Chapter Text
If God were merciful, He would have struck Alex dead the moment he hung up the phone. His life was, after all, over. From that point on, there was nothing worth living for. Not child, not wife, not hope of anything. Dead. He was dead.
But God, as ever, was not the merciful being some gentler religions made him out to be. No. God was the biggest bastard in the universe. Just look at what he'd done to Job on a dare. Now, Alex assumed, God's new plaything was Alex himself.
If only he was that significant.
If la polica were merciful, they would have shot him in the head. In the back, it didn't matter. Just shot him instead of taking him to this hell hole.
Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
Fantastic.
He'd yet to find a niche. Men were everywhere. Men, boys, kids. Everywhere. Standing against slime covered walls. Fighting in the hallway. Fucking in the corner. No guards. No cells. So far, no food. Not even a blanket, although Alex had no doubt it'd be stolen should he have been issued one.
He wandered the halls. Long, dark, labyrinth-like. He was sized up. Examined. Glowered at and he glowered right back.
He rounded a corner. Took three steps and was punched. Reacted on instinct. Flew at his attacker. Bone crunched beneath his fist. Blood, hot on his face. Pain against his stomach. Roaring in his ears. He fought, desperate. Angry. Wild without mercy until his attacker was crumpled at his feet. Another kick, to make sure.
Then Alex crouched by his fallen foe. Took his jacket, his shiv, his belt. A pack of cigarettes, a bag of coke. Half a wrapped sandwich. His shoelaces.
Then he rose. Slipped the jacket on, shoved his supplies in his pockets. Walked away.
No one so much as looked at him as he continued down the hall. His nose gushed blood, and he pressed his hand to it for now.
The sound and smell of rain hit him as he rounded the next corner. He moved toward it. The air was fresher, somewhat. The smell of shit and decay was all around him. It couldn't always be raining, and if there weren't cells, he'd need somewhere to stay that wouldn't make him sick.
The corner adjacent from the door was occupied by some fey kid dressed in a purple tube top and torn jeans.
Alex walked up to him. Kicked his leg. "Move."
The kid opened his eyes. Blinked up at him. "You lookin' for company, pelao?"
"This yours?" Alex asked. He bent down, tugged on the blanket.
"Si."
Alex raised an eyebrow. Cocked his head.
The kid groaned. "Chucha. Come on, man."
"Move."
He groaned again, but crawled out of the corner and off the blanket. "What you want? Aspire su pene? Ustede desea las drogas?"
"No hablo espanol," Alex said, making himself comfortable.
"I suck your dick? Get you drugs?"
"Food."
The kid got to his knees. Pushed his hand underneath the blanket and pulled out a wrinkled bag. He gave it to Alex.
Alex opened it. Inside was a rotted banana, an apple, and half a pastry of some kind.
"When do they feed us?" Alex asked, closing the bag. He set it aside.
"Morning. Around noon. Sunset."
"There guards?"
"Somewhere. They come around sometimes. Not much."
"So it's self rule." He glanced at the kid. "Who do I need to look out for?"
The kid pointed down the hall. "Carlos. He the top drug dealer." He pointed the other way. "They no let no one white near them." He then indicated to a huge, hulk of a man standing just a few feet away. "Ben. He fuck you up."
"No. He won't." Alex glanced out the doorway, into the rain. "What's your name?"
"Tony." Then, he made a face. "Gatito. Mostly, they call me Gatito."
"That mean pussy or something?"
"Si."
"I'm not going to protect you." He checked his nose. It's stopped bleeding. His bruises, though, were beginning to ache. Throb.
The kid shrugged. Laid his head back against the wall. Closed his eyes.
The rain was easing up. Lights shone outside, illuminating the muddy walk. Like the inside, there were people, huddling under awnings, under trees. The bottom of the barrel. Those who had given up hope of even a partially dry place to sleep for the night.
Of course he would be there. Standing against a wall, light caressing his face, his body, pooling around him. Sweatshirt wet-black. Sopping, clinging to him. Jeans so heavy they hung low on his hips, inching further. Shoes covered in mud.
He stood. Hardly breathing. Looking straight ahead. Not moving.
Fucking ass.
Alex forced himself to look away. He stood and rearranged the blanket, making it more comfortable. Sat back down. Glanced up.
Someone else was edging towards Michael. Inch by inch. Furtive. He sidled up next to Michael. Said something Alex couldn't make out.
Michael didn't react.
The figure shoved Michael.
He stumbled. Straightened. Still didn't react.
Another figure came up. And another until they surrounded him. Shoved. Pushed.
And Michael didn't react.
They all fell on him. Tearing, kicking. Michael's sweatshirt was torn from him. Two men fought over it, turning on each other. One man got a shoe and was immediately pounded by the holder of the other. Someone screamed. Alex saw a flash in the moonlight.
He was up and in the rain before he thought about it. The shiv was in his hand. He grabbed the first man he could. The man had Michael's belt in his hand.
Alex elbowed him in the throat. Grabbed the belt. Whipped it back down in the man's face. Swung it back, catching another.
Someone screamed. Lunged for Alex.
He buried the shiv in his attacker's stomach. Kicked him away.
The vultures fled. Alex was able to catch the one with Michael's sweatshirt. Pulled him back. "Give it!"
The sweatshirt was dropped. Alex kicked the man away. He stumbled, splashed in the mud. Fell, but kept crawling, moving.
Alex crouched next to Michael. "Get up."
Michael didn't even blink.
He smacked the other man across the face. "Get the fuck up." He hit Michael again.
Michael started, like coming out of sleep. Coughed and blinked rapidly, rain hitting his face. His eyes caught Alex's. Frowned. "Alex?"
Alex tucked his shiv into the waistband of his pants. Picked up Michael's sweatshirt in one hand, Michael in the other. Hauled him to his feet. "Come."
* * *
Alex half dragged, half led Michael back into the building. A small crowd had gathered in the entrance, but the made room for Alex to pass. He could feel the heated gazes on his back, sizing him up. Taking his measure.
For now, though, there was no one who wanted to test him. One--maybe two, he wasn't sure--kills in one night was enough. At least for now.
He shoved Michael into the corner. "Sit."
Michael hit the wall. Turned and slid to the floor slowly. His back slid wetly down the wall, leaving blood. Legs splayed out on the damp concrete ground. His head lolled as he looked up at Alex through swollen eyes, blood flowing thickly from his nose, his mouth.
Tony was lying against the wall. He propped his head on his fist, looking at Alex and Michael curiously.
"Water?" Alex asked.
"¿Cuál está en él para mí?"
"What?"
"He wants to know what's in it for him," Michael said, voice flat and colorless.
"I don't kick your ass."
Tony shrugged. Lay back.
"Fine. You can stay here for the night. On the blanket. And if anyone hassles you, I'll drive them off."
"Okay." Tony climbed to his feet and walked off.
With a groan, Alex crouched in front of Michael. Pulled his eyelids up, ignoring the hiss of pain, to check his pupils. They were the same size, clear, focused on his face, if wet and watery.
He let Michael's eyelids fall. Gingerly touched his nose, feeling the bones.
Michael bit his lip. Grimaced, eyes shut. Jerked away when Alex hit a sensitive spot.
Alex probed it a couple more times. "I don't think it's broken. Just bruised." He touched it again.
"Stop it."
"What, you don't like that? Does it hurt?" Alex pressed his finger against the sore spot again.
Michael smacked his hand away.
"What, so now you fight?" He shoved Michael against the wall. "Now you start hitting back?" Shoved again, so hard Michael's head snapped against the wall.
Pain flashed across his face. He grabbed Alex's hands. Twisted them away, fighting Alex as he pushed back. "You are the one who wants to kill me, aren't you? Shouldn't I defend myself from you?"
He worked one hand free. Grabbed Michael by the neck and forced him down. Onto his back, Alex on top, his knee between Michael's legs, pressing against his crotch, threatening. "Just because I'm a threat, doesn't mean I'm the only threat, Michael. They would have killed you out there, is that what you wanted?"
"I didn't ask you to save me." He forced Alex's arm behind his back. Pushed it up, sending a wrenching pain through Alex's back. "You would have been rid of me. Considering how much you've been whining about me ruining your life, I'd've thought you'd be dying for that to happen."
"If anyone's going to kill you, it's going to be me." He squeezed his hand.
Michael's face twisted. He gasped. Coughed, blood splashing on his lips. Chin. "Then do it," he rasped. "Stop fucking with me and do it already."
"I should. All my worries would be over." He tightened his hand.
Michael laughed soundlessly. His chest heaved. Both hands were hanging on to Alex's arm, tugging futility, trying to free himself enough to breath. "All your worries," he whispered. "Stuck... in a p-prison that law forgot. In Panama." He coughed, face bright red as he struggled to get air. "No one knows your here. You're a dead man. Buried alive."
"I'm not staying."
The words shocked him. Shocked him so much, he released Michael's throat. Cold, damp concrete bit into his hands as he held himself over Michael, looking down at him.
I'm not staying.
He was planning on living. On surviving this. On getting out.
He *wanted* to live.
"Shit," he said. He wanted to live. And the only man who could possibly get him out was perfectly willing to let vultures pick him over and leave him for dead.
"What?"
He wanted to live. It wasn't even about Pam or Cameron anymore. He wanted to live because he wasn't ready to give up on life. The past year and some had been hell. Made him forget why he loved.... anything, really. But now...
He wanted his wife and son. But, if he couldn't have them, he just wanted *something*. Another chance.
And this man was the only person here who could help him get that chance. Together, they could get out. It wasn't impossible.
Michael just had to want it.
Alex had to give him a reason.
He climbed off of Michael. Sat next to him, at his head.
Tony was standing uncertainly a few feet away. He had two bottles of water in his hands.
Alex reached out for them. Took them and looked at the contents disdainfully. The bottles were sealed, but he still didn't trust the water. No doubt he and Michael would spend some time being ill over the next few days, adjusting.
"Here." He handed a bottle to Michael, who hadn't moved.
Michael took it silently. Opened the water and sat up, taking a few sips before laying back down.
He checked his watch. "You sleep first," he said. "We'll sleep in shifts. Three hours each."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know about you, but I don't quite trust those around us. I'd sleep better with someone watching my back. So. I watch yours, you watch mine." He glanced at Tony, who was making himself comfortable next to Michael. "You need more sleep than I do."
He raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that? Because you haven't been strangled in the last few minutes?" He sat up. Stretched. Then shifted so he laying stretched on the blanket, Tony behind him, against the wall. He lay his head back down, almost pressed against Alex's leg.
"Something like that." He watched as Michael closed his eyes, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Cheeks molted purple with bruises, splashed dark burgundy with blood. Blood on his lips, bitten and swollen, painful to look at. Long, skinny marks darkening on his neck, around his throat.
He didn't feel guilty. He didn't feel anything. Just a burning in the pit of his stomach. Resolve. Need. Alex needed to get out of here. This was not how he was going to die. Not the end of him.
Need. For the man at his side. The one man who might be able to get them both out.
His enemy. A man he hated. Had grown to hate, reluctantly. Hated because Alex wasn't a good enough man. Wasn't...
He had to put it aside. Not just because he had to work with Michael, but because he had to convince Michael to do this. Remind him of what he'd fought for. What had brought him here and what still waited for him outside. Because, right now, it was all too obvious that Michael was willing to disappear and be buried alive here.
That wasn't going to happen. And Alex had to find some way to convince Michael life was worth fighting for. Even still.
Michael shivered. Coughed. His eyes opened.
"Sleep," Alex said.
"Can't." He rolled onto his stomach. Crossed his arms under his head. "This is hell. And you want me to sleep?"
"It is hell. And you still need to sleep." He placed his hand on Michael's back. Rubbed tight muscles. "First order of survival. Shelter. Food. Water. Sleep. Take it. Sleep."
"What's the point?"
Gently, he squeezed Michael's neck. "I'll tell you when you wake up."
Michael laughed, but didn't say anything further. He lay, docile, as Alex rubbed his upper back, stomach twisting, frustration tightening his jaw as he did. He wanted nothing more than to snap the smug bastard's neck. To break each of his fingers, making him suffer the way Alex had suffered.
But he couldn't. He needed Michael. And he would play nice until they were out of this shithole. And then...
Then he'd see.
* * *
"Michael."
Michael turned around. Looked into the darkness, trying to find her. "Sara?"
"Michael." She was hurt. Pained. Crying.
He ran. Body heavy. Head spinning. The floor sloped. He couldn't breathe. It was too hot. "Sara! Sara!" He burst through a door, into the light.
Sara was standing on the porch of the house where they'd been caught. She held her hands out to him, palms up. Blood poured from them. Crimson tears flowed down her face. "Michael. I killed a man."
"It's okay. I'll take care of this."
"There is no way to take care of it. No way out, Michael. Not any more."
"I'll find a way."
T-Bag appeared beside her, knife in hand. And in arm, where Michael had planted it. Blood welled around knife, down his hand. The other held a knife at Sara's throat. "You gotta plan for this, Pretty? Had time to tattoo it to you ass when we weren't looking?"
The prison flashed over Michael's vision. The half he'd seen. The hallway.
"Michael, please," Sara cried.
The police appeared, surrounding her.
"No." He struggled forward, but was held back. Something held him back, pressed him. Wouldn't let him move. "No, don't. No."
They fired.
"No!" He jerked, eyes flying open.
Arms tightened around his waist as his vision adjusted to the darkness around him. He blinked. Pushed himself up. His entire body was one throbbing bruise, and he had to bite back a groan.
"You okay?"
He looked at Alex, who was sitting in the corner, playing with a shiv. His eyes were on Michael, mild, curious.
"Yeah." He sat up, wincing as his body protested. The arms fell from around his waist. His back went cold. He turned to find the kid who'd brought the water behind him. He was lying between Michael and the wall, fast asleep.
Apparently, they'd been snuggling.
"I think he likes you," Alex said. He handed Michael a bottle of water.
"I've been told I make a good pillow." He took a sip. The water was dull, flat, and vaguely metallic. But it was wet. "Who is he?"
"Some whore. Name's Tony. I took the blanket from him. Don't particularly want him around, but he does know the place. And we need information." He cocked his head. "He's been snuggling against you all night."
Michael nodded. "Ah." He crawled off the blanket over to Alex. Sat against the wall. Rubbed his head. "Any problems?"
"No. Everyone's pretty much asleep. I actually saw a couple guards wander through. We're not completely outside of civilization."
"Except we're in a federal prison with no trial." He frowned. "So's Bellick. But not T-Bag. I wonder if he's still alive." He shuddered.
"Why? You kill him?"
He shook his head. "I drove a knife through his arm. Pinned him to the floor. I guess it's possible that that killed him, but... I just sort of left him to be found by the police."
"You should have killed him."
"Yeah, well..." He sighed. "I guess it's your turn to sleep?"
Alex passed him the shiv. "Like I said, there hasn't been any problems. I dozed off a couple times, so don't panic if you do." He moved to the blanket and stretched out. Closed his eyes. "I wish your sweatshirt wasn't soaked; it'd make a good pillow."
"I thought about that. We could shove it under."
"That'd just get the blanket wet. We can wait until it dries." He rolled onto his back.
Michael rubbed his thumb lightly over the blade of the shiv. It wasn't very sharp, just jagged. Deadly, if used right. Painful no matter what. Dark, tacky blood coated the edges. "Where'd you get this?"
"Someone attacked me. I won." He glanced at Michael. "You have to fight to win here. And when you win, take what you need. Everything. Even things you don't see the use for, take it. Keep it."
He glanced at the kid curled on the blanket. "Like you did him?"
Alex rolled his eyes. "He came with the blanket. And he's proved useful so far. So, yes. Like him."
"And me."
"Perhaps."
"Ruthless."
Alex scowled at him. He pushed himself up, tensed and ready to retort, but Michael cut him off.
"It was an observation, not a condemnation," he said. "Of course you have to be ruthless. It's how to survive." He sighed. Closed his eyes and banged his head lightly against the wall. "I'll have problems."
"Like you're not ruthless when you need to be."
"I'm manipulative. It's different." He sighed again. "I wasn't trying to let them kill me, you know. I mean, I didn't even realize they were there. I was sort of, uh, lost in the rain."
"How romantic."
He smiled. "No, I mean... I was thinking. Hard. Trying to figure a way out of this. I was looking at everything. Trying to put it together. I just got lost in that and didn't realize..."
"You didn't realize you were getting the shit beat out of you." Alex raised an eyebrow and looked at Michael disbelievingly.
His cheeks burned, face went hot.
"Defense mechanism?"
"Yeah."
"Were you abused as a kid?"
"Some." He shrugged. "Probably more than I remember. I started blocking it out when I was about ten." This was not what he wanted to talk about. Not what he wanted to remember. He tightened his hand around the shiv, just enough so the blades bit into his skin. "Why did you stop them?"
"I'm not going to let someone else kill you."
"Because you're planning to do it yourself."
A beat of silence. Then, "Maybe. I don't know." A frowned creased his forehead. "Killing you was their idea. Not mine."
"This was yours. Prison." He rubbed his forehead. "I guess we both deserve this."
"Fuck you." He rolled onto his stomach. "No one deserves this. Our crimes... not this."
Michael smiled bitterly. "T-Bag deserves it. He deserves to be electrocuted, brought back to live, then fed, piece by piece, to wild, rabid dogs."
Alex laughed. "Why, Michael Scofield, I do believe your dark side is showing."
"I'm dark. Believe me."
"I never had a doubt." He closed his eyes again. "You'll need that darkness to survive this."
Michael sighed. He looked over the darkened hallway. the air was thick and heavy. It smelled of stale urine and sweat and unwashed bodies. Men snored. Groaned. A sense of despair permeated the building. Anger. Rage. It was a tinder box, a volcano. Waiting to explode. Destroy. Just waiting for something, for someone to set it off.
"This isn't what I wanted," he said.
"If all you're going to do is bitch, I've no problem gagging you," Alex said without opening his eyes.
"No, I mean..."
"Shut up. I'm trying to sleep."
Michael obeyed. Dragged his thumb over the blade yet again. Thought about how easy it would be to start a riot in a place like this. To take the anger and despair. To be the match and watch everyone explode around him. And, once chaos ensued, to slip out. Disappear.
He sighed and shook his head. Clenched his fingers on his thigh. "To get us out," he said into the silence. "I won't do something that hurts everyone. There's got to be another way."
"So find one. But get us out."
"I can't do it by myself. Not from the inside. Not like this."
Alex opened his eyes. Pushed himself up and looked at Michael. "You won't have to. I'm not bad at this kind of thing myself. And I'm able to be ruthless when needed. We work together and we get out."
Michael raised his eyebrow. "And then you kill me."
He shrugged. "We'll see."
He studied Alex for a long moment, conscious of those silvery-blue eyes looking right back. A thousand things flew through his head all at once. Finally, he just shook his head and said, "I don't think you're a scorpion, Alex. A bear, maybe. A dog. Dangerous when provoked. Deadly, even. But not out of spite."
Alex's face was a mask. "Don't presume that you know anything about me, Michael." He rolled onto his side, facing the wall. That brought him nose to nose with Tony. He shoved the kid. "Get up, Gatito," he spat. Shoved again.
Michael rolled his eyes, watching as Alex pushed and prodded the kid of the blanket. Onto the dirty-damp floor.
Tony sniffed. Blinked sleepily, still half asleep. Then, he crawled across the floor to Michael. Curled into a ball, resting his head on Michael's thigh. Comfortable, he fell back asleep.
Michael kept his eyes on Alex. he knew he was supposed to be watching for threats, but, well. This was more interesting. Not definitely a threat, but most definitely a puzzle. A man defeated, like himself. A genius. A romantic. A good man. Before.
Oscar Shales. Rapist. Murderer. Better off where he was, in an unmarked grave. The manner of his death, his murder, was more fitting than any public execution. Denied the fame, the glory for deeds best left unglorified. Noticed only for their horror.
He'd deserved a secret execution leaving only a mystery of where he'd gone.
Abruzzi... had gone the way he deserved. Fully glory, a hail of bullets. A fighter to the very last.
David's death had mirrored his life: a waste. For all involved. David, Alex. Nothing more to be said.
Sucre had gotten away, escaped Alex and the Company's noose only to be stabbed by T-Bag. A man whom Michael had still failed to kill, even after all he'd done.
Manipulative. Not ruthless. Not able to do what needed to be done no matter what the cost.
Weak. Useless. At least here.
He let out a deep breath. Rubbed his eyes.
"¿Es usted despierto?" Tony asked from his lap in a whisper.
"Yeah, I'm awake. I'm on watch."
Tony sat up and glanced at Alex. "Su nombre es Michael. ¿Si?"
"Yeah. ¿Y usted es Tony?"
"Yes." He looked at Alex again. "What he want from you?"
Michael shrugged. "Nothing. We knew each other on the outside. Nos conocíamos en el exterior," he translated at Tony's puzzled expression. He couldn't help adding, "…l era representante de la ley."
"El policía?"
"No. FBI. But still." He rubbed his forehead. "I was a fugitive," he continued in Spanish. "He was chasing me."
"What did you do?"
"Robbed a bank. And then broke my brother out of prison."
"You broke out of prison? How?"
"It's a long story." He looked Tony over. At the bruises on his face and neck. The discolored, dirty tube top and torn jeans. "What are you here for?"
"Stealing. Cars. Money. Whatever. I needed the money."
"I'm in no position to judge. How long have you been here?"
"Six months. It's hard, but it's easier since I learned to play the game."
"The game?"
He shrugged. "I get food, blankets, drugs as long as I put out. Haven't been hungry a day here since I figured that out." He yawned suddenly, a wide, jaw cracking yawn. Then, he fixed Michael with a bright, penetrating looked. "You're lucky. Señor Shithead here's already established himself as a top dog. Or at least someone you don't want to fuck with. People will try, but he knows what he's doing. Might survive."
"How does that make me lucky?"
"You're his. As long as he's alive, no one will touch you. Not without his permission."
Michael nodded. So, things worked the same way here as they did back at Fox River. Once you were established as someone's property, the only way to take it away was to kill the owner. Or for the owner to toss you aside.
As long as Alex didn't make him hold his pocket, Michael didn't think he'd mind playing along. For now. At least until he figured out how to get them out of there.
Soft, wet lips on his startled Michael out of his thoughts. He jerked back, heart pounding.
"What are you doing?" he asked Tony.
The kid climbed onto his lap. Sensuously writhed his hips on Michael's lap. He slipped his arms around Michael's neck. "You keep him happy. I keep you happy," he said. He leaned in. Breathed on Michael's neck, raising hairs. "He lets me stay." He placed light kisses along Michael's neck. One hand strayed to the buttons of Michael's jeans.
"No. Tony, no." As gently as he could, he pushed the kid from his lap. Back to the floor. His face was bright red, hot with mortification. "No."
"Come on," the kid cajoled.
Michael shook his head. Pushed harder into the corner and drew his legs to his chest. "You can stay. I'll make sure he lets you stay. But... no."
Tony sighed. Shrugged. "You loss," he said. "But the offer's still open. Any time you want. Whatever you want. You're pretty. And I'd rather not be put out on my ass alone. I'm tired of being all by myself."
"I understand. But, right now, just... just sleep."
Tony looked at Michael a moment. He obviously didn't quite believe what Michael was saying. But, he did lay back down, head next to Michael's body, and close his eyes once again. Within a few minutes, his breathing had evened out and he was asleep.
Michael sighed. Stretched his legs out once more. His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through him. That had been unexpected. Unwelcome. And, unfortunate, not completely unpleasant. Not entirely.
He glanced down at Alex. Found the other man looking up at him, curiosity bright in his eyes.
"You should have let him keep going," Alex said softly. "I could use some entertainment."
"Fuck you, Alex."
Alex laughed. Rolled back over, away from Michael.
Michael spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, trying not to think.