November

November 9

James was pissed. There was no other word. Ortega was sitting quietly in classroom 3E, between Vichy and Suleiman on the sofa, when the door came banging in with a cold wind and James' fury. Ortega was up in a blink, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Fights? You're getting in motherfucking fights in the breakfast room? You are pregnant with my child and you're getting in fucking fights?"
James was radiating anger; Ortega shook his head, began backing away. Jesse tensed in his seat as Vichy and Suleiman moved to put themselves between Ortega and James.
"Fucking fights! They send me a message, I've been on constant duty for three days, and this is what I come home to - come here, Ortega - lies from you and morning fucking fights!"
James knocked a stack of books off the table - they scattered on the floor. Ortega tasted sick in his mouth, tried to wet his dry tongue and explain himself.
"It wasn't a fight, it wasn't a fight, James! Please, it was just horseplay, I'm sorry, it wasn't a fight, please."
James' chest heaved; he circled the sofa, pressing Vichy, Suleiman and Ortega back towards the wall. The front two put their shoulders together, blocked his way to Tega. He leveled a vicious glare at them.
"Move."
Suleiman shook his head. James backhanded Vichy, who staggered to the side in shock. Even his own husband didn't hit him like that.
Jesse was across the room, arms swinging before he even thought a little bit about what he was doing, only knowing that he was furious because James had stormed in here, James had hit his friend, and now James was coming for Tega. He connected solidly with the back of James' head and had just enough time to see Ortega's mouth get wide before he hit the ground with two hands around his neck. James was enraged. The pressure was unbearable. Ortega was screaming at James to stop it. Spots appeared. James pressed on, saying something that Jesse couldn't understand. Then suddenly, the pressure was gone and he heard voices in the room. For once, he was glad to see Kosin.

~:~

Spoke too soon. He knew it. Jesse crossed one leg over the other, undid them and set both feet back on the floor. It shook. He tried to calm down. He'd been examined around the neck, determined to be fine, taken back to the main office and made to sit like a child in the hallway, four seats away from Ortega who couldn't make himself stop crying. Kosin was inside with James. Jesse wished he could hear what they were talking about. They'd been in there a long time. He risked a glance at Ortega. One of the chaperones stepped forward. He returned his gaze immediately to the floor. The sound of boots made him look up, and alarm and confusion lit his face. Michael was coming towards him, down the hall. His face was an indecipherable mix of annoyance, anger, and concern, and Jesse felt a little dip in his stomach for reasons that escaped him. He looked back down at the floor. It probably looked pretty bad that he'd been in two fights in two days, and they had only known each other a week and a half. Sloane had told him before that no officer who wanted him would keep him long; he was too much trouble for anyone in their right mind to handle. He'd been proud of it at the time, savored the idea of being completely out of hand, but now his pride just seemed silly, inappropriate. He didn't want Sloane to be right. He didn't want Michael, who'd been kinder to him than anyone he'd met since his change, to decide he wasn't worth it. He didn't want to miss out on a sincere possibility because of two stupid fights that weren't even his fault. He stared at the floor some more. Two boots appeared in his line of vision. He looked up. Michael was just staring calmly at him, little lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. Jesse didn't speak, and after a moment of silence, Michael just shook his head, turned, and went into Kosin's office. Jesse surprised himself by suddenly wanting to cry.


"Jesse." A few minutes later, and Kosin was standing in his doorway, calling him by his first name. He always called him by his first name when Michael was around. Jesse looked up.
"Come in here, please."
Jesse glanced up at the chaperones, trying to gauge the situation. They remained in position, neither tensing nor relaxing. Jesse swallowed and got to his feet. He was sitting alone; Sloane had come a little while ago and taken Ortega home. The hallway seemed preternaturally empty for a Wednesday at noontime. He followed Kosin into the room.
James was seated in a chair across from Kosin's desk, hands steepled but face looking calmer than it had earlier that morning. Jesse gave him a wide berth as he entered. Michael sat in the seat opposite him, and looked up when Jesse came close, but didn't smile or speak. Jesse felt his heart leap into his throat. Kosin motioned for him to sit in the empty third chair between the two men.
Jesse did so, doing his best not to look as nervous as he felt and trying very hard to project the image of being No Trouble At All.
Kosin began to speak.
"Jesse, your behavior these past two days has been...beyond unacceptable."
Jesse felt his face get hot.
"But I didn't - "
"You speak when he tells you to speak, Carrier. Not before." James' voice was cold and vicious and had no kindness in it at all. Michael said nothing. Jesse felt exposed, tacked up and surveyed from all angles. He threw a glance to his right; Michael's expression hadn't changed - it was still blank, any emotion well hidden.
Kosin went on.
"You have crossed the line from behavior harmful mostly to you, to behavior that is directly harmful to your peers and others in this community."
Community? Oh, that was a funny word for it. He didn't know prisons could be called communities. He immediately berated himself for this thought; he'd had enough trouble for one day, didn't need any more.
"It is my inclination and desire, Jesse Paik, to have you sent to Rowe House."
Jesse's stomach did a triple lutz. They were going to kill him. Maybe some of the others could handle Rowe House, but he couldn't - he knew it. He'd take his own life first; it must be what they intended to have him do. He was a dead man walking. No wonder Michael had looked so strange - he was only here to pay his last respects. Jesse cast one miserable look to his left. James was smiling. Jesse felt half-dead already. Kosin was moving from behind his desk, fingers clasped calmly in a knot behind him.
"However,"
What?
"Officers James Irvine and Michael O'Connor feel that my judgement would be in excess, considering the nature of each offense."
...what?
"I feel that they are wrong. However," here, a bit of a glare went out at Michael as he passed, "I have been overwritten. But frankly, Jesse Paik, I am through even attempting to make peace with you. You'll be released back into Sloane's group today - this time. Officer O'Connor has negotiated that. But one more time, Jesse, one more again, and I will have your throat on the terrace at Rowe House."
Jesse swallowed reflexively.
"You'll be released into Officer O'Connor's custody. Henceforth, he will be responsible for your well-being, future term here at the Centre, and," Kosin smirked a bit here, clearly enjoying himself, "he will personally see to your discipline."
Jesse's eyebrows dipped to hide the concern in his eyes. His heart was beating triple time.
"So now," Kosin completed his circuit around the desk and relaxed himself back into his seat, "Let's just see how well you behave."
James nodded to Kosin, who in turn inclined his head, dismissing him. He got to his feet, looked Jesse over one time, then addressed Michael.
"Don't beat him so bad that he can't write an apology letter to Ortega in the morning."