Wings to Fly, Eyes that Burn

Marshall was trying not to puke while pretending to be eating dinner. It was chicken potpie tonight and just looking at it was making him sick. His appetite was completely gone, he felt too nervous to be able to hold anything down. He'd hardly slept at all last night, his sleep riddled with nightmares.

So far mealtime had been uneventful, except for some guys starring at him like he was a bug under their shoe. The looks made him twitch, alternately wanting to break their faces for even glancing in his direction and then the other side of him that just wanted to hide.

He hunched his shoulders over and smeared some carrots across his tray. He felt movement behind him, his head automaticly jerked up, eyes locking with Mekhi's across the table. Mekhi's eyes slid to the side, landing somewhere behind him and settling. Marshall's shoulders tensed as someone sat next to him.

"Relax hommies, relax. I'm Maleto, and i'm just here to deliver a quick message." Maleto was a large black man with a shaved head and a snake tattoo on his skull. His voice sounded gruff and harsh, the word 'relax' sounding like a curse in his mouth. "LeBeau wanted me to make contact with you Marshall. He wants to see you when they let him out of solitary." Marshall's skin prickled. Maleto continued; "I'll give you more information when I know it. If anyone fucks with you, you let me know and I'll takre ore of them." The guy got up and left after that.

He really was a kept little bitch now. Mekhi seemed to read his mind and puckered his lips up and batted his eyelashes in his direction. "Oh Ma-shall." He lisped while flailing his limp wrist around. The other guys at the table laughed. Marshall scowled at him and tried not to laugh too. His life was spinning out of control and away from him, why not laugh at it? If he wasn't laughing he'd be crying and that was worse.

* * *

It was almost an entire week later that Remy was allowed to join the world of the living again. He'd been questioned about the incident for close to an hour, which he entirely blew off.

"De fuck'rs was try'n t' steal m' propr'ty. How'm I supposed t' keep m' rep if I let someone fuck m' bitch? "

Remy's casualness about the bloody beatings of three fellow inmates didn't go over smoothly. He was given a harsher sentence because of it.

Max and him were supposed to be separated from now on. Max was sent to a different wing of the prison with cleaning duties for the next two months. Remy was sent to the pit for solitary for four days and then had kitchen duties for the next four months. He did the time. He would do all the greasy pots and pans the kitchen bitches could find. He could handle it.

The real problem was in his new celebrity with the guards. He had managed to carve a name out for himself and gained respect from both convicts and guards, because of that respect he was generally not bothered. Now he had a rep for being a bad boy, a troublemaker and the guards found it their duty to give him shit. It was the extra attention that was so bad for business. It forced Remy to take a step back and let others take over for him while he lay low and played it cool.

He wouldn't have minded so much if 'playing it cool' meant he got to relax a little, maybe play with Marshall a bit. His whole reason for all of this in the first place, well, part of it. He had to admit, if only to himself, that some kind of tension had been building up in him and beating the shit out of those guys had felt really good. As it was though, 'playing it cool' didn't allow for time to meet up with Marshall.

It was nearly two weeks later that Maleto was able to coordinate a bit of private time for the two.