Captured	

Pairing: B/K
 Posted to: OZ Lyric Wheel (OZLW)
 Song Title and Artist: "The Prisoner" by Howard Jones 
 Lyrics provided by: Dorilon
 Feedback: rustlerdude@gmail.com
 Notes: I've been writing in this fandom going on two years now, and I've
never worked up the nerve to tackle Lockdown!Fic. Well, guess what... this
isn't it, either. Heh. Set during "Out of Time", pre-Lockdown. I had to
slightly alter the tense of the song lyric to make it fit -- if that means
Keller's gonna spank me for being naughty...I...can deal with that. *g*
Many thanks to Actizera for beta, and to Rebecca for reading and coming up
with a title. :-) 

 Captured
 by Rustler
 

"It isn't love, Tobias. It's a dangerous obsession. You shouldn't
encourage him."  

He wanted to laugh when Sr. Pete said it, but he refrained out of
deference to her utter lack of humor about the situation. Mostly, he
wanted to save himself the lecture. After all, despite Sr. Pete's
professional training and experience, she wasn't exactly a neutral
observer when it came to Chris. Toby knew she'd be upset when she heard
the news that they would be living together again, but for her to say that
he had encouraged Chris... Well, sure. In the same way one encouraged the
ocean to pound waves relentlessly on the shore.  

All right, he hadn't outright murdered the guy. Even in the depths of his
vengeance-minded fury that day in the storage room, Toby had punched his
shank into Chris' flesh with the intent to wound, not to kill. In his
frothing mind at the time, he'd told himself that what he really wanted,
more than anything, was for Chris to suffer. To know even a taste of the
kind of vulnerability and doubt and pain that had tormented Toby's own
mind and body during those endless weeks in the hospital. Oh yes, he'd
most definitely wanted Chris to know pain. But he hadn't actually wanted
him dead -- and since that was what it would take, apparently, to ensure
that Chris was out of his life for good, he supposed it could be taken to
mean...  

Whatever. He wasn't about to cede even that much to Sr. Pete at the moment
-- it wouldn't do anything but deepen the strain between them over this.
So instead he just nodded, looking at the floor and crinkling his brow
slightly to indicate his grave consideration of her words. After what he
judged to be a long enough moment of feigned reflection to appease her, he
smiled blandly, and said,  

"Well, anyway, Happy New Year's, Sister."  

Then he left her office.  

When he got back to the quad, Chris was sitting with O'Reily at one of the
tables, arguing over something in a newspaper. They were both jabbing at
the same spot on the open page, voices escalating in an obvious attempt to
conquer with volume what could not be won by logical persuasion alone. The
spirited discussion animated Chris with a kind of kinetic radiance that
made Toby's breath catch in his throat. That volatile part of Chris, the
unpredictable trajectory of his energy, leant a combustible edge to even
the most innocuous-seeming interactions. It made him unbelievably
beautiful. And dangerous as hell.  

Toby hadn't taken three steps into the quad before Chris looked up,
argument trailing off as he refocused his attention. And now Toby smiled
for real. The familiar prickle of awareness across his skin under the
weight of that penetrating gaze no longer felt unsettling. Well... no,
actually it still did, but Toby had come to welcome the sensation -- a
good kind of unsettling. He was feeling something again.  

"Hey." Chris hooked an ankle around the leg of an empty chair and pushed
it out toward Toby in invitation.  

"Hey."	

Toby fought an unbidden, self-conscious flush as he pulled the chair up to
the table and sat down. O'Reily threw up his hands in disgust at the loss
of his argument, snatching the disputed newspaper and stalking away,
muttering curses under his breath about somebody's parentage. A flicker of
amusement crossed Chris' face at O'Reily's departure, but he kept his
attention squarely on Toby.  

"She still pissed?"  

"She, uh..." Toby nodded with a little snort of laughter. "Wholeheartedly
disapproves, yeah."  

So did Kareem. That hadn't been a terrifically comfortable conversation,
either. But there wasn't really anything Sr. Pete or Kareem could do about
it now. Toby had made his decision, and the waiting was almost over. The
holidays had meant bureaucratic bullshit delays on the paperwork, but now,
finally, in just a matter of hours he and Chris would be locked up tight
together for the night. And even Toby had to acknowledge that this
crackling anticipation was an amazing transformation from how he'd felt
just a few weeks ago.  

When he'd first returned to Em City following the three months it'd taken
to even marginally rehabilitate his broken limbs, Chris' clumsy attempts
to reconnect had only filled Toby with rage. That Chris even thought
forgiveness was possible was nervy enough -- but to expect that he could
just say he was sorry? Profess his love through those pretty, lying teeth,
and have Toby believe him? It was incredible. And even when it had become
obvious that Chris really had jumped ship from Schillinger, heedless of
the consequences that would bring -- it hadn't made a bit of difference.
Chris had broken something in Toby all right, and it was a hell of a lot
more than mere bones.  

But Chris didn't give up.  

Toby could remember the first time he'd really felt Chris watching him
from afar. It was in the middle stages of Operation Andy, and things were
going swimmingly. Caught up in a conquest of his own (a memory that still
made him squirm in his seat now when he thought about it), Toby had
suddenly become aware of a distinct sensation, like a breath blown across
his skin, that made him glance up.  

And there was Chris. Watching. Past Andy's shoulder, two tables away, yet
Toby's eyes had been drawn to his unfailingly. At the time, Toby had just
scowled dismissively and returned to his lunch. But that had been only the
beginning. Toby soon came to realize that Chris was monitoring his every
move. Every place he went, he felt those lenses trained on him. All day.
All night -- Toby would wake up in a panicky cold sweat from one of his
still-frequent nightmares, sit up to catch his breath, and see shadowy
movement in Chris' pod. Chris knew all about his nightmares, after all.
Chris knew about everything.  

It had felt infuriatingly invasive... at first. And then, it had just
become normal. Every once in a while, Toby would look up and meet Chris'
burning gaze, read the hunger there, and wonder.... Maybe.... But then
something would happen, he'd lean against a table and feel a pain in his
arm, remember that snap, and the anger would return.
 
 But Chris still didn't give up. He watched. And he waited.  

It isn't love, Tobias. It's a dangerous obsession.  

But Sr. Pete hadn't been there, in the gym, when Schillinger had tried to
kill him, for real. Chris was there -- like he'd always been there. And it
occurred to Toby for the first time, as he slumped to the floor in a
puddle of blood -- wounded but still alive -- that maybe Chris had been
watching over him all that time.  

"You all right?" Chris' thumb brushed the back of his hand, and Toby
looked up, realizing that he'd been off in his own headspace for a while.
Chris' eyes were downcast for once, and Toby wondered if he was worried
that Sr. Pete's and Kareem's disapproval would make Toby change his mind.
He'd been careful, almost tentative, since their conversation on the
balcony following Toby's release from the infirmary. It was a very
un-Chris-like way for him to be.  

Toby smiled and turned his hand over on the table, palm facing up, to
clasp his fingers around Chris' hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm fine."	

And it was true, amazingly enough. The bandaged wound in his side from
where Schillinger stabbed him was still sore, of course -- but he felt
clear with himself, for maybe the first time since he'd come to Oz, about
what he was doing. What he wanted. He didn't really expect anyone else to
understand.  

And right at the moment? He didn't really care.
  

 --FIN--  

   

---------------------------------  

The Prisoner
 by Howard Jones  

You have watched me, safe in your anonymity
 I have dreamed you, held in your security
 Some people believe a photograph traps your mortal soul
 Your eyes were the camera and you've take hold  

And you captured me
 I need you to take control
 I am a prisoner of no confidence
 You've entered me, now make me whole  

Every place I go I feel your lenses trained on me
 This distant concentration takes away my energy
 Your image burns its negative behind my waking eyes
 Then the night comes and you stalk your prize	

And you captured me
 I need you to take control
 I am a prisoner of no confidence
 You've entered me, now make me whole  

Some people believe a photograph traps your mortal soul
 Your eyes were the camera and you've taken hold  

And you captured me
 I need you to take control
 I am a prisoner of no confidence
 You've entered me now make me whole