Shadows (part 3/?)
Title: Shadows (Part 3)
Author: angel_1013
Rating: R for language & violence
Characters: Michael POV with others thrown in for flavor.
Summary: This is the third and last installment of my Regret/Pieces series. You should probably read Regret and Pieces first as this won’t make much sense otherwise. Shadows takes us back to Michael’s POV and runs parallel time-wise to Sara’s POV in Pieces. So this basically covers Michael’s time back at Fox River.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
The cold stethoscope is on my back and he says, “Breathe in for me.”
I try, but can’t get much in. I think my ribs may be broken. Or badly bruised.
He tries again and again, pausing before each move of the stethoscope. He’s looking at the tattoo, I can tell. He studies it every time he sees it. Everyone does. They look at it and search for the hidden meaning in its design. He finishes and asks me to take my sweats off.
They stick to my leg from all the blood and he looks up at me. “What happened?”
I don’t say anything. It’s in my best interest not to. Besides, he’s a smart guy. Let him figure it out. If he hasn’t by now, after several visits with various injuries, then he never will.
“I wish you would tell me,” he says earnestly. “I could help you.”
I look at him then. Into his bright blue eyes. Does Sara look into these eyes when she kisses him? “Really?” I ask him. “Do you seriously think you can help me?”
He has to detect the sneering disbelief in my voice because he frowns and tends to the wound on my leg. He cleans it and stitches it up. One more scar to add to my collection.
As he works, his blue and gray tie keeps getting in the way so he tucks it into his shirt. I wonder if Sara picked out that tie for him this morning. If she helped him tie it just right.
My ribs get wrapped. Turns out they’re bruised, not broken, but I should take it easy for a couple of weeks. Right. I’ll be sure to tell Bellick that next time he pays me a visit.
Dr. Davis doesn’t say anything else to me until I’m leaving. “If you so much as look at her again, I’ll make things worse for you.”
I look at him, wondering if it’s simple jealousy or something more. I feel a small smile emerge and I say, “I doubt that’s possible.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods to the C.O.s that they can take me away now. I shuffle down the hallway and look back at him one last time before we turn the corner and he’s still standing there, only he’s running a hand through his hair in frustration.
He loves her.
~~~**~~~
Bellick never comes again. In fact, I don’t ever get the privilege of seeing him again during the rest of my time at Fox River. Something tells me Sara arranged that. Maybe she was able to get through to Pope in a way Dr. Davis wasn’t able to. If he ever even tried.
I also start getting an hour out in the yard each day. It’s in the segregated area, of course, but it’s glorious. That small square of grass surrounded by barbed-wire fencing is my salvation every day.
There are drawbacks to that, though. When I’m outside, so are all the other cons. I’m separated from them by two walls of fencing, but I can see and hear them just fine.
I see familiar faces leering at me, taunting me. Occasionally I see someone from the team. Sometimes they wave or say hello. Sometimes they look at me as if they want to kill me. C-Note’s the only one I’ve actually had a conversation with. It only lasted a couple of minutes before the bulls stepped in.
”Yo, fish. Looks like you got ‘em runnin’ scared,” C-Note says, surprising me by actually approaching the fence.
I can’t help the grin on my face and I say, “I hear you’re a man who can get things.” I remember the first time we talked and I desperately needed some Pugnac. That seems like a lifetime ago now.
He smiles back. “Pretty sure I can’t get you what you need.”
He looks around the yard before saying, “Glad to hear about your brother, man.”
I nod and say thanks. But that’s when the bulls come over and tell C-Note to roll. He gives me a salute as he goes to the other side of yard and I feel bad that he got recaptured.
Sucre got caught first. At his girlfriend’s house, of course. At least he got to touch her belly before being hauled back. That’s all he wanted. I haven’t seen Sucre. So I’m not sure where he’s at. Maybe a different prison.
T-Bag got caught when a doctor he went to for help called the authorities. I doubt he got far with a missing hand. Crazy enough, he’s back here. I glance over toward his section of the yard and see him strutting around like he’s the king of gen pop again. A one-handed king, anyway.
I’m not sure what happened to Tweener and Haywire. I’m told they were recaptured. But I never see or hear anything about them.
I think Abruzzi’s dead. I don’t know for sure, but I heard the C.O.s talking about him one day as if he were.
My rag-tag team didn’t last more than two weeks on the outside. No one but my brother. And that’s all that really matters.
~~~**~~~
My days are filled with routine. That’s what prison’s all about. I eat at the same time every day. I get my small moments of freedom from this cell at the same time every day. I go to the bathroom at the same time every day. I wake up, fall asleep, make my bed at the same time every day.
There’s comfort in that. Part of me is even glad I’m secluded, hidden away from the rest of the prison. I don’t want to think about what would happen to me if I were in gen pop.
I don’t want to think about what T-Bag would do to me. Probably not much with one hand, but he seems to have rallied the White Supremacy crowd around him once again. He even has himself a new boyfriend to hold his pocket. Some new kid who came in a few weeks ago.
There’s not much I can do to help this one. All I can do is watch from across the yard as T-Bag leads him around, showing him off. The kid’s big, sad eyes just moments from tearing up at the injustice of it all.
I’m so glad I got Sucre as a cellmate when I came here. I had a plan, of course, if I would have been stuck with an undesirable cellmate. It came in handy when I got stuck with Haywire.
But the thought of getting put in with T-Bag for even one night sends a chill down my spine.
He leaves me alone for the most part. Ignores my existence when we’re outside at the same time. But every once in a while, he’ll make a pass close to my little patch of grass and I’ll hear him call out to me in his sing-song voice, “How’s my pretty caged bird today?”
He blames me, of course. Like it’s my fault the fool chained himself to me. He had to know that wouldn’t end well. Abruzzi was never known to be a patient man.
I get the feeling that wasn’t the first hand John Abruzzi ever cut off.
Today, T-Bag is keeping to himself on “his” bleachers. His gang is standing close-by, but not with him. Maybe it’s a quiet day for him. A day for reflection. I see him absently massage the stump that used to be attached to a hand.
He looks over at me then, and for a brief moment the bravado is gone from his eyes. He’s thinking. Knows that he was stupid and probably could have gotten away if not for his greed. For that brief moment, Theodore Bagwell looks like an ordinary man.
An ordinary man who simply misses his hand.
~TBC~
Author: angel_1013
Rating: R for language & violence
Characters: Michael POV with others thrown in for flavor.
Summary: This is the third and last installment of my Regret/Pieces series. You should probably read Regret and Pieces first as this won’t make much sense otherwise. Shadows takes us back to Michael’s POV and runs parallel time-wise to Sara’s POV in Pieces. So this basically covers Michael’s time back at Fox River.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
The cold stethoscope is on my back and he says, “Breathe in for me.”
I try, but can’t get much in. I think my ribs may be broken. Or badly bruised.
He tries again and again, pausing before each move of the stethoscope. He’s looking at the tattoo, I can tell. He studies it every time he sees it. Everyone does. They look at it and search for the hidden meaning in its design. He finishes and asks me to take my sweats off.
They stick to my leg from all the blood and he looks up at me. “What happened?”
I don’t say anything. It’s in my best interest not to. Besides, he’s a smart guy. Let him figure it out. If he hasn’t by now, after several visits with various injuries, then he never will.
“I wish you would tell me,” he says earnestly. “I could help you.”
I look at him then. Into his bright blue eyes. Does Sara look into these eyes when she kisses him? “Really?” I ask him. “Do you seriously think you can help me?”
He has to detect the sneering disbelief in my voice because he frowns and tends to the wound on my leg. He cleans it and stitches it up. One more scar to add to my collection.
As he works, his blue and gray tie keeps getting in the way so he tucks it into his shirt. I wonder if Sara picked out that tie for him this morning. If she helped him tie it just right.
My ribs get wrapped. Turns out they’re bruised, not broken, but I should take it easy for a couple of weeks. Right. I’ll be sure to tell Bellick that next time he pays me a visit.
Dr. Davis doesn’t say anything else to me until I’m leaving. “If you so much as look at her again, I’ll make things worse for you.”
I look at him, wondering if it’s simple jealousy or something more. I feel a small smile emerge and I say, “I doubt that’s possible.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods to the C.O.s that they can take me away now. I shuffle down the hallway and look back at him one last time before we turn the corner and he’s still standing there, only he’s running a hand through his hair in frustration.
He loves her.
~~~**~~~
Bellick never comes again. In fact, I don’t ever get the privilege of seeing him again during the rest of my time at Fox River. Something tells me Sara arranged that. Maybe she was able to get through to Pope in a way Dr. Davis wasn’t able to. If he ever even tried.
I also start getting an hour out in the yard each day. It’s in the segregated area, of course, but it’s glorious. That small square of grass surrounded by barbed-wire fencing is my salvation every day.
There are drawbacks to that, though. When I’m outside, so are all the other cons. I’m separated from them by two walls of fencing, but I can see and hear them just fine.
I see familiar faces leering at me, taunting me. Occasionally I see someone from the team. Sometimes they wave or say hello. Sometimes they look at me as if they want to kill me. C-Note’s the only one I’ve actually had a conversation with. It only lasted a couple of minutes before the bulls stepped in.
”Yo, fish. Looks like you got ‘em runnin’ scared,” C-Note says, surprising me by actually approaching the fence.
I can’t help the grin on my face and I say, “I hear you’re a man who can get things.” I remember the first time we talked and I desperately needed some Pugnac. That seems like a lifetime ago now.
He smiles back. “Pretty sure I can’t get you what you need.”
He looks around the yard before saying, “Glad to hear about your brother, man.”
I nod and say thanks. But that’s when the bulls come over and tell C-Note to roll. He gives me a salute as he goes to the other side of yard and I feel bad that he got recaptured.
Sucre got caught first. At his girlfriend’s house, of course. At least he got to touch her belly before being hauled back. That’s all he wanted. I haven’t seen Sucre. So I’m not sure where he’s at. Maybe a different prison.
T-Bag got caught when a doctor he went to for help called the authorities. I doubt he got far with a missing hand. Crazy enough, he’s back here. I glance over toward his section of the yard and see him strutting around like he’s the king of gen pop again. A one-handed king, anyway.
I’m not sure what happened to Tweener and Haywire. I’m told they were recaptured. But I never see or hear anything about them.
I think Abruzzi’s dead. I don’t know for sure, but I heard the C.O.s talking about him one day as if he were.
My rag-tag team didn’t last more than two weeks on the outside. No one but my brother. And that’s all that really matters.
~~~**~~~
My days are filled with routine. That’s what prison’s all about. I eat at the same time every day. I get my small moments of freedom from this cell at the same time every day. I go to the bathroom at the same time every day. I wake up, fall asleep, make my bed at the same time every day.
There’s comfort in that. Part of me is even glad I’m secluded, hidden away from the rest of the prison. I don’t want to think about what would happen to me if I were in gen pop.
I don’t want to think about what T-Bag would do to me. Probably not much with one hand, but he seems to have rallied the White Supremacy crowd around him once again. He even has himself a new boyfriend to hold his pocket. Some new kid who came in a few weeks ago.
There’s not much I can do to help this one. All I can do is watch from across the yard as T-Bag leads him around, showing him off. The kid’s big, sad eyes just moments from tearing up at the injustice of it all.
I’m so glad I got Sucre as a cellmate when I came here. I had a plan, of course, if I would have been stuck with an undesirable cellmate. It came in handy when I got stuck with Haywire.
But the thought of getting put in with T-Bag for even one night sends a chill down my spine.
He leaves me alone for the most part. Ignores my existence when we’re outside at the same time. But every once in a while, he’ll make a pass close to my little patch of grass and I’ll hear him call out to me in his sing-song voice, “How’s my pretty caged bird today?”
He blames me, of course. Like it’s my fault the fool chained himself to me. He had to know that wouldn’t end well. Abruzzi was never known to be a patient man.
I get the feeling that wasn’t the first hand John Abruzzi ever cut off.
Today, T-Bag is keeping to himself on “his” bleachers. His gang is standing close-by, but not with him. Maybe it’s a quiet day for him. A day for reflection. I see him absently massage the stump that used to be attached to a hand.
He looks over at me then, and for a brief moment the bravado is gone from his eyes. He’s thinking. Knows that he was stupid and probably could have gotten away if not for his greed. For that brief moment, Theodore Bagwell looks like an ordinary man.
An ordinary man who simply misses his hand.
~TBC~