The Stake, chapters 1 - 7	 The Stake, chapters 1 - 7

 by Riley Cannon

  

DISCLAIMERS, WARNINGS, ETC.: Oz the series and its characters/concepts are
the property of Levinson-Fontana Productions, HBO, et al; I am making no
money from this. 
 Subject: B/K; rated R to NC-17. 

Summary: Toby wants Chris to have a really nice Valentine's Day. 

This is a sequel to "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do," so this is set in
Alternate Universe Land where most of the current season of OZ, post- "You
Bet Your Life," doesn't happen. About the only thing I'm keeping is the
timeline, so this would be about seven months since the boys reconciled;
there is also a mention of the game show, "Up Your Ante.". This is only
meant to be a Valentine's Day Plot?WhatPlot? but then again, the original
wasn't meant to be a whole lot more than that, and look how it turned out.
<sigh> Oh I'm borrowing Katherine McClaine, too, but don't anybody worry;
nobody's coming between Chris and his Sweet Baboo here. 

This isn't a song fic, per se, at least the lyrics don't have a whole lot
of bearing on what happens. The music, on the other hand... Don't know how
familiar anyone will be with this song, "The Stake," but you can find it
on The Steve Miller Band's Greatest Hits CD. It's got this really sexy R&B
bump and grind beat that defies you to keep your hips still, and makes for
good background make out music (not that I would know anything about that
sort of thing, of course). The lyrics are quoted without permission, no
copyright infringement is intended. 

By now it ought to go without saying that this contains: sap, angst, sex,
more sap... 

~THE STAKE~ 

Burnin' burnin all you can take
 Wheels are turning in the bed you make
 I'll take you over
 You're tied to the stake
 Nobody loves you like the way I do 

Light rain's over
 The sun's all around
 Four leaf clover
 As I pull you down
 I'll take you over
 You're tied to the stake
 Nobody loves you like the way I do.  by David Denny   February 14, 2001 

Toby knew he should be getting back up to his own bunk before the lights
came on, but he loved to linger over these moments when Chris was so snug
and warm against him. He smiled, thinking they could probably have a
king-sized bed all to themselves and still end up like this every night.
Not that he was complaining. One of the few things Toby could say in favor
of their sleeping arrangements here in Oz was that he'd discovered how
much he liked to cuddle. 

He held very still as Chris shifted, not really wanting him to wake up
yet. Chris was just getting comfier, though. Toby felt pretty good, too,
really not wanting to move with their legs tangled together and Chris'
head pillowed on his chest, one hand resting on his stomach. One of the
sweetest feelings, Toby had decided, was just the soft warmth of Chris'
breath against his skin. He got an arm around Chris' shoulders, just
holding him lightly, wanting to stay like this for a long time like,
forever. 

Of course even in a more ideal setting moments like this would be a little
rare. The kids would be getting up at the crack of dawn and wanting them
up as well, and then there would be a million things to do all day long;
they might not have another moment all to themselves until they had put
the kids to bed in the evening. That was a way of life Toby knew very
well, although he did have a feeling there would be a few significant
differences this time around. For one thing, even if he had a whole slate
of cases to work on Toby couldn't imagine that he would be immersing
himself in any work he'd brought home from the office, not with Chris
sitting there, waiting to pounce. 

All of which was, maybe, a whole lot of wishful thinking on his part
Chris, the eternal pessimist, certainly thought so. With Chris, the glass
wasn't just half-empty, the contents were probably poisoned to boot. Toby
thought he was getting a little better about that, but as with everything,
it was taking some time, just like getting him to believe there was a
really good chance of him walking out of Oz. Toby and his father had very
carefully explained everything that was being done to see about getting
Chris' verdict appealed, and Harrison had said things were looking very
good that way. Chris just nodded politely, said he was really grateful for
Mr. Beecher's help, and went on taking a pretty dubious view of his
future. 

Given all the times he'd been disappointed by how something turned out,
Toby guessed he could hardly blame Chris for not getting too excited. At
least he'd stopped telling Toby to put Oz and everything related to it
behind him just as soon as his parole came through. Toby hoped that was
because Chris really believed him when he said there was no way in hell he
was going to go off and forget Chris, and not just because he thought it
would make Toby happy to play 'Let's Pretend.' 

He smiled to himself, remembering Chris' reaction to finding out Toby's
parole was being handled by a woman. Chris had wanted to know what she
looked like, how old was she, did Toby think she was pretty, was she
married or single or what? Knowing Chris had nothing to be jealous about,
Toby hadn't been able to resist teasing him, telling him Katherine was
young and very pretty, that she was divorced, and yes, she was sort of
sexy now he thought about it. 'Well I guess you'll be real happy
together,' Chris had said, with a pout worthy of any fiveyear -old. Toby
had instantly relented, hooking his arms around Chris' neck and telling
him, 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Chris I don't even know what color her eyes
are. She's probably really nice, but I am not interested in her as
anything but my lawyer. And even if she was interested in me, well, I'm
spoken for, right?" he had finished, snatching a quick kiss. Chris had
looked happier at that, and once the lights were out Toby had made sure he
was in no doubts of how things stood. 

Actually Toby was pretty proud of them both. It wasn't so long ago that
something stupid like that would have escalated out of all proportion,
maybe even ending with fists flying. There was still the occasional
shouting and shoving match but they had learned to tone it down pretty
quickly. Mostly they just had sulking bouts that could last for most of a
week until one of them decided to get down off his high-horse about
whatever they had been quarreling about which, nine times in ten, was
something really dumb. The making up part was always nice, though. Toby
suspected it was probably always going to be like to some extent; the
volatility between them was a whole lot of the attraction, after all. He
felt pretty certain it would be easier to channel all that more
constructively in a different kind of environment, though; that life in Oz
was at the heart of a lot of the conflict. 

Or was he just wishing upon a star? Toby wondered, running a gentle hand
over Chris' head. Sometimes he did worry that what they had found together
was unique to Oz, that they wouldn't be able to make it work on the
outside. And sure, maybe that meant his own glass was kind of on the
half-empty side, too. 

He didn't think about that too often, though. He sure didn't want to spend
today of all days dwelling on all the ways everything might go wrong. No,
on this day for lovers Toby wanted to wallow in sappy sentimentality and
see to it that Chris did, too. There was cause to believe this was an
achievable goal. Although, as with everything else, it had taken a whole
lot of patience to get to this point, Toby mused, recalling Chris'
birthday three months before... 

<><><><><>
 "What's this?" 

Toby looked over his book at Chris standing over by his bunk, suspiciously
eying the brown paper-wrapped package sitting there. He would have liked
it to be wrapped more nicely, but had accepted that would be pushing his
luck too far. Everything had already come together better than Toby had
dared hope for, with Bob Rebadow easily agreeing to be a go-between in
getting around the Nazi-run mailroom. Vern had been leaving them alone for
the most part, but Toby couldn't trust that this respite would go on
indefinitely. He was positive that if Vern somehow figured out that such
and such a package for Tobias Beecher contained a special item intended
for Chris Keller, that Vern would use it to fuck with them both. There was
no reason for Vern to give a damn what Rebadow was getting in the mail,
however, and it had taken surprisingly little finagling to get it all
accomplished in time. 

This, however, might be the biggest hurdle. 

"It's a package," he patiently told Chris. "For you." 

Chris' skeptical looked shifted over to Toby. "From you?" 

"No from the Tooth Fairy," Toby returned, voice keeping its mild tone.
"Yes, it's from me," he added, smiling. 

Chris didn't return the smile. He didn't touch the package, either.
"What's it for?" 

Toby fought the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. "Your birthday." 

Chris turned that idea over, then, "How come?" 

"Because I wanted to get you something. That's the sort of thing that
happens when you love someone." 

With a shrug that didn't quite tell Toby how he felt about that, Chris
nudged the package with a certain wariness, as if expecting it to bite
him. "What is it?" 

"Why don't you open and see? And if you start another round of 'why' and
'how come' I'll come over there and thump you." 

Chris shot him a resentful look, but sat down on his bunk and picked up
the package, turning it over in his hands. "I don't need anything." 

Toby could dispute that, but unfortunately most of the things Chris needed
couldn't be wrapped up with bows and ribbons. "Will you just open it?" 

"You gotta watch me do it?" 

Toby smiled, shaking his head and obligingly turned his attention back to
his book. He kept a surreptitious eye on his lover, though, as Chris
carefully unwrapped the package. He'd had a feeling Chris probably hadn't
gotten a lot of presents but it hurt to see that confirmed in the awkward
way the other man approached such a simple task. The last thing he wanted
to do was make Chris feel uncomfortable, and Toby was suddenly afraid this
may have been a really bad idea. He worried his lip, watching as Chris
took out four CDs, still wrapped in cellophane and spared a moment to hope
his father had found the right ones and hadn't gotten something by The
Backstreet Boys or Britney Spears. 

Finding out Chris' favorite music hadn't even required any special effort,
thanks to Busmalis and Up Your Ante. They had all been watching the game
show one day and one of the questions was about the 1960s music festival,
Woodstock; Busmalis was the only one who'd gotten it right. Rebadow had
asked how he'd known that and Busmalis had told them he'd been there.
While Rebadow was saying, "No, you weren't," and Busmalis was replying,
"Why would I lie about that?" Ryan chimed in to say, "I never saw what the
big deal was about Woodstock," and Chris had nodded in agreement, adding,
"The only one of those old guys that didn't suck was Jimi Hendrix." While
the debate raged on over the merits of golden oldies vs. contemporary
artists with Chris and Ryan conceding that The Beatles, Stones, and Motown
weren't bad; and Rebadow saying no one was ever going to do it better than
Sinatra and Toby Bennett; and all generations agreeing that they wouldn't
say 'No' to Jennifer Lopez Toby had experienced one of those transcendent
moments of connection with Chris. Well, and Ryan, too, he supposed. 

All his life Toby had been vaguely annoyed when someone, like his Uncle
Wally, would drone on about how great the Sixties had been, and how
Woodstock which Uncle Wally hadn't even gone to had been the greatest pop
culture experience of the 20th century. And how anyone like Toby who only
had the Seventies and Eighties as their cultural touchstones was just too
pitiful for words. So discovering that he was not alone in his
indifference to the significance of Woodstock and all the rest of it
bordered on a revelatory moment. That he further shared this with the man
he loved was the cherry on top. 

On the other hand, Toby thought he might keep his fondness for the BeeGees
and Abba to himself for the time being. Maybe he'd spring that as a
surprise on, say, their twenty-fifth anniversary. By then maybe he would
have discovered Chris nursed a secret passion for something incredibly
uncool, too like his favorite TV show was The Brady Bunch, or something. 

And at least he'd discovered that Chris' tastes in music ran mostly to
hard rock and Rhythm & Blues "What?" he'd teased him. "No secret passion
for show tunes?" Chris had replied with a friendly, "Fuck you. That sounds
like more your style." Toby had said he didn't see what was wrong with the
occasional sappy love song, admitting he liked Elton John a lot. Chris had
looked a little askance at that, but then conceded that once in a blue
moon maybe a love song was okay, and that he used to think Linda Ronstadt
sang kind of pretty. 

As Toby had been trying to think of something to get Chris for his
birthday, the timing had been perfect. Now he just hoped his good
intentions weren't about to go badly awry. 

"There's a note for you," Chris said, holding up a slip of paper. 

"Me?" Toby came over to take it from him, recognizing his father's
handwriting. He canted a look at the CDs to see what Harrison had picked
out, relieved to see his father had come through as he spotted the names
George Thorogood, Steve Miller Band, Bruce Springsteen and Linda Ronstadt;
looked like they were all greatest hits collections, too. The note was
short, just his father saying he hoped he had found the right CDs, and he
was sorry, but the store had been all out of anything by Jimi Hendrix, and
that he hoped Chris enjoyed them. 

"So," he said, sitting down beside Chris, "you like them?" 

Chris shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he said, enthusiasm noticeable by its
total absence. "You shouldn't be spending your money on me." 

Toby let a sigh escape at last. "Chris, money is not an object. Not to
mention those probably cost less than what I used to drink in a day. I
just wanted to do something nice for you. I'm sorry if it upsets you." He
slumped back on the mattress. "That's the last thing I want to do." 

Chris looked at him, frowning, then saying, "I'm not upset, Toby. It's
just...I don't expect stuff like this." 

"Well, start expecting stuff like this," Toby said, reaching to run a hand
down his arm, "because it's not going to be a one-time deal." 

"Toby, you don't gotta-" 

"Chris," Toby sat up, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, and
swooping in to steal quick kiss, "I know I don't gotta," he smiled. "I
want to." Brushing his fingers along the side of Chris' face, he added, "I
know it sounds nuts, but the fact you don't want things from me only makes
me want to give you everything." 

Looking back at him, very solemn for a moment, Chris nodded and said,
"Yeah, that sounds nuts, all right." 

"Well, consider the source," Toby returned, bringing Chris' head closer,
lingering a lot longer over the kiss this time, whispering, "Happy
birthday," against his lips. 

<><><><><>
 ...At least Toby knew Chris had finally had a really good birthday, and
even though Chris had made out it was no big deal and they were both a
little old to worry about things like birthdays anyway, he had cause to
think Chris had enjoyed it. His lover had yet to reciprocate, but the only
reason that concerned Toby was suspecting Chris doubted he could give him
anything good enough. It ought to be obvious that all the gift Toby ever
wanted was the six-foot tall, blue-eyed package of Christopher Keller and
he couldn't help smiling at the image that sprang to his mind, of said
Christopher Keller wrapped up in a bow, waiting for him but that might be
another concept Chris was going to take his time getting used to. 

Catching a glimpse of Murphy coming in to start the dayshift, Toby decided
he'd better move, and carefully slipped out of Chris' bunk, pausing to
press a quick kiss to his cheek before climbing up to his own bunk pulling
the blanket up just seconds before the lights came on.	THE STAKE 2/? 

Chris instinctively reached for Toby as he woke up. "Toby?" he called
softly, running his hand over the still-warm sheet. 

"Yeah?" Toby dangled his arm over the side and Chris reached up to grasp
his hand for a moment. 

It sure would be nice to wake up next to Toby every morning, Chris thought
as he let Toby go and sat up, rubbing his face. It would be nice to do a
whole lot of things with Toby that didn't always require secrecy and the
cover of darkness. Somehow he didn't think he ought to be getting his
hopes up about that ever changing, though. Toby liked to pretend they were
both going to get out of Oz and go live happily ever after, and that was
real sweet of him, but Chris knew better. Deep down Toby did, too, he had
to. If it kept Toby happy to play along, well, Chris figured that was the
least he could do for him in whatever time they had left. He had a feeling
that might be dwindling down pretty quickly. 

Toby dropped down from his bunk. "Sleep well?" he said, smiling at him. 

Chris squinted suspiciously back at him. "Fine. What're you so happy
about?" 

"What've I got to be unhappy about?" 

"You mean besides the whole being in prison bit?" Chris said as he got up,
stretching and wincing at the pops and cracks. 

"Yeah, besides that," Toby returned, casting him an amused look. "You need
your joints oiled, or something?" 

Chris gave him a sour look. "I need to roll the calendar back about ten
years." Damn, getting old was really gonna suck, wasn't it? 

"Umm hmm, you're so ancient and decrepit now," Toby said, still smiling.
He pressed a kiss to Chris' shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with you that
sleeping on a good mattress wouldn't fix." 

Which wasn't a remotely realistic prospect, of course. That was just more
of Toby's 'Wait Until We're Out Of Oz' daydream. His pretty balloon was
going to get popped soon enough, but Chris didn't have the heart to be the
one who did it, not when Toby was looking so bright and shiny today. Chris
wished he could have a picture of him like this, something to tuck away so
he'd never forget what Toby looked like. Not that he ever could; he was
pretty sure everything about Toby was permanently stamped on his heart,
indelible as any tat. But, still, it would be nice to have a little
something of him to hold onto when he was gone. 

Toby was looking at him funny now, like he was seeing too much, and Chris
flashed him a quick smile, turning away and pulling on a pair of jeans
before going out to fall in line beside Rebadow as Mineo started calling
Count. 

Joining him, Toby leaned close to whisper, "So what are your plans for
today?" 

Huh? Chris looked at him, wondering what the fuck was spinning in his head
now. "My plans?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Gee, I don't know, I'll have to check my schedule." Chris shook his head.
"What the fuck's with you?" 

Toby just grinned. "Just make sure you've got the evening cleared." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll make a point of that." Chris gave him another suspicious
look. "You know, sometimes you still act nuttier than a Mars Bar." 

Toby's grin just got a little brighter; even Mineo's glower couldn't dim
it as the hack called their numbers and fixed them with a dirty look. 
Sister Pete watched Chris fiddle with a pen as he gazed off into space
again no, not space, she realized, turning and following his gaze to the
crucified Christ on the wall of her office. "These sessions work better if
someone actually says something," she prompted after another long moment. 

He shrugged, sitting back in the chair. "Like what?" 

"Like what has you so preoccupied?" He seemed more pensive than usual,
guarded, but she kept getting the impression he had something he wanted to
talk about; it was just taking him awhile to get there. "Is it something
to do with Tobias?" 

He gave her a little lopsided smile. "Kind of." 

"Are you having problems?" So far as she knew they had been getting along
very well; Tobias had been almost annoyingly cheerful lately, in fact. 

Chris shook his head. "No, we're fine." 

Sister Pete looked over the rims of her glasses at him. "Chris, I'm not a
psychic nun-" 

He smiled at that. 

"-if you have something to say, say it." 

"Do you believe in hell, Sister?" he asked, looking very serious now, and
taking her by surprise. 

"I don't know," she told him. 

"But you believe in heaven." 

"Yes." 

Chris leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk. "How come?" 

Even though he had been on his best behavior these past months, with no
hint of repeating his previous behavior, Sister Pete couldn't help the
flare of suspicion that hit her whenever he seemed to be getting too
personal. "How come what?" 

"Why do you believe there's anything more to life than this? We live and
die and what's the point of any of it?" 

"Because that's all that makes the tragedy and misery bearable," she told
him. And sometimes it was just barely enough. "Is this about your near
death experience?" One of the many things she knew she had to atone for
was turning him away back then, being so eaten up with spite and fear that
she had ignored his pleas for help. 

"Yeah, kinda, I guess." 

"You know, Chris, a lot of doctors think those are just some chemical
reaction that occurs in the brain." 

His mouth quirked with a wry smile. "Sister, I've had chemical reactions
in my brain this wasn't like that." 

She couldn't help smiling back. With a rueful shake of her head she asked,
"You really think you went to hell? 

He nodded. 

"And that you're going back?" 

"Maybe. I'm thinking maybe this is it, though, being stuck in Oz for the
rest of my life." 

Ah, Sister Pete thought she was getting a glimmer of insight now.
"Especially when Tobias isn't here anymore?" 

He looked across at her, the sadness in his eyes almost too much to take
for a moment before he quickly looked away. "Yeah," he said, very quietly.


And what could she tell him? She knew Tobias and his father were working
to get Chris' conviction appealed; she felt pretty sure Tobias had
promised Chris that he would stay in touch if he got paroled, that Chris
would not be forgotten and she could see that Chris didn't believe a word
of it. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe that was just too much of a leap of faith
for him to take. 

"Would you want Tobias to stay here with you, Chris?" she asked, watching
him think that over. It would have been gratifying if he immediately
answered 'No' to that, but there was probably more honesty in his taking
some time about it. 

"No," he finally said, reluctance coloring his voice. "He never should've
been here in the first place. But..." He bit his lip, arms folded over his
chest, eyeing her warily. "But I think about him being gone sometimes,
and..." He looked away again, unable to go on. 

Sister Pete sighed, regretting that because of the way things had played
out before, because of the way that had tainted everything, the only
comfort she could offer him was words and she couldn't even be sure which
ones he most needed to hear. "And it hurts," she finished for him. 

He glanced at her quickly, then away again, nodding. 

"Can you talk to Tobias about this?" 

"No." 

Sister Pete leaned forward, curious. "Why not?" 

"Because... He doesn't want to hear it. He keeps pretending everything's
going to have a happy ending." 

"I see. And you're absolutely positive there can't be one?" 

Chris looked at her then, his expression guarded once more. "Sister, I'm
where I belong, where I've always belonged. The things I've done..." He
faltered for a moment. "See, that's what I mean," he went on, gaze going
to the Christ on her wall again. "Maybe this is my penance: to have to
give up Toby. That that's why I found him in the first place, here to know
what it's like to love someone, but have to lose it." 

"Chris..." Sister Pete hesitated a moment, then got up and came around to
him. "Chris," she touched his hand, "if God sent you here to find Tobias,
to find love, it wasn't meant to punish you." 

"Then why does it hurt?" he demanded, something almost childlike in his
manner. 

"Oh, Chris..." What could she say to him? "That's how we know the value of
our love, by the proportions of joy and pain it brings us. The only way to
not be hurt is not to love at all." And did that help at all, Sister Pete
wondered, or only sound like some clich platitude to him? "You have to
talk to Tobias about this, make him listen and understand. Have faith that
he will." 

And maybe she would have a word with him, too.	Uh oh. Toby couldn't miss
the rather severe look Sister Pete aimed at him as he walked in; he could
feel her looking at him as he sat down at the computer and turned it on.
After another moment he turned in his chair and looked over at her. "Is
something wrong?" 

"When was the last time you spoke to Chris?" she asked him, seemingly out
of the blue. 

"I-" 

"No, let me rephrase that: When was the last time you listened to him?" 

What the fuck? "We talk all the time, Sister Pete." 

"And when you talk all the time, Tobias, what does Chris say?" 

He frowned, beginning to not like the direction of this. "Is that really
any of your business?" 

"I'd like to think it isn't, that it won't be." 

"What exactly are we talking about?" Toby asked. 

"We're talking about you being self-absorbed again, and not paying
attention to anything but what you think is important." 

He sat back, totally broadsided by that. "Excuse me? And what is it you
think I'm not paying attention to because I'm all wrapped up in myself?"
Where the fuck did she get off with that? 

"Chris." 

Well now he really didn't know what was going on. "Sister Pete, if I paid
anymore attention to Chris-" 

"I'm not talking about that, Tobias. I'm talking about you being quiet for
once and letting someone else talk" 

"Is that what he was in here saying that I'm not letting him talk?" Toby
didn't know what to make of that, either. Chris had been a little moody
lately, but that wasn't anything unusual. Quickly reviewing everything in
his head, he couldn't pick out any particular incident that could have
Chris' nose that much out of joint. 

"He was in here saying a lot of things, things he doesn't think you want
to hear. I told him he was wrong about that, that he could trust you
listen and understand." She put her glasses on, giving him another stern
look. "I hope I wasn't wrong about that." 

Well...fuck. Toby turned back to the computer, glaring at the monitor.
Getting scolded by a nun because Chris was sulking over something was not
what he had in mind for today at all.  THE STAKE 3/? 

Well, it was about time, Toby thought as he finally ran Chris to ground in
the library. He hovered just inside the door, not sure what he was going
to say, especially when he had no idea what was even wrong. For the life
of him Toby could not think what could be troubling Chris, as far as knew
things had never been better between them, and he didn't know what upset
him more: that Chris was keeping something from him, or that he had
confided it to Sister Pete. Weren't they supposed to be past all that? 

"Chris," he said, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him, "is there
something you want to tell me?" 

Chris looked up from his book, apparently baffled by Toby's question.
"Like what?" 

"You tell me. Sister Pete seems to think you've got something on your
mind." 

Chris frowned, shifted in his chair. "She shouldn't have said anything to
you," he replied, looking back at his book. 

Toby reached over, laying his hand on Chris' wrist. "If something's
bothering you, Chris, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we'll deal with
it." 

"There's nothing to deal with," Chris said mildly too mildly. "Sister Pete
got it wrong." 

"Well, you must have said something to make her think-" 

"Toby," Chris' sigh sounded a little frustrated, "can't you just let it
be?" 

Sitting back, watching him, Toby was starting to feel a little frustrated
himself. "She seems to think there's something going on with you that I
haven't noticed. What is it?" 

Chris sighed again, a really exasperated exhalation this time. "And I said
it's not important. Just leave it alone." 

"There must be something." 

"Toby for Christ's sake, how many fucking times do I have to say there is
no fucking problem?" Chris demanded, glaring across the table at him, his
raised voice drawing the attention of others in the room including Vern
and his new constant shadow, Roger. 

The last thing Toby wanted to do was put on a show for those two, and he
whispered, "Keep your voice down." 

Something flashed in Chris' eyes as he fired back, "Yeah, 'cause we
wouldn't wanna cause a scene, would we?" 

There wouldn't be a scene, Toby thought, if Chris would just say what was
on his mind instead of playing these goddamn games. "Chris," he huffed,
"will you just tell me what's wrong? Whatever it is, we'll fix it." 

As if that had flipped some switch, Chris snapped his book shut and shoved
it across the table at him. "You can't fucking fix everything, Beecher.
Will you just fuck off for awhile?" 

Stunned, Toby stared back at him, flabbergasted -- and he definitely did
not need Vern calling over: 

"Not having a lover's spat over there, are you, Tobias, Christopher? I
sure would hate to see that." 

Ignoring him, Toby leaned towards Chris, urgently whispering, "Look, let's
get out here, go somewhere we can talk in private." 

"For fuck's sake, Beecher," Chris sounded and looked like he was about at
wits' end, "there is nothing to talk about. Just let me alone for awhile,"
he added, getting up and walking out of the library. 

Toby hurried to catch up to him, trailing right on his heels and suddenly
getting hit with a horrible sense of dj vu as memories came flooding back,
of the last time a scene like this had played out between them, with Chris
shutting him out as he desperately tried to get his attention. But that
was a whole other lifetime ago, he told himself, and they had come so far
since then; this couldn't possibly play out the same way. "Chris," he
caught the other man's arm, stopping him, "just talk to me, please. If
I've said something or done something-" 

"Toby, all you fucking do is say this and do that and I wish to Christ
you'd just fucking stop!" 

"Stop what?" Toby pleaded, all too aware they were stopped in the middle
of the common area, with everyone watching. "Just please tell me what this
is about." 

"It's about you never leaving anything alone, Toby! It's about you living
in some fucking fantasy world!" 

"Gentlemen," Murphy interrupted, "is there a problem?" 

"No," Toby said, glancing at him. "No," he looked back at Chris, anxious
to keep this from escalating any further, "we're just having a
discussion." 

"Well how about you have your discussion at a lower volume?" Murphy firmly
suggested. 

Nodding, Toby tried to tug Chris over to their pod, feeling only
moderately relieved that Chris acquiesced. With the door closed behind
them, Toby put his hands on Chris' broad shoulders, gently rubbing and
squeezing, trying to sooth away the tension he could feel thrumming
through the powerful body. "All right," he said, keeping his voice soft,
calm, "whatever this is, Chris, we can work it out. But you have to tell
me you know there's nothing you can't tell me." 

Chris gave him a sort of despairing look before pulling away and pacing
over to the pod door, leaning there. "Toby, I've told you a hundred times,
but you never fucking listen to me." 

"Then tell me again, this time I promise I will," Toby said, forcing
himself to stay put when every instinct was telling him to wrap himself
around Chris before he bolted. 

And didn't it just stand to reason, he found himself thinking, that the
moment you'd stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop that's when it
came crashing down.  Chris watched Toby warily, wanting to believe this
time would be different and Sister Pete was right about him being able to
trust Toby to listen and understand. He didn't want to him fight him; he
sure as hell didn't want to hurt him. Chris hated seeing that desperate,
wounded look back in Toby's eyes, especially when he'd been so happy just
this morning. Walking over to his bunk, Chris sat down there, thinking he
probably shouldn't have said anything to Sister Pete. He should have just
gone on keeping everything to himself like he'd always done. They had so
little time left together, he was certain of that; it was stupid to ruin
it by bitching about things Toby couldn't help. 

He looked over at the other man, wondering what he should say. Maybe he
could make something up, something that had nothing to do with Toby? Chris
had a feeling, though, that too much had already been said for Toby to buy
that. 

"Chris...?" Toby crouched down before him, putting his hands on Chris'
knees, looking at him so earnestly. 

He took a deep breath, released it. "Toby... Look, I know you mean well
and maybe you even believe it, but," he paused, gathering his thoughts,
"but all this talk about how we're going to be together, have a life
outside of Oz it's making me nuts, Toby." 

Toby rocked back on his heels, looking bewildered. "That's it?" he said,
like it wasn't nearly enough. He blew out his cheeks, looking relieved.
"Geez, you had me scared out of my wits for a minute, Chris." Getting to
his feet, running a hand back through his hair, he looked at Chris with a
crooked smile. "Don't do that again, huh?" 

Chris leaned forward, looking at the floor, shaking his head. "Yeah, I
won't," he said quietly. It was better this way, he knew that, it was
just... He bit his lip, sighed. "Look, I gotta..." What? "go work on my
GED." There, that should keep Toby out of his hair for awhile, long enough
for him to shove this all back down again. 

This time he'd keep it there. It wasn't going to kill him to keep playing
along with Toby's wishful thinking. That might even be part of the
penance, to be able to imagine what could have been with him and Toby, if
only he hadn't fucked up everything in his life.  Toby watched Chris walk
out of the pod, heading for the computer room, feeling relieved and
exhausted. And...still a little bit worried. There was something about
Chris, something like an air of defeat, that made him wonder if that
really was all there was to it, that he'd been getting on Chris' nerves a
little bit. 

But what else could it be? Toby wondered, dropping down on Chris' bunk,
his sense of relief already evaporating and leaving him with an uneasy
feeling in its place.  THE STAKE 4/? 

Leaving Tim McManus' office, Sister Pete paused, seeing Chris in the
computer room and wondering if he'd spoken to Tobias yet about what was
troubling him. She told the CO escorting her to wait outside then stepped
into the room, closing the door after her shaking her head as she saw
Chris was just gazing at a blank monitor. "You know, I hear those work
better if you actually turn them on." 

He started, looking around at her and not with a very welcoming look on
his face. "Did you want something?" His tone of voice was a little cold
and distant, too. 

Frowning, Sister Pete walked over to him, hoping this sudden pique wasn't
because he had spoken to Tobias and things hadn't gone well. "I just
wondered if you've talked with Tobias yet, about what we discussed." 

The look he turned on her then almost made her back up a few steps. She
had never seen him look quite that angry, sharply and abruptly reminding
her that this was a very dangerous man. "Chris-" 

"Yeah, I've talked to Tobias," he interrupted, sounding a little bitter.
"And where the hell do you get off yapping to him anyway?" he demanded. "I
thought what I said to you in a session was supposed to be confidential." 

"It is, Chris," she said, standing her ground. "I only suggested to Tobias
that you might have something on your mind; I never told him the nature of
your concerns." 

"Yeah, well, you had no business telling him anything." 

"I was only trying to help; I'm concerned about both of you." 

He threw her a cynical look now. "Concerned? And why, exactly, is what
goes on between me and Toby anything for you to be concerned about? You're
not our mother, and you're not our relationship counselor." 

"You made it my business, Chris," she reminded him. "You're the one who
got me involved in the first place." 

"Yeah and who let that happen, Sister?" he shot right back. "Like you
said, it takes two to swing dance. If you hadn't liked what I was doing
you should have slapped me right down." A knowing smirk twisted his mouth
as he looked at her. "Only you and me both know you did like it, don't we,
Sister?" he asked, gliding into seductive mode as easily as Sister Pete
would change shoes. 

He was trying to manipulate her again, she knew that in her bones and the
worst of it was, it was working. "I'm not going to play games with you,
Chris-" 

"No?" The smirk was gone; this smile was the one meant to draw you to him
like the proverbial moth to a flame, matched by the silky voice. "Bet I
could think of some of games you'd like to play, Sister." 

"Chris, I know what you're doing," she told him, refusing to even
acknowledge the little flutter of anticipation in her stomach. 

"So how come you're standing there letting me do it?" he asked, not
letting up, letting his gaze slowly travel over her. "You trust me again?
Is that it? I'm back in your good graces?" 

"I have to trust you if I'm going to have any success treating you,
Chris," she said, angry at the triumphant little flash in his eyes as she
backed away from him. 

"That trust," he said, "it's supposed to run both ways, right?" 

"Yes." 

As if he'd flipped a switch he was back to being cold, withdrawn. "Well,
that's sort of the dilemma, then 'cause I don't trust you anymore." 

That's what this was all about? He felt she had betrayed his confidence,
and this was his form of payback? "Chris, it wasn't like that." 

The look he turned on her now was the frostiest she had ever seen from
him. "It was exactly like that, Sister. You think I go around telling
stuff like to just anyone? You think it's easy for me? I wasn't lying when
I said I liked being in the same room with you only I don't anymore,
'cause you're just like everyone else that's ever fucked with me." 

As much as Sister Pete wanted to say he was wrong, she knew she couldn't;
the last thing he needed was someone the latest in a long line of
someones? telling him what he felt wasn't real, wasn't justified. Not to
mention, she very grudgingly admitted, that he might have a very valid
point. Where was her objectivity, any claim to professionalism in her
dealings with either Chris or Tobias? 

"We'll talk about this again, Chris, when you're ready." 

"Which'll be never," he informed her, turning back to the computer and
turning it on this time. 

Conceding defeat, for the moment, Sister Pete withdrew as gracefully as
possible, wondering why her good intentions were always backfiring when it
came to these two men.	Staring at the monitor, Chris sighed. Well, that
was just great, wasn't it? On top of everything else, he'd just told a nun
to go fuck herself. 

This day just kept getting better and better.  Digging through the
footlocker he shared with Chris, Toby located his improvised Valentine to
Chris. He would have liked to be able to give him a real card, but if this
didn't quite live up to Hallmark standards he hoped Chris would appreciate
the gesture. And that he wouldn't think Toby was being too sappy for
words. 

He just wanted to do something nice for Chris, to make up for all the
times he'd kind of missed the boat there. And it still irked him sometimes
that he had to thank a fathead like Roger Elkins for making him aware of
his shortcomings in the romance department. This might be a pretty
incongruous setting for that, but it was all they had at the moment, and
Toby had made up his mind to mark this day somehow. Poetry had seemed
inspired at the time, especially since he had been known to be a little
injudicious with his remarks to Chris. It had taken awhile, but he had
finally found a small selection of verse that said what he wanted to only
so much better. 

Unfolding the sheaf of paper, he read the first one, by Dorothy Parker,
hoping it would strike the right, self-deprecating tone: 

Into love and out again,
 Thus I went and thus I go.
 Spare your voice and hold your pen:
 Well and bitterly I know
 All the songs were ever sung,
 All the words were ever said;
 Could it be when I was young,
 Someone dropped me on my head? 

If that one did go a little bit amiss, Chris would surely like the next
one, Toby thought, reading it again: 

Born of my voiceless time, your steps
 Slowly, ecstatically advance:
 Toward my expectation's bed
 They move in a hushed, ice-clean trance. 

Pure being, shadow-shape divine-
 Your step deliberate, how sweet! 
 God!-ever y gift I have imagined
 Comes to me on those naked feet. 

If so it be your offered mouth
 Is shaped already to appease
 That which occupied my thought
 With the live substance of a kiss, 

Oh hasten not this loving act,
 Rapture where self and not-self meet:
 My life has been the awaiting of you.
 Your footfall was my own heart's beat. 

God knew when Toby had found this one, memories of their first night
together had come flooding back on the spot. 'My life has been the
awaiting of you...' It had to speak to Chris, too. Didn't it? 

He sat on Chris' bunk, suddenly afraid this was going to be worse than
sappy. What if Chris hated poetry? He didn't exactly come across as the 'A
book of verses underneath the bough...' type, after all. Or was that some
residual whiff of class prejudice peeking out, assuming that since Chris
hadn't even finished high school, much less gone to Harvard, he couldn't
possibly have any appreciation for poetry? 

Fuck. If it wasn't for the sweet little glow he got in his belly when
Chris just looked at him, or the comfort of waking up to warm, welcoming
arms when some nightmare was tormenting him, or any of the hundred times
during the day that Toby felt renewed and strengthened just because Chris
loved him, he'd have to conclude this being in love stuff could really
suck sometimes. If it wasn't real, though, he knew he wouldn't be able to
tie himself up in knots like this at a moment's notice. 

He looked at the next poem, one by Edna St. Vincent Millay, its lines
declaring everything he wanted to say to Chris about what this love of
theirs meant to him, and how he would never let it go: 

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against
the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and
rise and sink again; Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor
clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making
friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be
that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or
nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to sell your
love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for bread. It well may
be. I do not think I would. 

No, he was not going to second-guess himself into ripping these up and
flushing them down the toilet. He was going to have faith in Chris. 

For once. 

Gathering the rest of the sheets together, he folded them all neatly and
stuffed them in the plain white envelope, Chris' name written across it,
and carefully tucked it under Chris' pillow. Now he just had to make sure
Chris didn't find it too soon before lights out.  THE STAKE 5/? 

Chris tried not to sigh as he felt Toby watching him again. He was glad it
wasn't too much longer until lights out, though; maybe they could at least
end this day on a better note. That was assuming Toby didn't have another
surprise to spring on him. He'd sure had that buzz about about him all
day, like he was up to something and couldn't wait for Chris to find out
about it. That seldom boded well, Chris had found. 

Useless to wish Toby would knock it off, of course. Toby had the best
intentions, Chris knew that, and anybody who wasn't a fucked up asshole
would probably be able to appreciate them. That did sort of leave Chris
out of the picture, though. God knew Bonnie'd gotten on his case about it
as much as Toby. And he didn't even mean to be a pain in the ass, he just
couldn't seem to help it; anybody doing something nice for him,
complimenting him for anything but his body and how good he was in bed --
it just threw him, he had trouble registering it and believing it could be
true. He couldn't help but think there was something more behind the
words, something that was going to come up and smack him if he was ever
dumb enough to really believe it. Chris shook that train of thought off,
knowing where it would lead and not really wanting to revisit that
territory. 

Anyway, didn't they say it was better to give than receive? Although even
that was difficult for him and most times he'd talked himself out of
giving someone a present because of thinking nobody'd want anything from
him. He didn't like remembering how easy Bonnie had been to please; fuck,
sometimes she'd acted like he was treating her if got off his ass to take
out the garbage. Why she'd married him twice beat the fuck out of him.
Least she was happy now with Jimmy Luttrell, even had some kids, something
he'd never wanted to give her or any of the girls. Maybe he could chalk
that up as some kind of accomplishment, that he'd at least had the good
sense to never risk bringing another Christopher Keller into the world?
That ought to count for something. 

Seeing Toby get up and go the door, looking out at the clock, Chris felt
his stomach knotting up. Fuck, Toby was waiting for just the right time
for...well, something that didn't require the cover of darkness. Chris
could tell that much from the look Toby gave him now, that 'I've got
something for you' one. 

Well, how bad could it be?  "Why don't you check under your pillow?" Toby
suggested, unable to stand the suspense any longer. 

"Under my pillow?" Chris looked over at him, obviously thinking a few of
Toby's marbles had made a run for it. For once he appeared willing to just
get with the program, however, shifting around and digging under his
pillow and bringing out the envelope. "What is it?" 

"Well, you could always open it and find out," Toby said, trying to sound
like it wasn't any big deal. 

Chris gave him another skeptical look, but then slipped his thumb under
the flap and popped it, shaking out the contents. Assuming he had been
expecting anything at all this clearly had not been among the
possibilities considered to judge by the 'So what the hell is this?' look
he aimed at Toby. He gave a little shrug, though, and picked up the note
Toby had enclosed. 

Toby didn't want to stare, didn't want to give the impression this
mattered too much, but he couldn't help thinking some little reaction
would have been nice. He could feel his spirits sinking as he watched
Chris sort through each sheet, reading the words with slightly less
interest than if reading a shopping list. When he was done, Chris folded
them all up again, stuffed them back in the envelope and got up to put it
away in their locker. Then he went to the sink, reached for his toothbrush
and started brushing his teeth. 

Toby tried not to feel too disappointed. What had he expected, after all,
for Chris to get all dewey-eyed and make some flowery declaration of his
own? Some kind of acknowledgement, just a nod or a smile or...something
wouldn't have killed him, would it? 

And that feeling returned, that despite Chris assuring him they were okay,
there was something wrong. What had he said? 'All this talk about how
we're going to be together, have a life outside of Oz, it's making me
nuts, Toby.' Watching his lover, Toby wondered if Chris had meant
something very different from what he'd heard. That Chris wasn't just
exasperated with Toby's constant chattering about what their lives would
be like, but worn out and frustrated by it all. 'It's about you never
leaving anything alone, Toby. It's about you living in some fucking
fantasy world.' 

Well, but, what the hell was he supposed to do? Act like what he had with
Chris was nothing important? Make all of Chris' gloomy predictions come
true by walking out of here one day and leaving everything behind him --
including Chris? Toby couldn't help the resentful look he sent Chris then,
part of him wanting to confront him and demand to know if that would
really make him happy, would he savor the satisfaction of being proved
right if Toby walked away and never looked back? 

Catching the look, Chris frowned back at him, looking like he might say
something, but then he just shook his head and stretched out on his bunk
again, picking up his book. Toby sighed, wondering how they had gotten to
this point -- from him teasing Chris about reading ('You know, if you want
to read in the pod I promise no one will ever learn the deep, dark secret
that you actually like books. Cross my heart.') to not being able to talk
about anything because it might push the wrong buttons or something.
Obviously Chris was only humoring him, laboring under some idea that he
had to pretend to go along with what Toby wanted or...? What? Or Toby
would stop loving him? 

With a sigh he got up to brush his teeth, wishing he had some better guide
to how to handle all of this than his relationship with Gen. And how many
paralells would he find there if he searched long enough? he wondered,
looking at his reflection in the mirror. Had Gen felt pressured and
frustrated by all his good intentions? And didn't they say that's what the
road to hell was paved with? 

Fuck, all he'd wanted was for Chris to have a happy Valentine's Day. And,
okay, maybe that wasn't a particularly big deal with another guy. How the
hell was he supposed to know that? He'd never been in love with another
man before this, he didn't know all the fucking protocol. Not like Chris?
he found himself thinking, turning to look at the other man. They had
eventually talked about a lot of things, trying to learn to spot those hot
button topics and deal with them in a more constructive fashion -- that's
what had lulled him into thinking everything was so much better between
them; as good as they could be given where they were. One thing they had
never gotten back around to, however, was Toby's accusation that Chris had
been lying when he'd said he hadn't felt like this with any other man. 

With one regretful look at Chris, thinking that spending the night in
their separate bunks was not at all how he had envisioned tonight, Toby
climbed up to his bed to wait for lights out. Stretched out there, he
thought about why he'd never asked Chris that question again. As with so
much in this relationship, it was a jumble of things. Part of it was sheer
green-eyed jealousy that anyone but Tobias Beecher could make Chris desire
him -- and at least he knew where that came from. He didn't want to be
alone in this unexpected turnabout. He wanted Chris to tell him, 'No,
baby, until I saw you, I'd never wanted another man.' And that was tied up
with their shared experience of Vern: they were both supposed to be
turning to each other, finding healing in each other's arms, from the
brutality they had each experieinced at Vern's hands. That part of the
equation didn't quite work, though, did it, if Chris had gone on to love
other men after his time in Lardner. 

Maybe Chris was right and he was living in some ludicrous fantasy world,
seeing them as soulmates, rescuing each other from the evil Schillinger,
and...he didn't know, riding off together into the sunset on Chris'
motorcycle. What the hell was so wrong with wanting a fucking happy ending
for them? Why did that have to be so impossible? 

And why the hell did he have to fall in love with someone who wouldn't
know a happy ending if it walked up and bit him in the ass? Toby shifted
around, trying to get more comfortable, and groping under his pillow to
see what the hell was making that big lump. Maybe Chris had seen Romeo and
Juliet at an impressionable age and been scarred for life? Toby thought,
glaring at the CD Walkman he'd extracted from beneath the pillow. 

Chris had probably stuck in there sometime in the day -- and left a CD in
it, as usual. He was always doing that. Toby guessed that was another
strike against them achieving domestic bliss, that Chris seemed incapable
of putting anything back where he'd found it. 

Thinking music might drive off the thoughts in his head, Toby slipped the
headphones on and hit the play button -- quickly turning the volume down
as first strains of "Swingtown" started. He didn't care for that one, but
the next track, "Jungle Love," was pretty good, and even feeling pissed
off he couldn't help wondering how that would be, if he and Chris could be
alone in some tropical paradise, making love 'In the surf/In the pouring
rain/Everything's better when wet.' No doubt Chris would consider that
another pointless pipe dream, but Toby couldn't help liking the images his
brain insisted on conjuring up all the same. 

He could imagine the next track, "Take The Money And Run," was one of
Chris' favorite; Toby liked the next one, "Rock N' Me," a lot better. The
next one -- what was it? He checked the CD case (also stuffed under the
pillow) -- "Serenade," was kind of boring, though. "True Fine Love" was
better -- 'So come on get your rocks off/I'm gonna knock your socks
off/You'll see/Oh yeah/So come on pretty baby/We're gonna raise a family.'
Yeah, that was a pretty appealing image, too. Why was he the only one who
wanted that for them? Why was Chris so afraid to even let himself wish for
it? Toby sighed, suspecting that if he ever figured that one out he would
finally have arrived at the core of what had his lover so fucked up about
everything; why he wouldn't let himself hope and dream about anything.
Toby thought he'd give anything to change that, but he just didn't know
where to even begin and suspected it couldn't even start to happen unless
Chris wanted it to. Nobody could have gotten him to stop drinking, after
all; he'd barely even acknowledged there was any kind of problem. No, it
had taken killing Cathy Rockwell and landing here in Oz to wake him up to
the mess his life had become. Toby didn't even want to think about what
might still need to happen to Chris to shake him up in a similar fashion. 

Trying to concentrate on the music again, Toby was really caught by the
next track -- what was it, "The Stake?" The lyrics weren't much, although
he liked that one line, 'Nobody loves you like the way I do,' but the beat
was great, perfect for a slow, sexy bump-and-grind dance, and once again
he couldn't help it that his brain instantly supplied images of himself
and Chris pressed together as close as was humanly possibly, moving in
time to the music. That was assuming Chris danced; that was assuming he
wouldn't declare that was one more goofy thing Toby wanted to do -- oh,
but so long as it kept Toby happy and loving him Chris would go along with
it, because everybody knew if Toby didn't get what he wanted the first
thing he did was stop loving Chris. 

Fuck. Hitting the stop button even as the lights finally went out, Toby
shoved the Walkman back under the pillow and rolled over on his side.
After another moment he called down, softly, "Good night." 

Silence, of course. 

Yeah, and happy fucking Valentine's Day to you, too, he thought, rolling
over on his other side and closing his eyes.  Quietly slipping out of bed,
Chris paused to look at Toby, checking to make sure he was asleep. He knew
he'd made him angry, made hurt him, even, earlier, but he'd just been
caught off guard by Toby's letter and those poems. How was he supposed to
respond to something like that? He wasn't even sure he believed it, after
all. 

Here and now, yeah, Toby probably meant it, but -- Chris couldn't help
reaching to softly stroke the other man's soft, golden hair -- it was just
more of a leap of faith than he felt he could take, really believing it
would always be true. And he didn't know how to explain that to Toby, not
when he barely understood the reasons himself. 

Very carefully, Chris opened the locker again and took out the envelope,
carrying it over to the door and looking around to make sure no hack was
around. He didn't know why there should be anything wrong with him wanting
to read a letter in the middle of the night but he'd bet Mineo or one of
the others would still make an issue of it. The coast was clear, though,
and he slipped the letter out, turning the single sheet of paper to catch
the little bit of light streaming in, not that he didn't already remember
what it said: 

Dear Chris, 

It's funny, I've just spent five minutes looking at that -- 'Dear Chris'
-- and wondering if that's the appropriate way to address you. Want to
know my answer? Well, given you are very dear to me, it's hard to see why
there's a problem. 

That's the reason for this and the poems. I keep wondering about the right
thing to say to you, and remembering all the times when the words that
came out of my mouth were, well, pretty awful. It's hard to put what I
feel for you into words, it's...so much, so much more than I ever knew I
could experience. 

That story I told you -- our bedtime story, remember? That was how I felt
back then, that I was all alone, lost in this hell on earth. Then you came
into my life, and I don't care how it started, or what brought you to me,
you did pull me out of that. You made me feel again, laugh again -- love
again. I owe you my life, I owe you my sanity -- such as it may be. 

Maybe you'll think this is sappy beyond words. I don't know. I hope you'll
believe the words, though. I do love you -- and if I have to say that a
hundred times a day for the next fifty years until you believe me, I'll do
it. And be eternally thankful for the opportunity. 

Happy Valentine's Day,
 Toby 

Chris wished he could believe it, but it was just too hard. It was real
sweet of Toby to make this effort, though, and he hoped when Toby got out
of here he'd find some nice girl who'd be able to appreciate things like
this. 

Hearing a rustle from the bunks, he looked over there, feeling like he'd
been caught out at something as he met Toby's sleep-muzzy eyes. "Chris?
What're you doing?" Toby asked, sitting up, rubbing his face. 

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." 

Toby dropped to the floor instead, coming over to him, reaching for the
paper and envelope, looking at it them and Chris with a puzzled expression
on his sweet face. "I don't understand you." 

"I know." 

Toby's mouth quirked with a little smile and he reached over to touch
Chris' face, gentle fingertips tracing his cheek. "I want to. Why won't
you let me?" 

Chris wished he had an answer for him.	THE STAKE 6/? 

"Talk to me." 

Those were not Chris' three favorite words, he'd never known anything good
to come of them. At least all the other people who had ever spoken them to
him had eventually given up and let him be. He could make Toby stop, of
course: make him angry enough, hurt him enough to chase him away once and
for all. Nothing short of that was going to do it, though, and Chris just
didn't have the energy for it tonight. 

"'Bout what?" he said, stalling for time even so. He would be more than
content to stay just like this, the two of them stretched out on his bunk,
holding each other. He felt Toby's fingers stroking his hair, that slight
touch soothing and grounding him. 

"Chris -- come on," Toby urged quietly. 

"I..." He hesitated, took a breath. "I told Sister Pete that I think, " oh
geez, was he really going to say this? "that I have to give you up, lose
you, that it's my penance." The instant the words left his mouth he wanted
to call them back. Toby wasn't going to understand what he meant. 

And Chris really didn't appreciate Toby laughing at him. Just a soft
little ironic laugh, but even so... 

Toby tightened his grip before Chris could squirm away. "Shh, shh," he
held Chris still, breath soft and warm against his cheek. "I'm not
laughing at you, baby, I promise." He rubbed Chris' back, slow, circular
motions. "It's us, both of us beating ourselves up over everything, even
the way we love each other. I don't know about you but I'm for us finding
something else to have in common. 

"Fuck. Chris did pull away then, rolling over on his back and staring at
the bedsprings above. "Toby, I'm serious." 

Toby propped himself on an elbow, looking at him. "I'm sorry." He leaned
down, pressing a kiss to Chris' chest, right over his heart. "I know this
is important to you, Chris. Tell me -- I'm listening." 

Still Chris hesitated. "It's kinda complicated." 

Toby's smile was rueful. "I sort of figured it would be," he said, gently
rubbing his stomach in those slow, circular motions now. 

"That feels good." 

"Umm hmm. Quit stalling." 

Chris sighed. "You wanna know how come I'm such an asshole about special
occasions, right?" 

"Among other things. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable when I make a
fuss about those things. I don't mean to upset you." 

"I know that, Toby. It's just..." He bit his lip. "Birthdays and all that
shit, those were big deals for you, when you were growing up? Your folks
made a big fuss over that, over everything you did?" 

"Well, not everything, but yeah, I guess." 

"That must've been nice." 

"Chris..." Toby sounded like he was beginning to suspect this wasn't going
to be real pretty. 

"When I was...I dunno, seven?...I heard my mom telling my dad maybe they
should do something to celebrate my birthday." Funny how most of his
childhood was one big blank except for these few moments that stood out so
starkly. It always surprised him when anyone could remember their
childhood in vivid detail, and how what they remembered was mostly good
stuff. That had just been one more thing to make him feel like he didn't
fit in. Not that it mattered, not anymore; and Toby wouldn't want to know
about that. He probably didn't want to know about this, either, but Chris
knew he couldn't just stop there. "I guess one of the neighbors had said
something to her and that's why she brought it up. Anyway, my dad told her
why would they want to celebrate the worst thing that ever happened to
them, and that was that." He didn't think he'd actually understood what
his father actually meant at the time, but he'd gotten the gist of it all
the same. Like that one Christmas, before his mom died, when the two of
them had gone all out for some reason; probably they'd come into a little
bit of money. That was another stupid memory: sitting on the stairs and
looking through the railings at the Christmas tree down there, all lit up
and dazzling his eyes, watching his folks open the presents they'd gotten
each other. Nothing for him, of course, his father had already made sure
he understood that. He'd had to creep down anyway, just to look at the
tree, just to watch them and pretend like he was included so he could tell
the other kids something when he went back to school. 

"Chris--" 

"I mean, it's no big deal," he quickly told Toby. "It's just, you know, if
you never get in the habit of doing stuff it's kinda hard to get the hang
of it later on." There, now maybe Toby would let it rest. 

Toby stroked his forehead, looking at him all worried and concerned, and
Chris felt his stomach knotting up as he realized Toby wasn't even close
to letting it go. "Chris, why would your father have said something so
horrible? Can you tell me?" 

God, he did not want to do this. "Can't you just let it alone, Toby?" He
closed his eyes, almost hurting as Toby leaned close and kissed his lips. 

"I'm sorry, but... Chris, you can't tell me something like that and expect
it to explain everything." 

"Why not?" 

"Chris..." Toby kissed him again, cradling his head. "Whatever they did to
you, they can't hurt you now. There's no one here but me." He stroked
Chris' hair again, soft, slow touches. "Tell me." 

Could he? Just a little of it, maybe? "I told you my mom died when I was
ten, right?" he said, carefully venturing out on this limb. 

"Yes." 

He took a breath. "I was the one who found her. I was coming home from
school, she must've known I'd be the one who'd find her." Funny how he
could still see her on the couch there, sort of slumped like she'd fallen
asleep. "She was in her best black dress, the one she wore to church every
Sunday, with the pearls she said Grandmother had given her. The TV was
going. I thought she was just asleep and tried to wake her. There was an,
uh, open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and an empty pill bottle on
the floor, but I didn't know what that meant." He'd just known that Mama
was cold and wouldn't wake up and it scared him, so he ran next door for
help. "Did you know the Church won't let you be buried on consecrated
ground if you commit suicide? Father Mulroney wouldn't even come say any
words over her." He frowned, remembering standing there at the gravesite
-- just him and his dad, and Aunt Sarah; his grandparents hadn't even come
-- looking at the box down in that hole, and his dad smacking him when
he'd started to cry. 

"Dad told me it was my fault she'd died, that I'd fucked up both their
lives by ever getting born and it should've been me in that box. He'd
arranged for her to get an abortion when she told him he'd knocked her up,
but she couldn't go through with it in the end 'cause of being Catholic,
and they had to get married." What had his father told him? 'That's what
they call ironic, Christopher,' yeah, that was it. 'She couldn't get rid
of you because it would've been a sin, so now she'd burning in hell for
offing herself. All because of a worthless piece of shit like you.' 

Chris realized Toby had gotten awful quiet and felt a sinking sensation in
his belly. He'd said too much, stuff Toby didn't want to hear. "Toby? I'm
sorry. I mean, I know that's no excuse, that's got nothing to do with me
not treating you right." 

"Treating me right?" Toby said, sounding sort of bewildered as he pulled
away. "Jesus, Chris..." He slipped out of the bunk and paced over to the
pod door, bracing himself there, the muscles of his back standing out
through his t-shirt. "Jesus..." he whispered again. 

Chris watched him, feeling helpless, wanting to call back every word.
"Toby...?" He got up, too, wanting to go over to him but holding back. Why
was he always falling for that 'Talk to me and it'll be all right,'
bullshit? It never was. 

"That's why you've always been down on Genevieve, isn't it?" Toby said,
turning to face him. "Because she killed herself and the kids found her." 

Shit, he hadn't stopped to think about the memories that would rake up for
Toby. No wonder he was pissed off. "Yeah, I...guess. Toby, I'm sorry. I
just forgot about that. I know what happened to me wasn't anything to what
you and your kids have been through." 

"Chris -- shut up. Just shut up," Toby said, quickly crossing back to him
and pulling him close, holding him tight. "Don't do that, Chris," he
whispered, reaching up to cradle the back of his head. 

"Don't what?" Chris honestly did not understand and was really feeling
worn out by trying to keep up with Toby. "Toby, I'm not trying to...to
justify any--" 

"I said stop it," Toby practically hissed the words in his face, gripping
Chris' hair hard enough to hurt. "Stop apologizing. Stop -- stop devaluing
your life, your feelings." He pushed back from Chris then, holding him by
the shoulders, fingers digging in deep. Looking into his eyes, Toby
demanded, "You honestly think I am that shallow, that...that self-absorbed
that your pain means nothing? That you have to, to apologize to me because
you're hurting?" He shook Chris a little, not like he was angry, more like
he was frustrated out of his wits. Looking contrite he pulled Chris close
again, just holding him, pulling Chris' head down to his shoulder. "Just
tell me he's dead." 

"Who?" 

"Your sorry-ass excuse for a father." Toby's voice was quiet but Chris
could hear the anger in it, could feel the furious tension in the slim
body holding him. It was hard for him to process, though. Toby was this
angry -- on his behalf? 

"Yeah, he, umm, he died about ten years ago." 

"Good." Toby sounded way too satisfied. "I hope it was something slow and
painful." 

"Toby," Chris chastened him, raising his head, "that's--" 

"Vindictive as hell? Ask me if I give a fuck." Toby pushed back a little
now, looking at him so seriously. "Why do you?" he asked, brushing the
back of his hand along Chris' face. 

"He...was my father." That was all Chris knew to say. 

"Yeah, and you're supposed to honor your father and blood's thicker than
water. That's bullshit, Chris. Any parent who would tell a child, their
flesh and blood, something like that deserves to be -- I don't know, drawn
and quartered." 

Chris almost felt like he was seeing Toby for the first time, and he
wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "You sound like Bonnie." 

"You told her all this?"He shrugged. "Yeah. I...sorta had to after she met
him." Somehow he managed to pull up a rueful little smile. "She only
wanted to skin him alive." 

Toby smiled back a little. "I knew there was I reason I liked her." He
pulled Chris close again. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"For...making you dredge up poison like that. For you ever having to live
through it in the first place. For there not being someone to take you
away from it." He looked in Chris' eyes again, searching. "Didn't anyone
ever try to get you away from him? What about your Aunt Sarah? You said
she had you for awhile." 

"Yeah. She didn't want me, though. Least..." He frowned, shrugged. "I
don't know. Bonnie always said I'd got it wrong, about Aunt Sarah. Anyway,
it's--" 

"Chris, if the next words out of your mouth are anything like 'it's not
important,' I'm going to -- paint your toenails some night when you're
sleeping." 

Chris blinked. "What?" 

"You heard me," Toby stated firmly, looking back him with a stern defiance
that was a little at odds with the smile tugging at his mouth, and Chris
felt some of the tension bleed away. 

"You're nuts."" 

Yeah, that's pretty much moot at this point." Toby grasped Chris'
shoulders again, gently this time. "Come on," he said, drawing Chris down
on the lower bunk again. "Can I ask what happened to him?" he said after a
moment. "If you don't want to tell me--" 

"No, it's...okay." Chris shifted on his side, letting Toby hold him. "It
was AIDS." 

"How, umm...?" 

"Sharing needles, he said. I don't know. I hadn't seen much of him in
years, then I got a letter from him, saying he was in the hospital and
that wanted to see me." That memory was pretty vivid, too, walking into
the hospital ward and seeing this man, this man he remembered as so big
and strong, all wasted away to skin and bones, those lesions on his skin.
"He didn't say much. I thought...I thought maybe he wanted to tell me he
was sorry, ask me to forgive him. But he didn't say." 

"Did you forgive him anyway?" 

"Kind of. I don't know. The nurse there -- she looked at me like I was
scum 'cause I wouldn't touch him. She thought it was because I thought I'd
catch it. It wasn't, though." 

"What was it?" Toby asked softly, stroking his hair again."I...was afraid
he'd tell me not to. That...he'd reject me all over." He sighed. "I talked
to a priest once, when I landed in Lardner, asked him how come my life had
gotten so fucked up. All he told me was that it was all part of God's
plan. That's a hell of a thing, isn't it, Toby, getting told you're going
to be a stupid fuck-up all your life 'cause God wants it that way." 

"Oh, Chris..." Toby tried to pull him a little closer. "Yeah, that's a
hell of a thing." 

He was quiet for awhile then, and Chris hoped maybe that was finally
enough and they could just rest for awhile now. Just when he thought it
was safe to close his eyes, though, Toby said, "But I still don't
understand what you told Sister Pete. You think our love is God's way of
punishing you? Is that it?" 

Chris sighed again, suspecting this was going to be one of the longest
nights of his life.  THE STAKE - 7/?  

Toby could sense the weary resignation in Chris and was a hairsbreadth
from telling him never mind, it could wait for another time. On the other
hand he was afraid that if he didn't pursue this now, Chris would clam up
again and there wouldn't be another opportunity. As it was, he felt pretty
certain Chris was withholding a lot and Toby was sort of ashamed that he
was sort of grateful for that; the tip of that iceberg was hard enough to
take. So how much of a coward did that make him, he wondered, that he
could bearly stand to hear what Chris'd had to endure? 

He shifted a little, trying to hold Chris even closer, stroking his hair
and feeling Chris' breath warm against his skin. Chris' history didn't
exactly come as a surprise, of course. Far from simply knowing he and
Chris came from very different backgrounds, intuition had been telling
Toby for a long time that those differences went far beyond ephemeral
things like money and privilege. The anger, that sense of being worthless,
disposable that Chris carried around with him -- that had to spring from
something buried deep inside him, from seeds planted so long ago. Had
Toby's parents been ideal, his childhood idyllic? Well, of course not,
there was no such thing outside of old black and white TV sitcoms. Being a
deeply flawed parent himself had taught Toby that, and God alone knew what
the long term effects of his actions would be on Holly and Harry. As
guilty as he felt about that he could take some microscopic grain of
consolation in knowing none of it had been deliberate. That's what he
found so difficult to comprehend, how any parent could act with such
malice toward their child. He didn't for a minute believe the abuse had
stopped at words, either, although those probably had done the worst
damage, left wounds that still hadn't healed. 

It wasn't going to help the situation, Toby knew that, but all the same he
couldn't help picturing the little boy Chris had been once, not
understanding why his parents didn't love him; seeing him cringing away
from hands that reached out to inflict hurt, and thinking he deserved it
if Daddy hurt him. A little boy only wanting a hug, a kiss goodnight,
someone to keep the monsters away. What happened when the monster was your
own father, though? Toby looked away, out into the darkened common area,
tears stinging his eyes and a wave of grief almost suffocating him for a
moment as his imagination transformed that child Chris, hurt and lonely
and afraid, into Gary... 

"Toby?" Chris was looking at him, concerned. "Hey," he touched his face,
"what is it?" 

But Toby couldn't get any words out. He just shook his head, lips
compressed tightly, as he turned his face into Chris' shoulder. It only
made it worse to feel Chris stroking his hair, murmuring soothing words.
He didn't want this to become something about him, that wasn't fair to
Chris. "It's nothing," he managed to say after another moment. 

"Toby, come on," Chris ruged, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Toby exhaled a deep sigh against Chris' neck, sniffed, then raised his
head to look at him. He couldn't demand total honesty from Chris if he
wasn't willing to reciprocate, could he? "I was just thinking about how
anyone could hurt a child, and," his face started to crumple again,
"and...I couldn't help thinking about Gary." 

There was nothing but understanding in Chris' eyes as he gathered Toby in
his arms. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, pressing a soft kiss to Toby's
temple. 

"Don't be sorry about talking to me, Chris, telling me those things. What
happened to you is just as unforgivable as what was done to Gary." And if
there was a Hell he hoped Chris' father was roasting there, right along
with Hank Schillinger. Andy's death haunted him -- but Hank? His only
regret there was not being able to personally do the deed. 

He scooted up against the wall, bringing Chris with him, holding him in
the circle of his arms, trailing his fingers over the crucifix tattoo. "I
think we've been over my trials and tribulations pretty thoroughly,
Chris--" 

"That doesn't mean it isn't all still important, Tobe." 

"No, it doesn't, but there isn't much that can be done about any of that."


Chris turned his head to give him a skeptical look. "There ain't nothing
anybody can do about what happened to me, either. It's all way too long
ago to matter anymore." 

Toby kissed the back of his head. "It matters, Chris, it always matters.
And yeah, there's no way to fix anything in the past. We can do something
about what's going on with us, though, here and now. I understand I've
been making you nuts, going on about us living happily ever after, and I
am sorry about that." He smiled a little wryly. "I get a little carried
away sometimes, in case you hadn't noticed." 

Chris shifted around to face him, a rueful smile lifting one corner of his
mouth. "Yeah, I might've made a little note to myself about that." 

"As long as you love me anyway," Toby returned, trying to keep it light. 

Chris looked at him very seriously, though, and said, "That's a given,
Toby, always." He spoke it like a pledge, threading his fingers through
Toby's hair to bring his face closer, sealing it with a kiss. 

Unable to not give himself over to that sweet, soft touch of lips and
tongue, Toby curved his hands around the back of Chris' head, kissing him
back. He caught Chris' lower lip with his own, moaning softly as he felt
his lover's confident hands pushing his t-shirt up, stroking along his
back, slipping beneath the cotton of his boxers to stroke his hip. As much
as this was what Toby had envisioned earlier this evening, he knew half of
Chris' motivation was to distract him out of talking anymore -- it was
really close to working, too, he thought as Chris glided his mouth down
his throat, licking along his collar bone-- 

"Chris, no," Toby said, holding him off with a supreme effort. "We're not
done." 

"Toby," Chris groaned his name, and not with passion, pushing against
Toby's restraining hold, trying to snatch another kiss. 

"No," Toby repeated, more firmly this time. 

With a frustrated sigh, Chris gave up, stretching out on the bunk. "Okay,
what?" 

Smiling, Toby fitted himself alongside him, liking the way they fit
together so well. He reached for one of Chris' hands, holding it as he
said, "Tell me why you don't believe we can have a life together away from
Oz, why we don't deserve to. Why you think our love is some kind of
punishment for you. And don't tell me I'd have to be Catholic to
understand." 

"It'd probably help," Chris said, twining their fingers together. 

"Yeah, well, that's just tough. Talk." 

Chris was silent for a long time, but Toby made himself wait patiently; it
wasn't like time was something they had a shortage of here. "I always
figured I'd wind up here, somewhere like this," Chris finally said, once
more in that quiet,
 that's-just-how-life-is tone of voice. "That, or dead before I saw
forty." A wry, sad smile wafted across his lips. "Actually ever since I
turned thirty I figured I was running on borrowed time. I felt like I was
just taking up space, you know? No matter what I did I always fucked it
up. I was too stupid to make good grades in school, couldn't make my
marriages work." He fell silent again, gaze fixed on the bedsprings above.
"You know how a Ponzi works?" he asked after a moment. 

Lawyerly instinct made Toby want to say, 'Objection -- irrelevant.'
Another instinct told him to overrule himself, though. "I know it's some
kind of pyramid scheme." 

"Uh-huh. See, the way we did it -- we were sort of a gang, that's how I
met Kitty; her dad ran the operation. I tried it on my own later, with
Bonnie; she never liked it, though, always wound up feeling sorry for the
people we'd scammed." 

"And you didn't?" 

"It wasn't like I was doing little old ladies out of their life savings.
That's what Kitty's dad taught me: pick a mark who has deep pockets and
who won't go to the cops 'cause he won't want anyone knowing what an
asshole he was. Anyway, we did a bunch of cons, but the Ponzi was sort of
the specialty. Johnny -- Kitty's dad -- he'd sort of given it his own
little spin over the years. He'd send out this letter to the marks he'd
picked out, inviting them to take part in the deal of a lifetime,
guaranteed returns for your investment, that kinda thing. Me and Kitty
were his prize examples of how it paid off: a young couple just starting
out, having a tough time making ends meet, until we'd invested a little
money in this deal and, bam, we were raking in the money and living in the
lap of luxury. Johnny'd show the mark around our house, show him our cars,
get us fitted out with snazzy clothes, expensive jewelry, all that shit --
never mentioning that it was all leased or sort of borrowed. The mark
would fall for it and be parted from his money, and when Johnny figured
we'd played it as far as we could, we'd blow town." 

"Umm hmm. Why do I get the feeling you saw The Sting one too many times
when you were a kid?" Toby said. "Chris, not that this isn't all really
intersting," in fact he was a little embarrassed to admit he got a sort of
voyeuristic kick out of these little glimpses into Chris' criminal past,
"but what's it got to do with what we were talking about?" 

"It's got to do with how come I'm such a fuck up about stuff that I oughta
get right, but I can ace pointless shit like running a Ponzi. Everything
in my life's been like that, and I never got a second crack at ever
getting any of it right -- until you. See," Chris sat up, sitting
cross-legged at other of the bunk, looking at him, "I fucked it up with
you, too, right off the bat. What I said about Bonnie feeling sorry for
the marks? That's breaking rule number one, and I broke it with you right
from the start, that first night when you woke up screaming. And it was
downhill all the way after that." 

Toby wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult, and
decided silence was probably the best policy at the moment. 

"When it was over," Chris went on, dropping his gaze to the mattress now,
unwilling to look in Toby's eyes as he spoke, "when Operation Toby was
completed to Vern's satisfaction, I figured," his voice broke for a moment
and Toby wanted to reach over, touch him, but held back, sensing Chris
really needed to say this, "that was it," he went on in another second.
"That it was another lesson in irony: I'd got this chance to find
something...something really good, someone who didn't look at me like I
was trash. Someone who maybe meant it when they said they loved me. And I
had to fuck it up. If I didn't go along with Vern, I was gonna be dead,
and no matter how I played it you were gonna get hurt. There wasn't any
way to make it come out right." 

"Chris--" 

Ignoring him, Chris went on, a note of wonder coming into his voice, "But
then there was, I got a second chance, the first time ever. See, I got to
find out what it's like to really love somebody, Toby, and to...to maybe
feel loved back--" 

"There's no maybe to it, Chris." Toby reached out then, touching his arm.
"What do I have to do to prove that to you?" 

Chris shrugged. "Dunno. You want me to go on?" 

"Yes." 

Chris sighed. "The thing is... I still gotta pay for the things I've done,
and just being locked up here ain't enough. Not even for eighty-eight
years. I expected that, ever since I can remember, I expected something
like that. The way I'm gonna pay, though, really understand what it means
to be here and not out there, with you, is having to stay here, having to
watch you leave, knowing what coulda been if I hadn't been such a stupid
fuck up." He looked at Toby then, an earnestness in his expression that
begged Toby to understand. 

Only Toby wasn't sure he did, really, and didn't know what to tell him. 

...to be continued in chapter eight...	Please send feedback to Riley
Cannon.