Marrow

Marrow. Part Six.
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, Issues of Consent: non-con and rape, Violence, Adult Language and Situations. Also in this chapter: non-explicit mention of a
heterosexual relationship. If that’s too scandalous for you, skip this chapter.
Thanks: to Willow for the beta.
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.

PART SIX

SVU Squad Room: New York City

Fin dropped a file folder on Olivia’s desk. “What’s this?” she said, looking up
from her computer.

“Some contenders,” Fin explained. “There are actually three open cases for the
night of the June 16th that took place in the appropriate time frame. A convenience store
robbery, a rape/homicide, and a drive-by shooting.”

Olivia opened the file, flipping though the papers inside. “So what’s your money
on?”

“I was going to say ‘none of the above.’” Fin leaned casually on Olivia’s desk.
“Then I called up New Orleans.”

Olivia looked hopefully at Fin. “Where Landry and the Castilles lived before they
came to New York.”

Fin nodded. “Bingo. Two open rape/homicide cases with matching MOs and
signatures in the past year.”

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. “So either a certain rapist/murderer moved
from New Orleans to New York around the same time as our boys-.”

“Or we may have a new lead on a case,” Fin finished.

“I guess I need to talk to Landry again,” Olivia said, reaching for her coat.
“Thanks, Fin.”

“Have a nice drive,” said Fin. “And you’re welcome.”
**********

Oz: Em City

“Benjamin Landry wants to talk to you,” said Officer Holtz from the doorway.

McManus looked up from his never-ending pile of paperwork. “Fine. Send him
in.”

Landry, looking smaller than normal in an oversized sweatshirt, slunk into the
room and installed himself in the chair opposite McManus’ desk.

McManus finished writing a note to himself, then set down his pen and turned his
attention to Em City’s youngest resident. “Yes?” he asked expectantly.

“Sir, I was hoping that… I mean I guess I wanted…” he began. He looked up at
McManus, who raised his eyebrows encouragingly. “Sir, can I switch cells?” Landry said
at last.

Interesting. “Switch cells? Have you been having problems with
Schillinger?” McManus asked.

“No!” Landry said quickly. “No, nothing like that, sir. I just. Well, see, you know
I’m friends with Cyril, and-.”

Oh. “Ryan’s in the Hole.” Landry nodded. “And you wanted to keep
Cyril company.”

“He doesn’t like to be alone, sir,” said Landry. He leaned forward
conspiratorially. “Especially at night.”

Well, that I buy. “So why don’t I move one of the Irish in with him?”

Landry blinked. “I dunno, sir. I guess you can move whoever you want. But I just
thought…” McManus waited. “I thought it’d be nice to try a different podmate for a
while, even if it was just for a month.”

And you thought maybe Schillinger wouldn’t have you killed if he thought it
was temporary. Good thinking, kid. “Okay, Benjamin. I’ll switch you if you do
something for me.”

Landry’s eyes widened in alarm.

Shit, Tim, nice phrasing. “I want some information,” he clarified. Landry
relaxed visibly. “I want you to tell me who really attacked you in the gym.”

McManus caught a flash of fear in Landry’s eyes before he masked it. “Sir, I told
you already,” said Landry softly.

McManus stood and walked around the desk. “You told me something, Ben, but it
wasn’t the truth.” And two can play at that game. “You were attacked on
September 24th between 4 and 4:30. Tobias Beecher stayed late on work detail that day to
finish a project for Sister Pete. He was there until 4:40. Keller spent his time after work
detail that day watching the Eagles/Oilers game. Officer Murphy had to break up an
altercation between him and Simon Adebisi over a certain foul. They didn’t attack you.”

Landry stared at his shoes.

I know you’re scared enough of Schillinger to want to move out of his pod, so
tell me what I need to hear. “Landry? Tell me what really happened.”

“That is what really happened, sir.” Landry shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

I’m sorry too. “I’ll switch you in with Cyril. You can go,” said McManus,
and retreated behind his desk.

After Landry had gone, Sean Murphy strolled in. “So, did it work?”

McManus shook his head. “Either he’s really telling the truth, or he’s smarter than
I give him credit for. I thought Keller and Adebesi arguing over a football game was a
pretty plausible scenario.”

Murphy shrugged. “I thought so too. So what’s your next move?”

“I don’t know, Sean,” McManus sighed. “There’s no evidence to be found, and if
Keller and Beecher really did do this, there’s no way one will roll on the other. So we
may have to file this one unsolved.”

Murphy snorted. “Add it to the pile, Tim. What’s one more, anyway?”
**********

Oz: Interview Room Two

Landry rolled his eyes when he saw who was waiting to talk to him. He sat down
across the table from Detective Benson and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his
hooded sweatshirt.

“It’s nice to see you again, Benjamin,” said Benson politely.

“I’m actually kind of busy,” Landry said with a hint of a sneer. “Can we make this
quick?”

“You in a hurry to get back to the excitement of prison life?”

“I just don’t see why you keep coming to talk to me.”

“I’ve been helping with your appeal,” Benson pointed out.

“I didn’t ask for that,” said Landry softly, staring out the window.

“I know. But I’d still like your help.”

“What do you want? I’ve already told you everything, like, twenty times.”

“I want to know what Henri Castille did the night he died. And if he’d done it
before.”

Landry took a deep breath then released it slowly. “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter
what he did.”

“Maybe. Maybe the victim’s family would like to know who’s responsible. Maybe there
were accomplices who should be sharing the blame.”

“Like me.”

Benson frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Did Remy Castille know anything about what his son was doing?”

Landry gave a short, barking laugh. “You could say that, I suppose.”

“Just tell me what was going on.”

Landry spread his hands out to the sides, invitingly. “What do you want to
know?”

“Tell me what happened before Henri Castille left the apartment the night of June
16th.”

Landry sighed. “A rehearsal.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Benson, narrowing her eyes in curiosity.

“Whenever Henri went out to… play, he’d try out what he wanted to do first,”
said Landry carefully. “You know what I mean?”

Benson shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

Landry fidgeted. “Okay. So let’s say hypothetically speaking that Henri wanted to
find some girl and do some stuff. Tie her up, have sex, other stuff.” Landry hesitated, and
looked to Benson, who gave him an encouraging nod. “He’d try out most of what he
wanted to do first. With me.”

“I see,” said Benson, working to keep her mask of calm professionalism in place.
“So this happened often?”

Landry looked away. “Not that often.”

But too often for your taste. “Tell me about what kinds of things he
rehearsed.”

“How he was going to tie her up and do other stuff…” Landry trailed off.

“Benjamin? What other stuff?” Benson pressed.

He waved a hand vaguely. “Stuff. Cutting. Beating. Sex. Whatever he wanted to
do.”

“And how do you know that he was rehearsing?”

“Cuz I-.” Landry paused. “Am I going to get in trouble for this?”

Benson raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. It depends on what you did.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone. I was just there,” Landry said quickly.

“You were where?”

“When he went out. Henri took me with a couple times. Back in New Orleans.”
Benson cocked her head quizzically, waiting for him to continue. “When he found out
what I was, that I was a mutant, that’s when it happened the first time. I thought he was
just being rough, but after… he took me out with him, which he never did, but he did that
time. And we picked up this girl, some girl, I dunno who she was. And so she wouldn’t
fight, Henri told me to do something, to show her something with my power, so she’d be
scared of us. So I did, and then he did to her what we’d done before, except that she
didn’t want to, and he didn’t stop, and she couldn’t breathe…” Landry stumbled to a halt.
“I didn’t touch her, though. I didn’t really know what was going to happen.”

Benson nodded. “Okay. Did you go with Henri last summer? The night he died?”
Landry shook his head. “But you know what he would have done.” Landry shrugged.
Benson grabbed a file folder from her attaché case and opened it. “Tell me.”

“Okay. Well… He would have tied her up,” he began.

“How?”

“On her back, with her hands over her head, and her legs under her. If she
struggled she’d have rope burn. I always got rope burn from it…” Landry shook his head,
then continued. “Then he would have cut her.”

“How?”

“Well. He did two sets on me that night. One on my feet and one here.” He put a
hand on his belly.

Benson flipped through her file and stopped at a crime scene photo. “What would
the cuts have looked like?”

Landry considered for a moment, then pulled up his sweatshirt to reveal a pattern
of delicate white scars branching out from his navel like veins on a leaf. “Kinda like
this.”

Benson looked from Landry down at the picture in her hand to see the same
pattern carved onto dead flesh in angry red lines. We have a winner. “Then
what?”

“He must have choked her,” said Landry. “He liked to choke me, too, but he
always stopped. I mean, I’m still alive, right?”

“Yes you are,” said Benson, setting aside the file. “I need you to tell me one more
thing.”

“Fine,” said Landry flatly. “What else can I tell you that you don’t already
know?”

“I need you to tell me how Remy Castille was involved.”

“No,” said Landry, shaking his head emphatically.

“Why not? Like you said, Benjamin, you’ve told me everything else. Why not
this?”

“Because. Because he wasn’t involved.”

“Benjamin, you said that he was. You said that he knew what Henri was doing.”

Landry just shook his head again. “I won’t say anything bad about Mr. Castille.”

Benson stood and walked around the table, closing in on Landry. “You already
told us about your history together. That information came up at his trial. Remy Castille
already knows that you talked to us.”

“But it’s okay, because he’s okay. He didn’t get convicted,” Landry said
anxiously.

“Right. Which means that he’s still out there. And the things he did to you, he’s
going to keep doing, because he thinks he can get away with it.”

Landry crossed his arms over his chest. “He never hurt me.”

“He did,” said Benson firmly. She put one arm on the back of Landry’s chair and
lowered herself to his eye level. “And now you can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone
else.” She could see the conflicting impulses warring in Landry. “How was he involved?”

After a moment, Landry looked away from Benson’s searching gaze. “He helped
plan. And got the girls to come with us. And he knew the police chief in New Orleans
and made sure Henri didn’t get in trouble.”

“What about the last time, in New York?”

“He drove.”

Benson took her hand off the chair and backed up. “Thank you. That’s a start.”

“Can I go now?” asked Landry in a small voice.

“Sure. Officer?” Benson gathered her things as Landry stood and waited for
Officer Howell to cuff him for the walk back to Em City. Benson stopped on her way out
the door and said, “You’re doing the right thing, Benjamin.”

Howell muttered, “That’ll be the day: when one of you animals does the right
thing.” She shoved Landry toward the door. “Let’s get you back in your cage.”
**********

Oz: Infirmary

“Hey Hill. What seems to be the problem?” Finnessey asked as he approached the
wheelchair-bound inmate.

“I’ve got a cold or some shit. Fever, runny nose, headache.”

“Huh.” Finnessey grabbed a thermometer from a nearby cabinet. “Put this under
your tongue. Do you work in the dress factory by any chance?”

“Ees. Ei?” said Hill around the thermometer.

“Oh, no reason. I guess it’s just going around. Ira Rosenberg was in here earlier.”
Finnessey grabbed the thermometer from Hill’s mouth and examined it. “One-oh-one-
point-three degrees. That’s a fever. Can you take your shirt off, please?” He pulled the
disposable head off the thermometer and threw it away. “So, I heard that Dr. Grey
interviewed you about the Collar."

Hill looked startled. "Yeah. Well, she talked to me and Busmalis and Rebadow.
She just asked us a few questions," he said quickly, stripping off his prison issue t-shirt.
"No big."

"I'm not mad, Hill. Just curious,” said Finnessey, going to the sink to scrub.
“What did she ask?"

"She asked how you acted when you first got to Oz. Who your sponsor was. If
anyone gave you a hard time. You know."

"Yeah. Great." Finnessey shook excess water off his hands angrily.

"What?"

"It's just this whole lawsuit. I feel like my whole life is under a microscope."

"But it's for a good cause, isn't it? Civil rights and all that shit."

"I guess. I just don't like everyone knowing my business is all.” Finnessey
grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands more vigorously than necessary. “It's not like I
did anything wrong. Well, since I’ve been in Oz, that is.” He grabbed a stethoscope from
the cabinet.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Breathe,” said Finnessey, laying his stethoscope on Hill’s chest. “What?”

“What are you in for, anyway?”

“Why do you care? Breathe again.”

“Cuz I couldn’t find out from TV or the internet or court records, cuz they’re
sealed.”

Finnessey moved his stethoscope to Hill’s back. “Breathe. So?”

“So it’s not a matter of public record. It bugs me. I’m kind of a collector,
y’know.”

“A collector of what?” Finnessey grabbed an otoscope and began to check out
Hill’s ears.

“Crimes. I know what every man in Oz is in for, what his sentence is, and when
he’s up for parole. It’s a hobby of mine.”

“Hill, that’s mildly strange.”

“Maybe. But it passes the time. So what are you in for?”

Finnessey moved to the other ear. “Don’t you think there’s a reason no one else
knows that information?”

“Just cuz you haven’t told anyone.”

“So why would I tell you?”

“Cuz I’m asking nicely.”

“Well you don’t have an ear infection. What color’s your snot?”

Hill looked at Finnessey incredulously. “What?”

“If it’s yellow or greenish, you might have a bacterial infection,” Finnessey
explained with a note of exasperation. “Is it clear?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Hill. “So. Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Say ‘ah.’” Finnessey grabbed a tongue depressor and a mini flashlight from the
nearby cabinet and looked to the back of Hill’s throat. “Hm.” He turned his back on Hill
to throw away the tongue depressor. “Why are you so interested in me, anyway? I’m the
same as any other guy in here.”

“You had education and money. People like you and Tobias Beecher, Harvard
grads, doctors and lawyers don’t do real crime. You’re not a criminal the way I’m a
criminal, the way Ryan O’Reilly’s a criminal.” Finnessey turned to look at Hill in
disbelief. Hill forged on. “I mean, usually with you motherfuckers it’s tax evasion or
some shit. ‘Cept if you’re in Oz, it means you’re violent. So what’d you do, rich boy?”

“I’m a murderer,” said Finnessey sardonically, and leaned against the counter.

“Did you kill a patient? Oh no, wait, I bet you killed your wife or your mistress or some
shit.”

“I came home from work one night to find two men in my house, standing over
the bed where they’d just raped and murdered my wife. So I killed them.”

“Oh.” If he could have, Hill would have taken a step backward at the look in
Finnessey’s eyes. As it was, he just shrunk back into his chair.

“The coroner said that their hearts had collapsed. Guess that explained why they
didn’t scream for long.”

Hill gulped. “So your mutant power is collapsing people’s hearts.”

“I didn’t say that.” Finnessy turned his back. “Are you happy now? Here’s some
fucking DayQuil. Come back before count if you need more. Get out.”
***********

Oz: Em City

Landry lay awake in his bunk, listening to Cyril’s breathing from below him. He
rolled over to look out at the darkened Em City. Across the way, he could see Schillinger
standing by the door to his own pod. Their eyes met, brown on blue, and Landry could
read the menace and the message there: Get to work, sugar.

Four nights had passed uneventfully for the new podmates. Schillinger was
getting impatient with Landry’s evasive answers about the status of Operation Little
Brother. “Make it happen, Benny Boy,” he’d said firmly when they’d met in the hallway
before dinner, away from Cyril’s prying eyes. “Or I’ll go to Plan B.”

So Landry listened hard for any sniffle, any change in breathing, any indication
that those nightmares that allegedly plagued this particular Irishman would be visiting
their pod tonight. Nothing. It was time for a Plan B of his own.

A few moments later, Cyril opened his eyes and looked around the pod.
Something had woken him up. He sat still and listened, and immediately heard the sound
of crying coming from the bunk above him. Why is Ryan crying? was his first
thought. Then he remembered that his brother was in the Hole, and it was Benjamin who
occupied the top bunk.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up, turning to see the small
figure of his podmate curled up in a corner of his bunk. “Benjamin?” he said softly.

Immediately the crying stopped, and Landry turned over. In the dark it was hard
to make out details, but Cyril could see the glistening tracks of tears on Landry’s cheeks.
“Cyril,” Landry said, voice higher than usual. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“What’s the matter, Benjamin?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Landry sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I just had a bad dream.”

“I have bad dreams too, sometimes,” said Cyril kindly. He leaned against the top
bunk. “Ryan sits with me until they go away. Do you want me to sit with you?”

Landry smiled. “Sure. That’d be nice.”

Cyril pulled himself up onto Landry’s bunk. He sat, leaning against the wall,
enjoying the coolness on his bare back. Cyril was wearing his usual nighttime outfit: the
classic Ozian white boxers. Landry, arranging himself on Cyril’s right, wore the same
and a fuzzy sweater. “What was your dream about?” asked Cyril.

“Stuff,” said Landry, waving his hand vaguely. He reached out tentatively to
touch Cyril’s arm, resting his hand near the elbow, where there was burn scarring. “I did
that to you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to,” said Cyril, covering Landry’s hand with his own.

Landry looked up to meet the Irishman’s eyes. “I dream about the people I’ve
hurt.”

“I do too, sometimes,” Cyril nodded. “I once hurt a man while we were boxing. He died. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I heard about that,” said Landry. “But like you said, it was an accident.”

“Yeah,” said Cyril sadly. “But he was still hurt.”

Landry yawned hugely. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asked
shyly.

Cyril nodded. He remembered how nice it was to feel the strength of Ryan’s arm
around his shoulder and know that he was protected. Now he could do the same for
someone else. Landry turned on his side, half-way curled up, and Cyril settled in behind
him. After a moment’s hesitation, Cyril wrapped his arm around Landry’s waist, pulling
the younger man close to him. Landry responded by rubbing his head affectionately
against the Irishman’s chest.

A flash of memory came to Cyril: Moira O’Keefe lying in his arms, just like this
one hot July night after making love on the roof of his apartment building. His arms had
been wrapped around her, just as they were now cradling Landry. At the thought, heat
rushed to his groin. He could feel his cock beginning to fill, trapped against Landry’s
back, separated from the other man by only two thin layers of fabric. Cyril tried to adjust
his position so his erection wasn’t so obvious.

Landry shifted position, bumping his ass gently into Cyril’s groin; Cyril knew
right away that the younger man must have felt what was happening. Sure enough,
Landry turned over to face Cyril, who winced in embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Landry said quickly, ducking his head to meet Cyril’s
eyes. “I’m not.” He placed one hand, pleasantly cool, just below Cyril’s navel. Cyril
breathed in sharply, but didn’t pull away.

Landry kept his eyes locked onto Cyril’s as he edged his hand down. His fingers
slowly hooked the waistband of Cyril’s boxers and gently pulled them down. Without a
word, Cyril lifted his hips to facilitate the move. “Is this okay?” Landry asked earnestly,
stopping what he was doing. After a tense moment, Cyril gave a small nod.

Landry wrapped one small hand around the other man’s hard cock. To Cyril, the
touch seemed stunningly cold against the burning heat of his member. His back arched
slightly. Landry began to move his hand, gently stroking up and down Cyril’s length.

Cyril couldn’t exactly remember the last time anyone had done this for him, but it
felt so good—so much better than anything he’d felt in a long time. Landry seemed to
know just how much pressure to use, the right pace, where to gently scratch with a
fingernail.

Landry watched Cyril’s face carefully, taking stock of the quicker breathing, the
tensing of muscles. In a swift movement, he pushed Cyril gently, sending him onto his
back, and Landry straddled his hips. He pulled down his own boxers, freeing his own
hard-on. Lowering himself down to kiss Cyril, he felt sparks jump behind his eyes as
their two erections bumped together.

Cyril gasped at the contact, and Landry’s tongue skillfully wormed its way into
his open mouth, sliding along the roof, wrestling with Cyril’s tongue. Landry reached
between them to grab both cocks, pressing them together in a wonderfully hot vice.
Deepening his kiss, Landry began to stroke their dicks together.

Cyril cried out softly at the wonderful friction. He kissed Landry back and
wrapped his arms around him, crushing the smaller man into his chest. Landry angled his
hips forward to get more skin-on-skin contact. This pushed Cyril over the edge, and with
another small gasp he shot a load of cum between their bodies. After a few more strokes,
Landry followed suit, then collapsed onto Cyril’s chest.

The two were silent for several minutes, enjoying the rhythm of each other’s
breathing and the sound of their combined heartbeats coming down from their peak.
Landry gracefully rolled off the bunk. He pulled off his sweater, damp with sweat and
cum, and threw it in the direction of his laundry bag. He fetched a washcloth and
dampened it in the sink, then climbed back onto the top bunk. He straddled Cyril’s legs
and tenderly wiped the cum off of his belly.

Cyril, hands crossed behind his head, watched Landry work. He smiled fondly at
the other man, feeling totally relaxed for the first time since his brother had been sent to
the Hole. Landry leaned in for a kiss, and Cyril responded with enthusiasm. Ideas were
coming back to him: how to kiss, how to hold, what to do after. Memories that he hadn’t
looked for since his accident at that funeral. I know how to do this, he thought
with a sudden burst of confidence.

Suddenly, Landry pulled away, fear in his eyes. “Cyril, the hacks,” he said. Cyril
looked over Landry’s shoulder and saw the beam of a flashlight approaching further
down the row of pods. Landry got off of Cyril, who jumped quickly onto the floor and
dove into his own bunk. When Officer Bradley shined his flashlight into the pod, all he
saw was two inmates in their own bunks, curled up under the covers.
**********

184th Street, Queens


McManus had just raised his hand to knock when Tae opened the door. “Hey,”
she said. He blinked at her. She had on one of his dress shirts which fell past her waist,
almost obscuring the panties that were the only thing covering her bottom half.

“Hey,” he replied. “I brought some wine.” He held out the bottle in a brown paper
bag.

“Romantic,” Tae said with a smile. “Come on in.”

McManus stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. The first time Tae
had brought him here, he’d felt a little claustrophobic. Now the one-room apartment,
warmly lit by lamp-light, seemed simply cozy. Tae took the wine over to the counter that
delineated the “kitchen” of the apartment.

“Becca’s over at Mindy’s for the night,” said Tae, gesturing toward the empty
crib in the corner. “Could you grab some ice?”

McManus shed his coat, throwing it over a chair. He went to open the window,
reaching outside to grab an ice tray that had been set on the ledge to freeze. He shut the
window behind him and delivered the ice to Tae, who had produced a bucket and two
wine glasses. “So, thanks for giving that mutant chick my number,” Tae said as she set
the wine bottle in the bucket. “That was a conversation I really enjoyed.”

McManus winced. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.” She emptied the ice into the bucket and began rummaging in an
open drawer. “It wasn’t that bad, actually. I mean, you’ve talked to her, right?”

“Yes,” said McManus carefully.

“What did you think?”

He shrugged. “She seemed honest, at least. Maybe a little holier-than-thou.”

“Agreed. I’m probably going to help her out, anyway.” Tae came up with a
corkscrew and handed it to McManus. “Her little mutant club may be on my shit list, but
what they’re doing is important.”

“Huh.” McManus shook his head, surprised. “I wouldn’t have called that one.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I thought you hated that kind of thing,” said McManus. He applied the corkscrew
to the wine bottle’s cork. “I just can’t picture you in a courtroom.”

“You’ve never seen me clean up and be a good girl. I come from a family of
Harvard alums, Tim. I can put on an evening gown and go to a reception and schmooze
and make nice, or put on a power suit and do some business. I just choose not to.”

“Most of the time.”

“Most of the time. And this time it’s something important. I just…” She took the
corkscrew away from McManus, who was making no progress, and opened the wine
herself. “I know I should, but I’m not crazy about the idea.”

“Then don’t.”

“I already told her I would,” said Tae. She grabbed the bucket with the wine and
curled up on the couch. “Called her today, set up an appointment to meet again and
everything.”

“Wow.” McManus set the two wine glasses on a nearby end table and settled in
next to Tae. “I feel kind of foolish. I all but told her that there was no way in hell that
you’d help.”

“Maybe your idealism’s rubbing off on me,” Tae said affectionately. She poured
the wine. “It would have to be… This lawsuit will help a lot of people, sure, but I don’t
want to get too involved.”

McManus frowned. “Why not?”

“I just worry. You know, Lydia… Abel’s wife. She was a mutant activist. She
worked defending mutants in civil rights cases. Very popular in the mutant community.”
Tae picked up her wine and swirled it around in the glass. “But that’s why she was
murdered. The two guys Abel killed, the guys that killed Lydia-- they were part of a
homo-sapiens supremacy group.”

“I had no idea,” McManus said, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on her
shoulder.

Tae smiled. “Yeah. The press didn’t make a big fuss because they had Abel to
chew on. But still. This shit ruins people’s lives.”

“But you’re not a well-known activist, Tae,” McManus said reassuringly. “You’re
a witness in a trial. You’re not even a mutant.”

At that, Tae’s smile grew even wider. “Right. What shall we toast?”

McManus picked up his glass. “Well…To a good trial?”

Tae stuck out her tongue. “How about… to an empty apartment?” The two
clinked their glasses and sipped. “You don’t have to drive back tonight, do you?”

“I have to be back in the morning,” Tim admitted reluctantly. “But I can stay for a
few hours.”

“Good,” said Tae, and set down her wine glass.
************

Oz: Em City

“Hey honey. I’m home.” Keller swept into the pod and bent down to kiss
Beecher, who was sprawled out with some papers and books on the bottom bunk.
“What’s that shit? Homework?”

“Mmm,” replied Beecher, not lifting his eyes from his reading.

“Okay,” said Keller, easing himself onto the bunk behind Beecher and wrapping
his arms around the other man’s waist. “Does that mean fuck off, I’m busy? Or come
distract me?”

“Mmm,” Beecher repeated. He wrote something down on the legal pad in front of
him.

Keller let go of Beecher and lay back on the bunk. “Damn. That means no joy.”
He watched Beecher work for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of his partner giving his
intense attention to the documents he was working on. “So what is all this, anyway?” he
asked finally.

“Appeal,” said Beecher absently.

“Whose?”

“Landry’s.”

Keller frowned, sitting up to press his chest to Beecher’s back. “You’re working
on his appeal? Why?”

Beecher turned around to look Keller in the face. “I told you. I need to help him.”

“I don’t see why you keep trying. That kid has caused too much shit.” Keller
narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Is Sister Pete making you do this?”

“She’s not making me do anything, Chris,” said Beecher, turning back to
his work. “Besides… you don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?” Keller demanded.

“Stuff.” Beecher waved a hand vaguely. “You should see the shit in this kid’s
file.” He briefly glanced back at his partner. “You can’t. But if you could, maybe you’d
get it.”

Keller rested his head against Beecher’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the
other man. “There’s something else.”

Beecher sighed. “He came to talk to me.” He felt Keller tense against him. “I
didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get pissed. He told me… He told McManus
that we’re the ones who attacked him in the gym.”

Keller was quiet for a moment. Then: “That’s just talk.”

Beecher released the nervous breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That’s
what I said. He’s confused, Chris. He’s fucked up and if I can help him, I will.”

Keller squeezed him affectionately. “Jesus, Toby, your heart’s bleeding all over
my bunk.”

“I can’t help it. I know it’s not really my business, but…”

“Just don’t get hurt, okay,” said Keller seriously.

“How would I get hurt?”

“You tend to attract trouble.”

“I tend to attract trouble?” Beecher asked, incredulous. He craned his
neck to give Keller an admonishing glare.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

“Look at it this way. If I do a good job writing this, there’s a decent chance that
the verdict will be overturned, or that Landry will be granted a new trial. That means that
he’ll go back to Mississippi-.”

“And he won’t be here for you to worry your pretty little head about.” Keller
smiled. “Okay. I may be on board with this plan.”

“I was hoping you would be.”

Keller let his hands roam a little lower. “Now, is there any chance of my getting
some of your attention before you finish the appeal?”

Beecher smiled. “Just let me finish this page.”
***********

Oz: The Library

“Have you talked to Loewe yet?” asked Schillinger. He was seated with a group
of his cronies at one end of the library’s big table.

“No, but he seems pretty solid,” replied Schreiber, an Aryan from Unit B. “If you
get a chance, sir, you should sit down with him.”

“I’ll do that. We could always use some fresh blood. Once our little play against
the Irish goes down, we’re going to need some extra man power.”

Adler spoke up. “Sir, I don’t mean to be questioning you or anything, but I am a
bit confused.”

“About what?” Schillinger asked with false politeness.

“This Irish thing,” Adler continued carefully. “I just don’t see how this is going to
hurt O’Reilly.”

Schillinger glanced around and saw some looks of curiosity on the faces of others
of the Brotherhood. All been wondering, have you? And Adler’s the only one with the
balls to ask. Typical. “Fine. Let me spell it out for you,” Schillinger said. “Any way
this situation ends is good for us. Say that Cyril gets protective enough to kill his brother
when Ryan comes looking for Landry. Ryan dead, Cyril on death row. Good for us. Or
say that Ryan kills Landry, or has him killed. Everyone in Em City heard him threaten the
kid. I’m seeing a trip to death row in that scenario.

“Or maybe our boy Ben breaks Cyril’s poor little heart. Maybe Cyril will kill him,
or maybe Ryan will kill him. The Irish aren’t just going to let something like that go.
Whoever does the deed ends up on death row. It it’s Ryan, great. If it’s Cyril, then Ryan
loses serious cred for not being able to defend his retard brother. And no matter what the
outcome, all we’re risking is one expendable prag.”

“Sir?” A soft voice came from the library door. The Aryans, Schillinger included,
turned to see Benjamin Landry standing in the doorway, clutching the book in his hands
so hard the his knuckles were white. “Sorry I’m late.”

Damnit. Schillinger smiled quickly. “Well come sit down, sugar.” Landry
moved mechanically to kneel on the floor next to his master. The other Aryans
exchanged nervous glances. “Manage to lose the retard?”

Landry nodded. “He had a counseling session.”

“Well, we were just talking about your little mission. Why don’t you share with
us how it’s going,” said Schillinger gesturing around the table.

“I… I think it’s going well, sir,” said Landry hesitantly.

“And?” Schillinger prompted.

“I’m trying my best, sir.”

Schillinger laughed, and the other Aryans joined him. “That’s cute, sugar.
Really.” He reached down casually, grabbed Landry by the neck, and pulled him close.
“Sex. Tonight. Make it happen.” Schillinger let Landry go, and he dropped to his knees
with a bump. “Now run along and play. The big boys have work to do.”

“Yes sir,” said Landry, and quickly retreated from the sound of the Aryan’s
laughter.
*********

Oz: Ad Seg

Ryan O’Reilly was laying on the floor, counting cracks in the ceiling when the
slot in the metal door squealed open and a CO’s hand thrust in the day’s rations.

“Officer! Wait!” croaked O’Reilly, moving to kneel by the door. He looked up
through the slot, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the officer on the other side.
Emerson. Good. I can work that. “Emerson, I need a favor.”

“I don’t do favors for inmates, O’Reilly,” said the CO, and moved to shut the slot.

“It’s about Benjamin Landry.”

Emerson paused, and unconsciously rubbed his left hand, which was covered with
unsightly burn scarring. “What about him?”

“He needs to be dealt with. Let me get a message to my people, and Landry will
get what he deserves.”

Emerson thought for a moment in silence, and O’Reilly held his breath. “Okay,
O’Reilly. I’ll tell you what. You give me the message, and I’ll think about it.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you will. “Fine. So here’s what you should tell Liam
Meaney.”
**********

Oz: Em City

As soon as the lights went out, Landry leaned over the side of his bunk, grinning
upside-down at Cyril. “Hey. Are you asleep?”

“No,” said Cyril, sitting up. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the lights to go out. Wanna come up?”

Cyril glanced quickly towards the guard station to make sure the hacks weren’t on
rounds yet, then said, “Sure.” He got out of bed and pulled himself up to sit on Landry’s
bunk.

Landry took in Cyril’s tense muscles and stiff posture and noted his discomfort.
He arranged himself casually next to his pod-mate. “I never had any pets when I was a
kid cuz I lived in an orphanage,” he began abruptly. “But there was this one cat who
lived in the alley out back of my room. And she could jump to the windowsill and
squeeze through the bars. I’d sneak food from meals to bring back to her.” Landry paused
to strip off his baggy sweatshirt, leaving him in his boxers. “This one day I got in a fight
with one of the older boys. And he knew I was feeding this cat, right? So he took some
rat poison from one of the traps we had in the bathroom, and he put it in some milk in a
little bowl and fed it to the cat. I never knew for sure what happened to her, but she didn’t
come around anymore. He told me she was dead.”

“That’s sad,” said Cyril, watching Landry carefully.

“I know. But I learned something,” said Landry, edging closer to Cyril. “When
you find something good, you have to hold onto it. In a shit-hole like this, people always
try to take away any little bit of happiness anyone else has. But you can’t let ‘em.”
Landry placed his hands on either side of Cyril and leaned in for a kiss. Cyril didn’t pull
away, but he didn’t participate either. Landry stopped.

“Cyril?” he asked tentatively.

Cyril looked away. “Benjamin… I don’t… I don’t really want…”

“Oh.” Landry sat back on his heels. “Oh, God, Cyril. I didn’t mean…” He
blushed furiously. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sad, it’s okay,” said Cyril. I hurt him… Like when you want
someone to like you, but say the wrong thing… I know that.

“I would never hurt you Cyril,” said Landry, voice quavering. “I’m not like Schi-.
I’m not like that.”

Cyril watched Landry’s shoulders start to shake, and recognized the too-familiar
sounds of repressed sobs. He quickly moved to gather the smaller man in his arms.
“Shhh,” he soothed. “It’s okay, Benjamin.”

“I can’t do anything right, Cyril. I fuck it up, every time,” Landry choked out
between sobs.

Cyril kept holding him, whispering soothing noises and stroking his naked back
until he’d cried himself out. Finally, Landry turned to look at Cyril again, eyes slightly
puffy from shed tears. “Cyril, I like you. A lot.” He turned on his knees to look his pod-
mate square in the face. “I’m not… I mean, I don’t have a lot of good qualities, but I want
to give you something. It’s really the only thing I can give you, but I want to. And I
promise that if you don’t like it, I’ll never ask again,” Landry said, a note of desperation
creeping into his voice. “Please.”

Cyril wasn’t sure what to say, but the pain in Landry’s eyes, the pleading note in
his voice... I don’t want to hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt me…So everything
will be okay. Cyril nodded slowly.

Landry’s eyes lit up. He wrapped his arms around Cyril’s neck and gave him a
quick kiss. Then he pushed Cyril gently onto his back, and began nibbling his way down
the Irishman’s chest, pausing to gently bite the left nipple. Cyril’s mouth widened in a
little “o,” but he didn’t protest. Landry swirled his tongue around the inside of Cyril’s
navel, causing the man to give a little giggle. Then Landry pulled at the waist of the white
boxers which impeded his progress; Cyril lifted his hips to allow his pod-mate to pull
them down.

Landry knelt between Cyril’s legs and lowered his head to rub his cheek against
Cyril’s exposed cock. He gave it several slow, gentle licks along its length before gently
wrapping his mouth around the head, causing Cyril to gasp. Landry’s eyes snapped up to
his pod-mate’s face, but saw there only surprise and pleasure, not the pain or alarm he’d
feared.

Cyril was fighting for breath, his brain surging with sensation. He closed his eyes
and leaned his head back. Aside from last night’s experience with Landry, it had been so
long since anything except his own right hand had given him this kind of pleasure. It was
coming back to him, though: the feeling, the memories, the glorious desperation for
more. Unconsciously he thrust his hips forward, seeking greater contact.

Landry felt the cock in his mouth hardening, swelling as he sucked on it. He
reached down to cup Cyril’s balls in one hand, gently hefting their weight. Cyril moaned
softly. With a skilled movement, Landry swallowed the Irishman’s cock to the hilt,
breathing in the man’s musky scent before pulling away. Landry moved, straddling
Cyril’s legs and wrapping one hand around the base of Cyril’s erection.

Taking a deep breath, Landry lowered himself, using his hand to steer Cyril’s
cock as he impaled himself. Cyril’s eyes shot open and he raised himself up on his
elbows to see Landry slowly sinking onto his cock, head thrown back, free hand braced
against the glass wall. Slowly, Landry looked down to meet Cyril’s eyes, questioning,
seeking permission. Cyril, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, grabbed Landry’s
hips and helped guide him further down.

Landry reached forward to grab Cyril’s shoulders and pull. Cyril obliged, sitting
up as Landry leaned back and wrapped his legs around Cyril’s waist. Something clicked
for Cyril when he looked down at the person below him on the bed, panting with desire.
I’ve done this… I know how to do this. I’m good at this. Cyril moved to
his knees, pulling his hips back until he had nearly withdrawn from the hot, tight body
under him. Then he thrust forward and felt Landry’s legs clamp tighter around him. He
found a rhythm, thrusting back and forward, each push eliciting a gentle grunt from
Landry.

Landry reached up to brush Cyril’s hair out of his face, meeting his pod-mate’s
eyes with a look of pleasure and desperation. He reached around Cyril’s back, lifting
himself to meet Cyril’s thrusts, and threw his head back in pleasure. Cyril all but laughed
at the unguarded look of joy on his pod-mate’s face. It was so different from his usual
tortured shyness. He’s… pretty, Cyril decided. He felt his heart jump, filling up
with more than lust. When was the last time I made anyone happy?

With a smile, Cyril tilted his hips, hitting a new spot and causing Landry to gasp,
muscles clenching spasmodically. With a gasp of his own, Cyril felt his orgasm wash
over him; he thrust hard into Landry and stayed there, burying his head in the Cajun’s
neck and shuddering. Landry gripped Cyril tighter. The lengths of their bodies pressed
together from shoulder to groin, Cyril reveled in the coolness of Landry’s skin against his
own, which seemed to burn.

After a moment, Cyril rolled to the side, pulling Landry on top of him. Landry
wrapped his arms around Cyril and rested his head on the larger man’s chest. “Thank
you,” he whispered. Cyril lifted his head to kiss Landry. They lay in silence for a few
minutes.

At last, Cyril spoke. “Benjamin,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Landry was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay.”