Buffyverse Fic: Bent Justice [Spike/Angel] Chapter 1/56 + Epilogue
Well, here it is finally, the Spangel Human AU I've mentioned a couple times now. *is nervous* It was inspired mainly by two TV shows. Oz, a series about prison life that was on HBO but ended a couple years ago, and which I've only seen two episodes of, though I have read a bit about it online. The other was a series that was on ABC for all of a minute, called Line of Duty...I think. In it, a federal agent (can't remember his name) spent two years in prison just to set up a cover to infiltrate a mob organization. (Forgive me if I'm getting a couple of the details wrong, the main idea that stuck with me was the two years in prison, lol.) Anyway, that got me thinking, along with a couple online prison!fics I'd read, and out came this story.
One quick note about prison life (from what I found out about it while getting this story ready). There are, among other things, a lot of race issues and race wars inside prison that I'm not going to get into in this. I had enough going on, and I wouldn't have been able to integrate several of the characters into the story the way I did if I went into all of that.
I think that's it, except that this first chapter has a series of flashbacks necessary to set up the story. I'm told they weren't confusing though, so hopefully they'll work for you guys too. :-)
Oh! And if you want to see the banner I made for this, it's here at my site. It was the first major manip I made with Paint Shop Pro a while back, and I like the way it turned out.
Bent Justice
Pairing: Spike/Angel (main), with S/other along the way, and various other minor pairings
Rating: NC17
Warning: Violence
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit...just borrowing them to get the plot bunny that invaded my brain to shut up already.
Dedication: To Kep. As with all my fics, without her I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have seen this idea through, and I can say without a doubt it wouldn't be the story it is without her suggestions and advice.
Beta'd: by kitty_poker1. Without her, there would be many glaring errors and about a gazillion more commas than are necessary.
Note: This is Human AU
Summary: Spike is an undercover agent sent into prison to bust a corrupt warden, but when he takes on Angelthe convict that runs D Block through strength and fearin order to prove himself, Spike uncovers more than he bargained for.
Chapter 1
Belle Glade Federal Correctional Complex, Belle Glade, Florida, present day...
"Next," the correctional officer, more commonly known among the prisoners as the CO, said in a bored voice.
Spike shuffled forward in line, ankles and wrists shackled, bound hands holding a brown paper bag with his belongings inside. He peered around the inmate in front of him, noted that there were two people ahead of him, then went back to staring at the far wall. It had taken him almost two years to get here, to this prison, and he was anxious to get inside, to do what he had spent the last couple of years preparing for.
Washington, D.C., two years earlier ...
"You're the best agent for this job, Wil. You already have a criminal identity well established and, frankly, you look the part, even down to the prison tattoo," Joyce Summers, head of the Special Operations Division of the DEA, said.
Wil-aka Spike when undercover-sat silently in a chair facing her desk for a long moment, studying the file in his lap. If he took the case, it meant giving up a minimum of two to three years of his life. More importantly-because, really, he'd been working deep cover cases for the majority of his career in the DEA-he was being asked to go deep cover into a prison, something that was extremely dangerous, simply because of the fact that he would be locked in, with no way out. He'd gone undercover in a prison once before, and it had nearly cost him his life.
Several minutes of silence later, Joyce spoke again. "I won't order you to take this case; it's your decision. You'll have to spend some time in another prison first, before we have you transferred to Belle Glade, to give your cover the extra credibility it'll need. We can't alert the warden, or any other officials in the system, because we don’t know how high up this thing goes. You know the score here. I can't guarantee your safety, and you won't be in a position to walk away if things go sour. You'll be trapped, completely on your own, and it could take up to a week to extract you if it becomes necessary."
Wil snorted at that and glanced up at Joyce, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Anyone ever tell you that you should have been in sales?"
Joyce grinned slightly in response, then the grin dropped and her face was once again solemn. "You're the only one being considered for the job, the only available agent qualified to pull it off. If you don't take it, we'll have to find another way to break the ring, and even if we manage to succeed it could take twice as long."
Wil sighed, closing the file and tossing it onto Joyce's desk. "Moving on to flattery and guilt trips so soon? Was hoping for more of the ringing endorsements first. Least those were entertaining."
Joyce picked up the file and placed it back in front of her. "Take a day, think about it. No one will hold it against you if you decide to pass on it."
"Ta, ever so."
Belle Glade, present day…
Lost in thought, Spike didn't hear the CO call next again. It wasn't until a fist at the small of his back shoved Spike forward that he became aware of the fact that he was holding up the line. Instead of moving ahead though, he turned and glared at the inmate behind him. The man was about Spike's height, maybe an inch taller, muscular but not overly so, and obviously irritated as he took up Spike's silent challenge and glared back.
A guard walked up to the two men, his tense stance belying his casual tone when he asked, "Is there a problem here, inmates?"
Neither man answered at first, the battle of wills continuing between them, until finally the man who had shoved Spike backed down, dropping his eyes to the floor.
Spike suppressed the urge to smirk at the victory and finally turned to the guard. "No, sir. No problem."
The guard looked back and forth between the two men a moment longer before walking away, satisfied the situation was resolved.
Facing the front of the line again, Spike shuffled forward, frowning at the fact that sometime in the last couple of years he had started to feel more like his cover-a convict-than an agent. He had known it would happen at some point. It always did to any agent in a deep cover assignment for any length of time. He had just thought he'd be aware of it the moment it did, not after the fact.
Two years earlier, Wil's D.C. apartment...
"What are you going to do?" Faith, Wil's partner at the agency, asked from her spot on his couch. She leaned down, plucking up the last piece of pizza from the take-away box sitting on the floor in front of them.
Wil leaned back against the couch cushions and swallowed a bite of his own slice of pizza before he answered. "Buggered if I know."
Faith twisted in her spot, pulling her legs up on the couch so she was facing Wil and nudged him with a stockinged foot to his jean-clad hip. Chuckling, she asked, "You've been living in the States how long now, English? When are you going to learn to speak the language?"
Wil shot her a sidelong look, enjoying the mindless banter, a welcome distraction from the decision weighing down on him. "Eleven years, and you lot have your so-called language courtesy of us. Isn't my fault Americans have so thoroughly butchered it."
Faith snorted at that as she took a bite of her pizza. She chewed and swallowed it, a mischievous grin lighting her face. "Gonna take advantage of the prison sex if you go in? Can't picture you, of all people, staying celibate for that long."
Wil chuckled. He should have expected a comment like that from her. She was the only one at the agency who knew he was bisexual. She wouldn't even have known except that one night she had stopped by his apartment unexpectedly to let him know they'd had a break in the case they were working at the time, and let herself in when she discovered he wasn't there. She had been sitting on the very couch they were on now, drinking a beer and flipping channels while she waited for him, when he had come stumbling in the door, attached at the mouth and groin to a man who had his hands down the back of Wil's already half-undone pants.
Wil had frozen to the spot, afraid of her reaction, but all she'd done was give them both an appraising look and asked, "This going to take long? Because I could come back in an hour or so."
Snapping back to himself, Wil smirked at her. "'M not planning on being anyone's prison bitch. And I won't be celibate. You'll be making weekly conjugal visits, oh wife of mine."
Faith choked on a bite of pizza, her eyes watering while Wil patted her firmly on the back. After she recovered, she blinked and asked, "Run that by me again?"
Wil laughed. "Joyce didn't tell you? You're going to be my contact. They tried to get an agent positioned on the staff at Belle Glade, but the only opening they've had in the last couple of months was for a doctor in the prison hospital and that was filled two days ago. They came up with the wife cover, and figured it would work well enough in whatever prison I ended up in before Belle."
At Faith's uncharacteristic speechlessness, Wil relented. "Relax, pet. No cameras allowed in the rooms, only a microphone. You'll just have to sound like you're getting your end away. You can fake an orgasm, right? After all, women have been doing it for centuries...although, not usually with me."
Faith relaxed and smiled, shaking her head. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Wil laughed and lifted his beer to his lips.
Faith studied him for a moment, her expression turning serious. "Sounds like you've already decided to take the assignment to me."
Wil frowned, studying the label on his beer without really seeing it. Quietly, he answered, "Yeah, guess I have."
"It's dangerous. I mean, really dangerous. The last time you took a prison cover, you were only in for, what? Six months? And you were nearly killed."
Unconsciously, Wil ran a hand over his side where he'd been stabbed by an inmate. "Won't happen again."
"How do you know that?"
Wil lifted his eyes to hers and said confidently, "I don't make the same mistake twice."
Faith stared back for a second, before nodding at the truth in that. "Okay then. Guess I need to go home and fuck my latest conquest."
"Why? 'S not like you're the one getting locked up."
"No, but I need to practice my fake orgasms, right?"
Wil laughed and lifted his beer to his lips, glad Faith was his partner. She always seemed to know when to be serious, and when to lighten the mood.
Belle Glade, present day…
Faith. Spike was supposed to have had his conjugal with her earlier that day, but it had been cancelled because of the transfer and, since he had to figure out who to pay off here to get one sooner than six months from now, it would probably be at least a week before he'd be granted one. He'd have to settle for a phone call in the meantime, to let her know he was okay. He wouldn't be able to relay any information because even talking in code was too risky when the conversations were being taped, but he knew if he didn't contact Faith somehow within twenty-four hours of their missed visit, Joyce would assume something was wrong and start working on his release.
"Next."
Spike shuffled forward once more and found himself face to face with the CO at the head of the line.
"Number?" the man asked, looking down at a piece of paper in front of him.
"82272-032," Spike rattled off.
The CO searched through the list on the paper for a moment, before checking off Spike's number, then looked up at him. "Belongings?"
Spike set his paper bag down on the counter and waited while the guard dumped the contents and began digging through his things. Pictures of his 'wife', Faith, were set in a pile to one side, along with a pad of paper, a couple pens, some envelopes, stamps, and a few books. His cigarettes were set in another pile by themselves.
The CO put everything back in the paper bag, minus his cigarettes, and handed it back to him, calling, "Next."
Spike's face darkened. "What about my fags?"
The guard looked at him, startled. "Your what?"
"Fags...cigarettes. I paid good dosh for those," Spike answered in an irritated voice that was only half-acted. He knew why they were keeping them, since some inmates gutted them and stuffed them with pot, but he still wasn't happy about it. The money on his books from the last prison he was in wouldn't be transferred over for days yet, if he was lucky. If he wasn't so lucky, it could take over a week. The last thing he needed right now was to be in a new prison, finding his niche and trying to suss out the situation while he was having nicotine withdrawals.
The CO glanced at the packs of cigarettes and said dispassionately, "Can't let you have them. Contraband. Should have sold them before you transferred."
Spike clenched his jaw. "Didn't have time to." He'd been told about the transfer only ten minutes before he was expected to be packed up and ready to go.
The guard shrugged. "Not my problem." Turning back to the line, he called, "Next."
Spike was half-tempted to reach across and strangle the guy, but another guard grabbed his arm just then and led him away to the next check point in the transferring process, a partially closed off room. He found himself standing before another CO and gritted his teeth. This was the part he, and all convicts, hated. The strip search.
"Set your bag down on the table, then hands out," the guard ordered.
Spike dumped his bag onto the table next to him and held out his hands while the CO unlocked his cuffs.
"Legs apart."
Spike widened his stance while the guard unlocked his ankle cuffs.
The CO straightened again and ordered, "Strip."
Spike clenched his jaw at the sound of another guard behind him pulling on latex gloves. The body cavity search was definitely a part of the prison experience he could have done without. To say it was humiliating would have been an understatement.
Silently, he pulled off his kit minus his boxers, setting it on the table next to his bag, then pulled off the prison issue boxers which he hated wearing, being a guy who normally didn't wear underwear at all. But in prison, not wearing underwear was like putting a sign on your back saying, 'Bend me over', so he wore boxers. Spike tossed them on the pile and turned back to face the CO, naked.
"Bend over and hold your ankles."
Spike did as ordered and closed his eyes. When he felt a slicked up finger probing his arse, he forced himself to remember why he was there so he wouldn't turn around and knock the guard on his own arse.
Two years earlier, Miami, Florida…
Joyce stood in front of the briefing room of their Miami branch looking everyone over. "Any questions?"
No one spoke up, so she nodded. "Good. I'll see all of you back here at twenty-one hundred hours then. Dismissed."
Once everyone was gone, Joyce turned toward the mirror behind her and motioned for the people behind the glass to come out.
Wil and Faith, who had been waiting in the observation room, stepped through a side door into the briefing room.
Joyce glanced at them as she gathered up her files, asking, "Well? What do you think?"
Faith shrugged. "They seemed alright to me."
Joyce nodded. "Wil?"
Wil let out a breath, trying in vain to relax a little. He had been jumpy all day, and the closer it got to the bust, the worse his nerves got. "I trust your judgment."
Joyce set the files down and turned to face them, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. "Yes, but it's not me putting my life on the line here. If any of them don't feel right to you, say the word and they're off the case."
Wil ran a hand through his platinum curls. Later they'd be slicked back with gel, part of the look for his cover.
"They seem fine to me, but I haven't met any of them, have I?" He'd had to stay clear for his cover, as usual. Only Joyce, her boss, and Faith knew about him at all. It had been that way from the start, one of the reasons Wil was so successful at what he did.
Gesturing at Faith with a nod of his head, Wil continued, "She says they're fine. That's good enough for me." Even though Faith hadn't met any of them either, she had watched every meeting from behind the observation glass, just like Wil had. More importantly, she was rarely wrong about anyone. She had an ability to read people that was unnerving at times.
"Okay, then. This is it. From this point on, your only contact with the agency will be through Faith. You need to get out, you contact her. If something happens to her out here while you're in there, you'll be pulled out automatically and you get in touch with me ASAP."
Faith's cover as his wife was already in place, with a suitable paper trail going back several years. She would be undercover on the bust with him that night and arrested right along with him, but the plan was she'd plead down, selling Wil out, therefore making sure he got locked up for a long time. Eventually, they'd reconcile, and she'd start visiting him in prison. That would leave him completely on his own for the first month or so, except for the staged phone calls between them which were necessary to set up their reconciliation, and to let Faith know he was okay.
Wil watched Joyce fidget for a moment, looking like she wanted to say something. Arching a brow, he asked, "Something on your mind, Joyce?"
Joyce trained a serious gaze on him. "If you want out, this is the time to say so. We've put a lot of time and money into this, but it's still not too late to back out. By tonight it will be, so this is your last chance. Say the word and I'll put a stop to this."
Wil offered her one of his rare, warm smiles. "Thanks, but no. 'M not looking for a way out."
Joyce nodded her acceptance and Wil and Faith turned to leave the back way, through the observation room so they wouldn't be noticed. When Wil was at the door, Joyce's voice stopped him.
"Wil."
Wil looked over his shoulder at her. "Yes?"
"Good luck."
This time, Wil's smile was cocky, channeling a little of Spike. "Won't need it."
Belle Glade, present day…
Spike jerked back to the present when the finger probing inside him brushed over his prostate none to gently. His eyes popped open and he narrowed them, glaring at the floor as he continued to hold his ankles, fairly sure that brush had been on purpose to piss him off and remind him he was powerless to stop them from doing whatever the fuck they wanted to him. He made a mental note to take down the guard's name. When he got out, there were certain heads he was going to make sure rolled. This prat's over-inflated melon would definitely be one of them.
Finally the finger was removed, and the guard in front of Spike ordered, "Stand up and open your mouth."
Spike did, and a moment later the cavity search was over and he was handed a gray-blue set of prison clothes, the brownish ones from his old prison having been taken away at some point during the search.
"Get dressed."
Once he had his kit on, Spike grabbed his bag and followed the guard to the next checkpoint, where he was told to stand in line and wait to get an updated picture taken. Bored, his thoughts drifted back to the night he was arrested, the last time he'd had any freedom to speak of.
Two years earlier, midnight, a coastline three miles out of Miami, Florida…
"You don't honestly expect me to just take your word this is the merchandise we agreed on, do you, mate?" Spike asked, his face hard.
The dealer, Ciro, shrugged. "Think what you like."
Faith wrapped an arm around Spike's waist, under his leather duster, and looked at Ciro but spoke to Spike. "Baby, just forget it. This guy's not worth our time. We can get better shit cheaper, from that guy we dealt with last week."
Spike slipped his arm around Faith's shoulder and glared at Ciro. "Maybe you're right, pet." Letting go of Faith, he turned to the men with him and motioned for them to move out. His cover was as an enforcer for Richard Wilkins, a powerful drug lord in Southern Florida. He and Faith had been working their covers for the past year, slowly climbing their way up the ladder until Spike's promotion to right hand man a month ago. The promotion had given him access to all the incriminating intel he needed to put Wilkins away for a long, long time. It was just good fortune that bringing the bloke down now would coincide so smoothly with his new assignment in the federal prison system.
Spike and Faith got about five steps away from where Ciro's ship was docked before the man was calling Spike back. "Wait!"
Spike paused, turned, and arched a brow. "Yeah?"
"Maybe I was hasty. You just never know, you know?"
Spike walked back, Faith close behind. The men, who had begun to leave at Spike's orders, turned and took up position again.
"You're questioning me? Would have thought my reputation and my boss's reputation preceded us."
The cold expression Spike knew he was sporting must have scared the other man, because he began furiously shaking his head. "No. I would never question you. I...I know your reputation well. I'd be seven kinds of stupid to do that. It's them I'm not sure about." As he said the last, Ciro gestured to the men flanking the dock around his ship.
Spike crossed his arms over his chest, his Doc Marten-encased feet set wide, appearing larger than life in spite of his five foot ten inch height and wiry build. "I can vouch for every one of my men here tonight, mate. Anyone should be wary, 's me. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, let alone your lackeys," Spike retorted, waving a hand to encompass Ciro's men positioned around the ship.
Ciro straightened, mildly offended. "My men are trustworthy also."
Spike smirked. "Then we don't have a problem, do we?"
Ciro stared at Spike for a long moment, before finally stepping aside in a gesture of acquiescence.
Spike stepped forward onto the boat and opened one of the boxes. Pulling a switchblade out of his coat pocket, he popped it open and cut a slit in one of the plastic packages inside. Dipping a finger in, he brought it to his lips and tasted the fine, white powder. It was definitely coke.
Normally Spike didn't do a taste test, but tonight it would only lend credibility to his arrest if coke was found in his system when they ran a blood test, which they did for all drug related arrests. Turning, he put his blade away and stepped back up on the dock, motioning for one of his men to come forward.
"Test it."
The man, Tom, nodded and stepped onto the ship, pulling out a testing kit to check the purity level of the product.
After he was through, Tom turned to Spike and said, "It's pure."
"Good. Ken, pay the man."
Tom climbed off the ship and Ken, who was standing to Spike's right, set his laptop on a nearby crate, quickly typing in information.
A minute later, Ken looked up at Spike. "It's there."
Spike turned back to Ciro, who ordered his own man to check his account for the money transfer. When he was told it had gone through, Ciro turned back to Spike and gestured at the merchandise. "It's all yours."
Spike smiled coldly and signaled to his men to begin work. Next to him, Faith pulled out her cell phone and called Wilkins. "All set, boss."
Three minutes later, almost all of the drugs had been transferred off the ship. Suddenly, cars screeched into view, the sound of speedboats approaching could be heard and lights popped on in every direction, blinding the men on the dock and on the ship.
Over a speaker, they heard, "This is the DEA. Set down your weapons and put your hands in the air."
Spike blinked, lifting his arm to shield his eyes from the light. There were car headlights shining on them from the rear, floodlights on speedboats shining on them from behind Ciro's ship, and a floodlight shining down on them from a helicopter that had just come into sight.
Officers in helmets and bulletproof jackets ran toward them, guns in hand, yelling at everyone to get down on their knees. Spike whipped around to Ciro and pointed at him, shouting over the sound of the helicopter, "You! This is your fault! I get out of this, I'm bloody well coming after you, do you hear me? I'm going to fucking kill you!"
Spike had barely gotten out his threat when he heard Faith scream at someone to get off her. He turned to see an officer throw her down to the ground and sit on her back. He started for her, but two officers grabbed his arms from behind and wrestled him to the ground, face down. He struggled, but one of the agents twisted his arm up behind his back until he stilled, pain shooting through his shoulder. A foot landed on the small of his back, and he felt a hand clamp down on the back of his neck, pressing the side of his face into the damp wood of the dock. He felt metal against his wrist and heard a click, then his other arm was wretched behind his back and enclosed in a cuff. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was coming next, hoping like hell his actions the last few minutes had been believable enough that his cover was intact.
Belle Glade, present day…
When it was Spike's turn to be photographed, he set down his bag and stepped in front of the height chart, facing the camera.
"Number?"
He rattled off his number for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was handed a piece of cardboard with his ID written on it and told to hold it at chest height in front of him. He no more had it in place than a light was flashing in his face. He blinked, handed the number back, then grabbed his bag and stepped away, into another line.
Finally, processing was over and it was time to meet his new cellmate.
Continued here.
One quick note about prison life (from what I found out about it while getting this story ready). There are, among other things, a lot of race issues and race wars inside prison that I'm not going to get into in this. I had enough going on, and I wouldn't have been able to integrate several of the characters into the story the way I did if I went into all of that.
I think that's it, except that this first chapter has a series of flashbacks necessary to set up the story. I'm told they weren't confusing though, so hopefully they'll work for you guys too. :-)
Oh! And if you want to see the banner I made for this, it's here at my site. It was the first major manip I made with Paint Shop Pro a while back, and I like the way it turned out.
Bent Justice
Pairing: Spike/Angel (main), with S/other along the way, and various other minor pairings
Rating: NC17
Warning: Violence
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit...just borrowing them to get the plot bunny that invaded my brain to shut up already.
Dedication: To Kep. As with all my fics, without her I'm fairly sure I wouldn't have seen this idea through, and I can say without a doubt it wouldn't be the story it is without her suggestions and advice.
Beta'd: by kitty_poker1. Without her, there would be many glaring errors and about a gazillion more commas than are necessary.
Note: This is Human AU
Summary: Spike is an undercover agent sent into prison to bust a corrupt warden, but when he takes on Angelthe convict that runs D Block through strength and fearin order to prove himself, Spike uncovers more than he bargained for.
Chapter 1
Belle Glade Federal Correctional Complex, Belle Glade, Florida, present day...
"Next," the correctional officer, more commonly known among the prisoners as the CO, said in a bored voice.
Spike shuffled forward in line, ankles and wrists shackled, bound hands holding a brown paper bag with his belongings inside. He peered around the inmate in front of him, noted that there were two people ahead of him, then went back to staring at the far wall. It had taken him almost two years to get here, to this prison, and he was anxious to get inside, to do what he had spent the last couple of years preparing for.
Washington, D.C., two years earlier ...
"You're the best agent for this job, Wil. You already have a criminal identity well established and, frankly, you look the part, even down to the prison tattoo," Joyce Summers, head of the Special Operations Division of the DEA, said.
Wil-aka Spike when undercover-sat silently in a chair facing her desk for a long moment, studying the file in his lap. If he took the case, it meant giving up a minimum of two to three years of his life. More importantly-because, really, he'd been working deep cover cases for the majority of his career in the DEA-he was being asked to go deep cover into a prison, something that was extremely dangerous, simply because of the fact that he would be locked in, with no way out. He'd gone undercover in a prison once before, and it had nearly cost him his life.
Several minutes of silence later, Joyce spoke again. "I won't order you to take this case; it's your decision. You'll have to spend some time in another prison first, before we have you transferred to Belle Glade, to give your cover the extra credibility it'll need. We can't alert the warden, or any other officials in the system, because we don’t know how high up this thing goes. You know the score here. I can't guarantee your safety, and you won't be in a position to walk away if things go sour. You'll be trapped, completely on your own, and it could take up to a week to extract you if it becomes necessary."
Wil snorted at that and glanced up at Joyce, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Anyone ever tell you that you should have been in sales?"
Joyce grinned slightly in response, then the grin dropped and her face was once again solemn. "You're the only one being considered for the job, the only available agent qualified to pull it off. If you don't take it, we'll have to find another way to break the ring, and even if we manage to succeed it could take twice as long."
Wil sighed, closing the file and tossing it onto Joyce's desk. "Moving on to flattery and guilt trips so soon? Was hoping for more of the ringing endorsements first. Least those were entertaining."
Joyce picked up the file and placed it back in front of her. "Take a day, think about it. No one will hold it against you if you decide to pass on it."
"Ta, ever so."
Belle Glade, present day…
Lost in thought, Spike didn't hear the CO call next again. It wasn't until a fist at the small of his back shoved Spike forward that he became aware of the fact that he was holding up the line. Instead of moving ahead though, he turned and glared at the inmate behind him. The man was about Spike's height, maybe an inch taller, muscular but not overly so, and obviously irritated as he took up Spike's silent challenge and glared back.
A guard walked up to the two men, his tense stance belying his casual tone when he asked, "Is there a problem here, inmates?"
Neither man answered at first, the battle of wills continuing between them, until finally the man who had shoved Spike backed down, dropping his eyes to the floor.
Spike suppressed the urge to smirk at the victory and finally turned to the guard. "No, sir. No problem."
The guard looked back and forth between the two men a moment longer before walking away, satisfied the situation was resolved.
Facing the front of the line again, Spike shuffled forward, frowning at the fact that sometime in the last couple of years he had started to feel more like his cover-a convict-than an agent. He had known it would happen at some point. It always did to any agent in a deep cover assignment for any length of time. He had just thought he'd be aware of it the moment it did, not after the fact.
Two years earlier, Wil's D.C. apartment...
"What are you going to do?" Faith, Wil's partner at the agency, asked from her spot on his couch. She leaned down, plucking up the last piece of pizza from the take-away box sitting on the floor in front of them.
Wil leaned back against the couch cushions and swallowed a bite of his own slice of pizza before he answered. "Buggered if I know."
Faith twisted in her spot, pulling her legs up on the couch so she was facing Wil and nudged him with a stockinged foot to his jean-clad hip. Chuckling, she asked, "You've been living in the States how long now, English? When are you going to learn to speak the language?"
Wil shot her a sidelong look, enjoying the mindless banter, a welcome distraction from the decision weighing down on him. "Eleven years, and you lot have your so-called language courtesy of us. Isn't my fault Americans have so thoroughly butchered it."
Faith snorted at that as she took a bite of her pizza. She chewed and swallowed it, a mischievous grin lighting her face. "Gonna take advantage of the prison sex if you go in? Can't picture you, of all people, staying celibate for that long."
Wil chuckled. He should have expected a comment like that from her. She was the only one at the agency who knew he was bisexual. She wouldn't even have known except that one night she had stopped by his apartment unexpectedly to let him know they'd had a break in the case they were working at the time, and let herself in when she discovered he wasn't there. She had been sitting on the very couch they were on now, drinking a beer and flipping channels while she waited for him, when he had come stumbling in the door, attached at the mouth and groin to a man who had his hands down the back of Wil's already half-undone pants.
Wil had frozen to the spot, afraid of her reaction, but all she'd done was give them both an appraising look and asked, "This going to take long? Because I could come back in an hour or so."
Snapping back to himself, Wil smirked at her. "'M not planning on being anyone's prison bitch. And I won't be celibate. You'll be making weekly conjugal visits, oh wife of mine."
Faith choked on a bite of pizza, her eyes watering while Wil patted her firmly on the back. After she recovered, she blinked and asked, "Run that by me again?"
Wil laughed. "Joyce didn't tell you? You're going to be my contact. They tried to get an agent positioned on the staff at Belle Glade, but the only opening they've had in the last couple of months was for a doctor in the prison hospital and that was filled two days ago. They came up with the wife cover, and figured it would work well enough in whatever prison I ended up in before Belle."
At Faith's uncharacteristic speechlessness, Wil relented. "Relax, pet. No cameras allowed in the rooms, only a microphone. You'll just have to sound like you're getting your end away. You can fake an orgasm, right? After all, women have been doing it for centuries...although, not usually with me."
Faith relaxed and smiled, shaking her head. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Wil laughed and lifted his beer to his lips.
Faith studied him for a moment, her expression turning serious. "Sounds like you've already decided to take the assignment to me."
Wil frowned, studying the label on his beer without really seeing it. Quietly, he answered, "Yeah, guess I have."
"It's dangerous. I mean, really dangerous. The last time you took a prison cover, you were only in for, what? Six months? And you were nearly killed."
Unconsciously, Wil ran a hand over his side where he'd been stabbed by an inmate. "Won't happen again."
"How do you know that?"
Wil lifted his eyes to hers and said confidently, "I don't make the same mistake twice."
Faith stared back for a second, before nodding at the truth in that. "Okay then. Guess I need to go home and fuck my latest conquest."
"Why? 'S not like you're the one getting locked up."
"No, but I need to practice my fake orgasms, right?"
Wil laughed and lifted his beer to his lips, glad Faith was his partner. She always seemed to know when to be serious, and when to lighten the mood.
Belle Glade, present day…
Faith. Spike was supposed to have had his conjugal with her earlier that day, but it had been cancelled because of the transfer and, since he had to figure out who to pay off here to get one sooner than six months from now, it would probably be at least a week before he'd be granted one. He'd have to settle for a phone call in the meantime, to let her know he was okay. He wouldn't be able to relay any information because even talking in code was too risky when the conversations were being taped, but he knew if he didn't contact Faith somehow within twenty-four hours of their missed visit, Joyce would assume something was wrong and start working on his release.
"Next."
Spike shuffled forward once more and found himself face to face with the CO at the head of the line.
"Number?" the man asked, looking down at a piece of paper in front of him.
"82272-032," Spike rattled off.
The CO searched through the list on the paper for a moment, before checking off Spike's number, then looked up at him. "Belongings?"
Spike set his paper bag down on the counter and waited while the guard dumped the contents and began digging through his things. Pictures of his 'wife', Faith, were set in a pile to one side, along with a pad of paper, a couple pens, some envelopes, stamps, and a few books. His cigarettes were set in another pile by themselves.
The CO put everything back in the paper bag, minus his cigarettes, and handed it back to him, calling, "Next."
Spike's face darkened. "What about my fags?"
The guard looked at him, startled. "Your what?"
"Fags...cigarettes. I paid good dosh for those," Spike answered in an irritated voice that was only half-acted. He knew why they were keeping them, since some inmates gutted them and stuffed them with pot, but he still wasn't happy about it. The money on his books from the last prison he was in wouldn't be transferred over for days yet, if he was lucky. If he wasn't so lucky, it could take over a week. The last thing he needed right now was to be in a new prison, finding his niche and trying to suss out the situation while he was having nicotine withdrawals.
The CO glanced at the packs of cigarettes and said dispassionately, "Can't let you have them. Contraband. Should have sold them before you transferred."
Spike clenched his jaw. "Didn't have time to." He'd been told about the transfer only ten minutes before he was expected to be packed up and ready to go.
The guard shrugged. "Not my problem." Turning back to the line, he called, "Next."
Spike was half-tempted to reach across and strangle the guy, but another guard grabbed his arm just then and led him away to the next check point in the transferring process, a partially closed off room. He found himself standing before another CO and gritted his teeth. This was the part he, and all convicts, hated. The strip search.
"Set your bag down on the table, then hands out," the guard ordered.
Spike dumped his bag onto the table next to him and held out his hands while the CO unlocked his cuffs.
"Legs apart."
Spike widened his stance while the guard unlocked his ankle cuffs.
The CO straightened again and ordered, "Strip."
Spike clenched his jaw at the sound of another guard behind him pulling on latex gloves. The body cavity search was definitely a part of the prison experience he could have done without. To say it was humiliating would have been an understatement.
Silently, he pulled off his kit minus his boxers, setting it on the table next to his bag, then pulled off the prison issue boxers which he hated wearing, being a guy who normally didn't wear underwear at all. But in prison, not wearing underwear was like putting a sign on your back saying, 'Bend me over', so he wore boxers. Spike tossed them on the pile and turned back to face the CO, naked.
"Bend over and hold your ankles."
Spike did as ordered and closed his eyes. When he felt a slicked up finger probing his arse, he forced himself to remember why he was there so he wouldn't turn around and knock the guard on his own arse.
Two years earlier, Miami, Florida…
Joyce stood in front of the briefing room of their Miami branch looking everyone over. "Any questions?"
No one spoke up, so she nodded. "Good. I'll see all of you back here at twenty-one hundred hours then. Dismissed."
Once everyone was gone, Joyce turned toward the mirror behind her and motioned for the people behind the glass to come out.
Wil and Faith, who had been waiting in the observation room, stepped through a side door into the briefing room.
Joyce glanced at them as she gathered up her files, asking, "Well? What do you think?"
Faith shrugged. "They seemed alright to me."
Joyce nodded. "Wil?"
Wil let out a breath, trying in vain to relax a little. He had been jumpy all day, and the closer it got to the bust, the worse his nerves got. "I trust your judgment."
Joyce set the files down and turned to face them, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. "Yes, but it's not me putting my life on the line here. If any of them don't feel right to you, say the word and they're off the case."
Wil ran a hand through his platinum curls. Later they'd be slicked back with gel, part of the look for his cover.
"They seem fine to me, but I haven't met any of them, have I?" He'd had to stay clear for his cover, as usual. Only Joyce, her boss, and Faith knew about him at all. It had been that way from the start, one of the reasons Wil was so successful at what he did.
Gesturing at Faith with a nod of his head, Wil continued, "She says they're fine. That's good enough for me." Even though Faith hadn't met any of them either, she had watched every meeting from behind the observation glass, just like Wil had. More importantly, she was rarely wrong about anyone. She had an ability to read people that was unnerving at times.
"Okay, then. This is it. From this point on, your only contact with the agency will be through Faith. You need to get out, you contact her. If something happens to her out here while you're in there, you'll be pulled out automatically and you get in touch with me ASAP."
Faith's cover as his wife was already in place, with a suitable paper trail going back several years. She would be undercover on the bust with him that night and arrested right along with him, but the plan was she'd plead down, selling Wil out, therefore making sure he got locked up for a long time. Eventually, they'd reconcile, and she'd start visiting him in prison. That would leave him completely on his own for the first month or so, except for the staged phone calls between them which were necessary to set up their reconciliation, and to let Faith know he was okay.
Wil watched Joyce fidget for a moment, looking like she wanted to say something. Arching a brow, he asked, "Something on your mind, Joyce?"
Joyce trained a serious gaze on him. "If you want out, this is the time to say so. We've put a lot of time and money into this, but it's still not too late to back out. By tonight it will be, so this is your last chance. Say the word and I'll put a stop to this."
Wil offered her one of his rare, warm smiles. "Thanks, but no. 'M not looking for a way out."
Joyce nodded her acceptance and Wil and Faith turned to leave the back way, through the observation room so they wouldn't be noticed. When Wil was at the door, Joyce's voice stopped him.
"Wil."
Wil looked over his shoulder at her. "Yes?"
"Good luck."
This time, Wil's smile was cocky, channeling a little of Spike. "Won't need it."
Belle Glade, present day…
Spike jerked back to the present when the finger probing inside him brushed over his prostate none to gently. His eyes popped open and he narrowed them, glaring at the floor as he continued to hold his ankles, fairly sure that brush had been on purpose to piss him off and remind him he was powerless to stop them from doing whatever the fuck they wanted to him. He made a mental note to take down the guard's name. When he got out, there were certain heads he was going to make sure rolled. This prat's over-inflated melon would definitely be one of them.
Finally the finger was removed, and the guard in front of Spike ordered, "Stand up and open your mouth."
Spike did, and a moment later the cavity search was over and he was handed a gray-blue set of prison clothes, the brownish ones from his old prison having been taken away at some point during the search.
"Get dressed."
Once he had his kit on, Spike grabbed his bag and followed the guard to the next checkpoint, where he was told to stand in line and wait to get an updated picture taken. Bored, his thoughts drifted back to the night he was arrested, the last time he'd had any freedom to speak of.
Two years earlier, midnight, a coastline three miles out of Miami, Florida…
"You don't honestly expect me to just take your word this is the merchandise we agreed on, do you, mate?" Spike asked, his face hard.
The dealer, Ciro, shrugged. "Think what you like."
Faith wrapped an arm around Spike's waist, under his leather duster, and looked at Ciro but spoke to Spike. "Baby, just forget it. This guy's not worth our time. We can get better shit cheaper, from that guy we dealt with last week."
Spike slipped his arm around Faith's shoulder and glared at Ciro. "Maybe you're right, pet." Letting go of Faith, he turned to the men with him and motioned for them to move out. His cover was as an enforcer for Richard Wilkins, a powerful drug lord in Southern Florida. He and Faith had been working their covers for the past year, slowly climbing their way up the ladder until Spike's promotion to right hand man a month ago. The promotion had given him access to all the incriminating intel he needed to put Wilkins away for a long, long time. It was just good fortune that bringing the bloke down now would coincide so smoothly with his new assignment in the federal prison system.
Spike and Faith got about five steps away from where Ciro's ship was docked before the man was calling Spike back. "Wait!"
Spike paused, turned, and arched a brow. "Yeah?"
"Maybe I was hasty. You just never know, you know?"
Spike walked back, Faith close behind. The men, who had begun to leave at Spike's orders, turned and took up position again.
"You're questioning me? Would have thought my reputation and my boss's reputation preceded us."
The cold expression Spike knew he was sporting must have scared the other man, because he began furiously shaking his head. "No. I would never question you. I...I know your reputation well. I'd be seven kinds of stupid to do that. It's them I'm not sure about." As he said the last, Ciro gestured to the men flanking the dock around his ship.
Spike crossed his arms over his chest, his Doc Marten-encased feet set wide, appearing larger than life in spite of his five foot ten inch height and wiry build. "I can vouch for every one of my men here tonight, mate. Anyone should be wary, 's me. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, let alone your lackeys," Spike retorted, waving a hand to encompass Ciro's men positioned around the ship.
Ciro straightened, mildly offended. "My men are trustworthy also."
Spike smirked. "Then we don't have a problem, do we?"
Ciro stared at Spike for a long moment, before finally stepping aside in a gesture of acquiescence.
Spike stepped forward onto the boat and opened one of the boxes. Pulling a switchblade out of his coat pocket, he popped it open and cut a slit in one of the plastic packages inside. Dipping a finger in, he brought it to his lips and tasted the fine, white powder. It was definitely coke.
Normally Spike didn't do a taste test, but tonight it would only lend credibility to his arrest if coke was found in his system when they ran a blood test, which they did for all drug related arrests. Turning, he put his blade away and stepped back up on the dock, motioning for one of his men to come forward.
"Test it."
The man, Tom, nodded and stepped onto the ship, pulling out a testing kit to check the purity level of the product.
After he was through, Tom turned to Spike and said, "It's pure."
"Good. Ken, pay the man."
Tom climbed off the ship and Ken, who was standing to Spike's right, set his laptop on a nearby crate, quickly typing in information.
A minute later, Ken looked up at Spike. "It's there."
Spike turned back to Ciro, who ordered his own man to check his account for the money transfer. When he was told it had gone through, Ciro turned back to Spike and gestured at the merchandise. "It's all yours."
Spike smiled coldly and signaled to his men to begin work. Next to him, Faith pulled out her cell phone and called Wilkins. "All set, boss."
Three minutes later, almost all of the drugs had been transferred off the ship. Suddenly, cars screeched into view, the sound of speedboats approaching could be heard and lights popped on in every direction, blinding the men on the dock and on the ship.
Over a speaker, they heard, "This is the DEA. Set down your weapons and put your hands in the air."
Spike blinked, lifting his arm to shield his eyes from the light. There were car headlights shining on them from the rear, floodlights on speedboats shining on them from behind Ciro's ship, and a floodlight shining down on them from a helicopter that had just come into sight.
Officers in helmets and bulletproof jackets ran toward them, guns in hand, yelling at everyone to get down on their knees. Spike whipped around to Ciro and pointed at him, shouting over the sound of the helicopter, "You! This is your fault! I get out of this, I'm bloody well coming after you, do you hear me? I'm going to fucking kill you!"
Spike had barely gotten out his threat when he heard Faith scream at someone to get off her. He turned to see an officer throw her down to the ground and sit on her back. He started for her, but two officers grabbed his arms from behind and wrestled him to the ground, face down. He struggled, but one of the agents twisted his arm up behind his back until he stilled, pain shooting through his shoulder. A foot landed on the small of his back, and he felt a hand clamp down on the back of his neck, pressing the side of his face into the damp wood of the dock. He felt metal against his wrist and heard a click, then his other arm was wretched behind his back and enclosed in a cuff. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was coming next, hoping like hell his actions the last few minutes had been believable enough that his cover was intact.
Belle Glade, present day…
When it was Spike's turn to be photographed, he set down his bag and stepped in front of the height chart, facing the camera.
"Number?"
He rattled off his number for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was handed a piece of cardboard with his ID written on it and told to hold it at chest height in front of him. He no more had it in place than a light was flashing in his face. He blinked, handed the number back, then grabbed his bag and stepped away, into another line.
Finally, processing was over and it was time to meet his new cellmate.
Continued here.