much-smaller man below him with muffled grunts and wet slapping sounds.

Landry had screwed his eyes closed and was breathing fast and shallow. He’s
prettiest when he’s scared, Schillinger noted with a smile. “Open your eyes, darlin’.
You don’t want Mr. Adler here to think you don’t like, this, right?”

Landry’s eyes snapped open, but, Schillinger observed, the situation was too
much for him to put on his usual veil of charm. This is my real prag, for all he
pretends he’s a pro. Scared, helpless sacrificial lamb. Now that’s a turn on.

With a few more deep thrusts, Adler collapsed onto Landry’s back, sweating.
Schillinger stood and backed off a few steps. The Aryans who’d been holding Landry
down did the same, followed by a recovered Adler, who began to re-dress himself.
Landry made no move to get up.

Schillinger addressed him, reveling in the waves of hurt and betrayal coming off
of the youngster. “We don’t have a lot of time here, or everyone would get a turn. But I
think you get the idea.” He took a step forward. “We do have time to give you another
kind of present, though.” Abruptly, he pulled back one booted foot and kicked Landry
hard in the side, producing a muffled yelp. At that signal, the other Aryans and attendant
bikers swarmed around Landry, kicking and kicking, silent but for the sound of impacting
flesh and their victim’s halting sobs.

Schillinger stopped first, taking a step back, and the others followed suit. He
jerked his head toward the door, and the men began to file out. Before he followed,
Schillinger bent down once more to his prag’s ear and whispered, “Happy birthday,
Benny.”

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

Oz: Counseling Office



Me and Henri had been drinking. We got a trucker to pick us up in
####### and take us across the state line. We do that sometimes. Tell
‘em we’re going to Biloxi. Cuz Henri’s got a Mississippi fake ID, and
they don’t get so suspicious if it’s in state, see. So he goes into the
liquor store, and I have to stay outside, of course, cuz not even a
dumb Mississippi swamp rat is gunna believe that I’m 21, right. So I
was ############## and #############################################
####################################. So we finally decided to just
take the 40s we had and go for a walk. We walked up by the highway. And
we were sitting up on the overpass by Highway 12. Anyway, we were
watching cars go by. And he kept telling me to ##############
####################, that it would be fun, and I kept telling him I
wouldn’t. Cuz Henri has no idea, you know? He doesn’t understand
#######################################################################
##################. But I’d do pretty much anything for Henri. He just
gets talking about something and just picks and me and picks at me
until I give in. So after a while I said I’d do it, and we started
looking for a car that would ########################################.
We waited maybe twenty minutes, and I was getting nervous. I told Henri
I just wanted to do something else, but he called me a pussy and said
that we should keep waiting. So we kept waiting, and then we saw this
car that looked like ##################################################
#######################################################################
###########################################################. ########
#######################################################################
#######################################################################
##############################. And I run down the hill, and I’m
screaming bloody murder, and here comes Henri after me yelling at me to
shut the fuck up. But the car just keeps going, right, and it #####
#######################################################################
#######################################################################
#######################################################################
#######################################################################
################################# like that, so that’s when I knew they
had to be dead.


Beecher dropped the packet of documents onto his desk and leaned back in his
chair. He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, Sister
Pete was beside him, holding a cup of coffee. “Well?” she asked.

“This is worse than useless, Sister. Look.” He picked up the packet and handed it
to her. The nun perched her glasses on her nose and glanced over the page Beecher had
been reading. “It’s like watching Pulp Fiction edited for network television. They’ve cut
out so much that it’s impossible to know what’s going on. How can you even tell what
he’s talking about?”

“I don’t know, Tobias.”

“How could a jury take this seriously? How could a judge even admit this?”

“Fear can motivate people to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily consider. You
know that, Tobias,” said Sister Pete.

“Yeah. Well I can see why they would have been scared of Benjamin Landry.
Shit, Sister. I’m scared of Benjamin Landry.”

“Tobias,” said the nun pleadingly. She leaned back against her desk. “Are you
really scared of that boy?”

“You weren’t there, Sister,” said Tobias, turning around to face her. “You should
have seen what he did to Cyril and those hacks. He dropped them without a thought. And
I bet he would have done more if the SORT team hadn’t gotten there.”

“But no one was badly hurt. And think how scared he must have been,” said Pete.

“Yeah,” Tobias replied with a derisive snort. “My Uncle Sully used to feed me
that line about snakes when we went camping. That they’re more scared of you than you
are of them. But they bite when they’re scared, Sister.”

Sister Pete fixed Beecher with her patented look to induce guilt. “Tobias… Don’t
you wish someone would have helped you?”

“You know I do, Sister. It’s not that I don’t feel for him, it’s just…” Beecher
shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what else I can do. He doesn’t want to be helped.”

“Yes he does, Tobias,” said Pete, her serious eyes boring into Beecher’s own.
“It’s just a matter of making him realize it.”

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

Oz: Infirmary

Finnessy happened to be on duty when Landry woke up. He went immediately to
his fellow mutant’s bedside and poured him some water. “Hey. Welcome back. Drink
this.”

Landry shook his head groggily, and tried to push himself up with his elbows.
“Don’t-,” warned Finnessy, but Landry had already desisted with a sharp gasp of pain.
“Just have some water.” Obediently, Landry opened his mouth and allowed Finnessy to
pour some water into his mouth.

After he’d swallowed, Landry said, “Sorry I fucked up.”

Finnessy furrowed his brow. “Why are you apologizing to me? I don’t have any
second-degree burns. For that matter, I’m not the one with the multiple injuries, either.”

Landry winced, and the winced more from the pain of wincing. Looking back up
at Finnessy, he tried to explain. “For being mutants, I mean. They hate us now, don’t
they?”

Finnessy turned to set down the plastic cup of water. “I don’t know.”

“They do. They think I’m dangerous. That’s why this happened. They think all
mutants are dangerous, because of what I did” said Landry.

Finnessy turned back to the bed. “Maybe. But maybe they did before, too. Dr.
Grey and I have talked about this. It could have been worse. I mean....” Here Finnessy
lowered his voice. “You are capable of worse. You weren’t totally out of control, right?”

Landry lowered his eyes. “I don’t know. I just got so mad, and then I didn’t know
what I was doing. They wouldn’t even tell me if anyone was hurt until McManus came to
get me out of the hole.”

“Let me give you some advice. You can’t worry about all that shit right now.
You’re lucky to be alive at all. If there are…” Finnessy searched for the right word.
“Parties who mean you harm, you should really think about giving them up. Go into
protective custody, even, until people settle down. You keep letting people do this shit to
you, you’re going to get killed.”

Landry glared at him. “You think I let someone do this to me?”

Finnessy shrugged nonchalantly. “I think you let Schillinger get away with a lot
more than you should.

“Schillinger didn’t do this,” said Landry fiercely.

“Fine. I just wanted--.” Finnessy stopped short as McManus materialized in the
doorway.

“You’re awake,” said McManus, moving to stand next to the bed. “Can I have a
word?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Landry dully.

McManus looked pointedly at Finnessy.

“Right. I’m going to look at a chart,” said Finnessy. He turned to his patient.
“Think about what I said, kid.” Then he retreated to Dr. Nathan’s office.

“So how do you feel, Benjamin?” asked McManus.

“Like shit, sir” said Landry, keeping his eyes down.

“Well. I guess that’s to be expected for a while. You took a pretty nasty beating.
You’re lucky to be alive.”

“So everyone says.”

“Ben, I need you to tell me who did this,” said McManus. Because if I don’t
deal with them, violence against mutants will be the only thing all the gangs can agree
on.

Landry shook his head. “Rat, you mean. Funny, that’s what Finnessy told me to
do.”

“Well, he’s right. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me who hurt you.”

“You can’t protect me anyway, McManus. If I don’t tell you, they may kill me,
but if I do tell you, they’ll kill me for sure.”

“It’s tough to kill someone from solitary.” Unless your name is William Giles.

Landry had no reply to that. “Look,” McManus continued. “Please tell me. I know
things are hard for you because you’re young and you’re… different, but you have to
trust someone.”

Landry laughed: a hoarse, rusty sound, but stopped abruptly, clutching his hand to
his ribs with a grimace. “So I should trust you?”

“Frankly, I don’t care if you trust me or not, but you should be smart enough to
know that telling me who did this to you can’t possibly make you any worse off,” said
McManus. Come on, kid. Work with me here.

“McManus, I can’t tell you. You know they’ll find out I talked.”

“No they won’t,” said McManus. So close. He’ll go for it. He’ll tell me.
Please, kid. “If I don’t act on what you tell me until later, until I have some
evidence, they won’t know I didn’t figure it out myself.”

Landry was silent for a moment. “If they kill me over this, I’m going to say ‘I told
you so.’”

McManus smiled. “Fair enough.” He waited.

Landry took a shuddering breath. “Okay. I met Ryan O’Reilly when I was coming
back to Em City and he told me Mr. Schillinger was waiting in the gym for me. So I went
to the gym…” Landry took a couple more shallow breaths.

O’Reilly? Right… Because Landry hurt Cyril… Damn, why didn’t I see that
coming? “Go on,” prompted McManus.

“At the gym, I didn’t see Mr. Schillinger. But Mr. Beecher and um… what’s his
name? The guy with the crucifix on his arm? He never said his name…”

“Keller,” supplied McManus. Some obscure revenge against Schillinger
through his prag? No… Couldn’t be… Could it?

“Yeah. He never said his name. I didn’t even know his name, and he…” Landry
fell silent.

Raped you. Keller raped you. Damnit, thought McManus. I knew he was
dangerous, but I never pegged him for this. Unless Landry did something to Beecher,
somehow... “Then what?”

“Beecher said some stuff to me… Like about if I wasn’t with him I was against
him,” said Landry weakly.

“What did that mean to you?” ‘Cuz I’m sure not following.

“Well, before… Before I went in the Hole, Beecher and that other man—Keller,
talked to me and told me I should stay away from Mr. Schillinger… And Mr. McManus,
I know that some people don’t like him, but he’s my pod mate,” said Landry, a note of
pleading creeping into his voice. “I can’t avoid him, and… He’s one of the only people
that’s nice to me.”

Does that mean you’re a genius or an idiot for putting them together, Tim?
McManus thought. “So what did you tell Beecher when he talked to you before?”

“Well, just that Mr. Schillinger was my friend. I guess I kinda got into an
argument with Beecher,” Landry said shamefacedly. “We were yelling, and he was
telling me how I was sick for hanging around Mr. Schillinger, and I was telling him he
should mind his own business. And that’s when Keller. Well. Anyway. We had an
argument,” he finished lamely.

Didn’t Schillinger say something…? Was it by some chance not total bullshit?
“Wait a second… Did Keller give you that black eye?” McManus asked. Landry
nodded. Fuck me. Will wonders never cease; Vern Schillinger told me something that
turned out to be true. “So in the gym, Beecher talked about your argument.”

“I guess. He was pretty upset. I mean, he seemed crazy, Mr. McManus. I was
just… It’s like he’d lost it. Then he kicked me. And Keller started kicking me. And they
were both just kicking and kicking--.” Landry broke off. He quickly looked away, but
McManus saw the glint of tears in his eyes. “So that’s what happened,” he choked out.

Poor kid. Getting mixed up in the Schillinger-Keller-Crazy Beecher love
triangle roller coaster with a side of Ryan fucking O’Reilly. McManus thought, with
a twinge of guilt. Couldn’t you have picked a less dangerous shitstorm to fall into?
McManus laid a hand on Landry’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ben. I’ll deal with this.”
Already formulating a game plan, McManus walked out of the room. He didn’t turn back
to see Landry smiling to himself.

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

Oz: Infirmary


Officer Katz escorted Dr. Grey into the infirmary, where Dr. Finnessy was setting
out the morning medication tray for the AIDS ward. “Where’s Dr. Nathan?” asked Katz.

“Meeting with the Warden,” said Finnessy without looking up.

Katz looked around. “She left you here alone?” he said suspiciously.

Now Finnessy turned around to meet the CO’s eyes. Whatever smart retort he’d
been about to deliver died on his lips when he saw Dr. Grey standing behind Katz in the
doorway. Dr. Grey. Again. What now? She can’t want to talk about the Collar again
so soon. Did she find out about Tae? She wouldn’t say anything if she had, would she?
Why else would she come around? They’re waiting for you to talk. Say something.
“Well, not entirely alone. There are patients in the other room,” he said at last.
And thanks for the trust, Officer Katz. “Good morning, Doctor Grey.”

“Good morning Doctor Finnessey,” said Jean, smiling. Katz scowled and took up
a position by the infirmary door.

“So what brings you back to this little corner of Hell?” Finnessy said, turning
back to the meds. Nothing to do with me, right? I just work here. See, perfectly
harmless.

Jean walked over to the counter where Finnessy was working. “I was hoping to
see Landry, actually.”

Landry. Of course. Not me. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Abel.
“No visitors,” said Finnessy. He put a bottle of pills back in the cabinet and took out
another before looking at Jean again. “Really. I had to let McManus see him, but that’s it.
He gets a private room and everything.”

“Is that because his injuries are extensive or because you’re afraid someone might
try to finish the job?” Jean asked.

Finnessy reached over to grab a clipboard off the top of a nearby cabinet. Hey
Katz, listen to this, too. Take this back to your CO friends and tell them Landry’s suffered
enough. He flipped to the second page and read aloud, “Head trauma, three broken
ribs, fractured wrist, fractured jaw, broken nose, broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder,
lacerated liver, punctured lung, bruised spleen, rectal tearing and internal hemorrhaging.
Injuries consistent with rape and severe beating.” Enough to make him square for a
couple lousy burns, even if it wasn’t a CO who administered justice. Got it, Officer?

Jean took a sharp breath and held it. “Is he stable?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes. He was awake earlier, and he seemed pretty lucid. We were worried there
might be brain damage, but…” Finnessy shrugged. Thank goodness for small favors.
That’s just what we need: another Cyril O’Reilly but without a big brother.

“Are there any suspects?”

“That’s not really my area. I just patch ‘em up. I bet McManus thinks he knows,
at least.” Though if Landry told him the truth, I’m the Queen of England.
Finnessy poured out a handful of pink pills on the counter, and began placing one in each
plastic cup in front of him. “But I wouldn’t hold out much hope for justice, if I were
you.”

“Why not?”

“You need evidence. That’s something Oz is perpetually short of. So they,
whoever they are, will get away with this.” Finnessy lowered his voice a notch. “And
then every brain-dead Gen Pop malcontent looking to gain some jizz-.” Not to
mention the COs out for revenge. “-will know that it’s open season on those
dangerous, uncontrollable mutant freaks.”

“So you think this was a hate crime?” Jean asked.

“What do you think?” Finnessy asked sharply. Abruptly he picked up the tray of meds. “I
have to do my rounds. I’ll see you later, Doctor,” he said, and hustled out the door.

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

SVU Squad Room, New York City

“Tell me again why you’re making another trip up to Oswald?” Stabler asked his
partner.

“I couldn’t see Landry last time. He was in Administrative Segregation last time I
went. No visitors,” Benson explained. She was busy putting away the day’s paperwork so
she could finally get out of the office.

“So who’d you see?” asked Stabler.

“No one.” Benson filed silently for a moment, aware of Stabler’s eyes fixed on
her. Finally, she said, “I saw an inmate named Tobias Beecher.” Stabler waited for more.
Benson finally turned to look at him. “I asked him to look over Landry’s case. He’s a
former lawyer. He’s helped other inmates. And he seemed eager.”

“You got Landry a lawyer?” said Stabler, a bit incredulously.

“I didn’t get him a lawyer, Elliot. I just asked this guy to look at the Mississippi
trial. Alex says it looked biased, but what is she supposed to do about it?”

“What are you supposed to do about it? It’s not your case.”

Benson walked around the desk to stand next to her partner. “Elliot, I know that
you’re concerned. You think I’m getting too personal.”

“I am concerned!” Stabler leaned back in his chair, spreading his arms in a
gesture of helplessness. “You’ve been talking about this case for months.”

“But it’s not just a case, okay? It never was our case in the first place.
This isn’t Detective Benson, NYPD, trying to do her job. This is Olivia Benson, person,
trying to make the justice system work for someone.”

“Olivia, is it really that important to you?” Stabler asked, narrowing his eyes in
concern.

“Yes, Elliot. It is.” Benson stood with her arms crossed across her chest, as if
daring her partner to argue.

Stabler crossed his own arms and thought for a moment. “Do you need help?” he
asked at last.

Benson cocked her head in surprise. “It’s not really your responsibility--.”

“I was just offering plain old Elliot Stabler help,” said Stabler. “I hear he’s an
okay guy even without his badge.”

Benson smiled. “Alright, then. Here’s what I wanted to do.”

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

Oz: Em City

“Hey McManus, got a new girlfriend?” hollered Alan Jameson from across the
Em City quad.

McManus ignored the comment, keeping his face buried in the report on his
clipboard as he mounted the stairs to his office.

“Yeah, she’s looking fine,” Poet added.

“Send her to my pod when you’re done,” quipped O’Reilly, walking downstairs
past McManus and making on obscene gesture.

McManus met Officer Murphy at the top of the stairs. “What’s this all about?”

“Dr. Grey is here to see you,” said Murphy with a grimace.

McManus rolled his eyes. “If I never face another law suit, federal investigation,
or public inquiry, it will be too soon,” he said. “She been waiting long?”

“No. But you may want to pull the shades. There’s a crowd gathering in the
classroom to get a view,” said Murphy, gesturing across the way where a handful of
inmates were “casually” gathered by the window across from McManus’ office.

“Great. Thanks Sean,” said McManus, and retreated into his office.

Dr. Grey stood as he entered. “Mr. McManus, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Dr. Grey,” said McManus, hurrying over to the window that faced the classroom
and drawing the blinds. One of the inmates in the opposite classroom shot McManus the
finger as the blind blocked them out. “So, what can I do for you?” he said as he dropped
into his chair.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you Mr. McManus?” said the tall redheaded
doctor.

“Smart Collar investigation. Abel Finnessy. Yeah, I’ve been briefed,” said
McManus shortly.

“Alright,” said Grey, smiling wanly. “Could you please tell me about your
impressions of Abel Finnessy when he arrived?”

“Sure. He was quiet. I met with him right off, since he was a special case in many
ways.”

“You mean as a mutant.”

“Yeah, that comes to mind. Also, he’s an upper-class white man. That’s not the
norm here. Most of our inmates come from poverty. It’s usually more of a rough
adjustment for those used to privilege.” See Exhibit A, Tobias Beecher. “All I
knew about Finnessey came from his file. When he came in, I have to tell you I thought
he was in shock, or something. He hardly said two words, even when I asked him
something, and what he did say didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Not really. Every one of my inmates has their own special trauma. For a man to
seem incoherent on his first day inside, well.” McManus shrugged. “It’s to be expected.
I’d never met him before, so I had nothing to compare his behavior to.”

“What about later? Did any of his behavior strike you as odd?”

“A little. I can’t say I had that much one-on-one contact with him at first. I did get
complaints about him from the COs.”

“Complaints?”

“Yeah. That they had to baby-sit him. Meaning they had to tell him what to do all
the time. Most of the inmates are fairly self-sufficient, once they learn the routine.”
Or acquire a protector. “To have to tell one to line up for count every single time
like he doesn’t know any better gets frustrating, especially when they have sixty-three
other inmates to deal with.”

“So his behavior was disruptive?”

“Not at first, no. His behavior was just… confused. He wasn’t starting fights. He just
seemed slow. My first idea was that he just thought he was too good to follow the rules.
But when I talked to Officer Murphy about it, he said that wasn’t the problem. It was like
Finnessey was ret—mentally challenged.”

“Did you try to get him help?”

“I had him see the prison psychologist, Sister Pete. She kept seeing him regularly,
but there wasn’t much good she could do with him not really talking.” Not that he
talks to Pete any more nowadays. “Besides, by then he was having other problems.”

“Such as?”

“Medical problems. Doctor Nathan could tell you more. Seizures, screaming fits,
that kind of thing. She prescribed some medication that kept him manageable.”

“Yes, she told me. So you kept him sedated?”

“Yes.”

“And what effect did that have on his behavior?”

“He was more sedate,” said McManus, straight-faced.

Grey looked up from her note-taking with narrowed eyes and a near-glare.
“Anything else?”

“It solved the problem, mostly. Things probably would have continued that way,
if we hadn’t let him have visitors.”

“Why? What happened when he had visitors?”

“It wasn’t so much him. He was sedated, after all. It was just… one visitor in
particular.”

“Who was this visitor?”

“You haven’t heard this part yet? I’m surprised.” But she’ll find out
eventually. “His sister, Tae Finnessey. After her first visit she demanded to see the
warden.”

“Why was that?”

“She knew her brother’s behavior was… odd. See, no one else in Oz had ever met
Abel Finnessey before he arrived here, so no one knew how odd his behavior was. Tae—
Ms. Finnessey, complained to me, to the Warden, to anyone who would listen, that the
Collar was somehow hurting her brother.”

“So the Warden agreed to discontinue using the Collar?”

“Well, not right away. But Ms. Finnessey is a very… persuasive woman.”
Very persuasive. “If it hadn’t been for her perseverance, I’m sad to say that
Finnessey would probably still be Collared.”

“Do you happen to know how I can get in contact with her?”

McManus fidgeted in his chair. “I’m not sure that she’d talk to you, Doctor.”

“Why not?

“Call it intuition. Tae—Miss Finnessey seems to be a little angry at the mutant
community.” Just a little…

Jean narrowed her eyes. “Oh really? Any why is that?”

“You’ll see, Doctor,” said McManus cryptically. “I’ll give you her number, and
you can ask her about it yourself. Or try.”

“I will,” said Jean confidently. Maybe I’ll have more luck than you’d think,
Mr. Righteous McManus. “So how do I get in touch?”

“Cell phone. 876-555-4210,” McManus rattled off.

Jean jotted down the number on her notepad, then fixed McManus with a
suspicious look. “You have her number memorized?”

“Of course,” said McManus, calmly. She’ll find out eventually, Tim. Better
that it comes from you. “We’re dating.”