Title: Absence of Faith

Author: Lisa

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never have been, never will be. Tom’s. Besides, I have no money, so don’t sue. No infringement intended (but Tom…if you’re reading…feel free to use my idea to abuse Miguel and Ray whenever or *however* you want.)

Archive: EmCity please please please =)

Spoilers: Post "Obituaries". Be warned anything that has happened between Alvarez/Mukada is fair game.

Pairings: Alvarez/Mukada

Summary: Where do you go when you have no one left to turn to? Just as a side note…there may be some sacrilegious undertones (or overtones) in this story.

If it offends…you’ve been warned.

Feedback: I’m not above begging for it…

Thanks to Shug for not only beta reading this for me…but also for being an inspiration to me and for encouraging me to throw my hat into the OzFic ring =)
Hope you enjoy this.

Absence of Faith
by Lisa
* * *

Panic.

Blind fucking panic.

Miguel Alvarez felt it gripping him tightly as he crawled through the small – and getting smaller every second – dark tunnel with nothing but a tiny-ass flashlight and Busmalis’ skinny ass leading the way.

Out.

Escape.

Even as he repeated these words in his mind, it didn’t get any easier. So he crawled, keeping his eyes focused on Busmalis, trying to forget the tiny hole they’d been squeezing through for the past hour. All of this in order to get past the cold, solid walls of Oz.

And El Cid.

He should be dead. He knew he should be. No doubt about it. And that very thing was what made this – escaping – that much more important to Miguel. It was life or death. How many more chances would he have inside?

"Yo, Busmalis. Move. Fuckin move hermano!"

The nervousness and fear he’d been trying to bury deep within him bubbled to the surface in his tone.

Busmalis stopped and turned back to face Miguel. He made a quick shusshing sound, like a parent does to make a child be quiet. The man had balls, that was for sure. If they hadn’t been in this tunnel, Busmalis would have been shanked so fast he wouldn’t have known what hit him.

"Try and be a little more quiet Alvarez. We’re almost out, and the last thing I want to see are CO’s waiting on the other side of this tunnel." He paused and shrugged slightly. "Besides, I figured you’d be used to such cramped spaces since you’ve spent so much time in solitary." He turned and crawled on.

Miguel bit back a reply and followed. Like a little fucking puppy. It made him sick, but he’d get over it. He knew he would follow this hole-digging cocksucker all the way to the top. All the way to freedom.

Free.

"Until I’m fuckin caught, anyway," he muttered to himself.

But he wouldn’t get caught. At least that was the plan. So he clamped his mouth shut and tried to push down the paranoid, claustrophobic fears that were threatening to overtake him.

Air rushed over them. He could smell it, could taste it. Fresh air.

Busmalis sped up and Miguel crawled after. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure he’d have a heart attack before he even got past the walls of the prison. The pain from the wound in his side burned as the sweat and dust seeped under the bandages, but he moved as fast as he could behind his savior.

Savior?

Where the fuck did *that* come from?

The unspoken word floated through Miguel’s mind. A face slowly replaced the word…a familiar face. The face of the man who had time and time again been there for him, believed in him, tried as hard as he possibly could – to save him.

Him.

Ray Mukada.

Probably the only man to ever give a shit about what happened to a low-life punk like him.

*Will he miss me once he realizes I’m gone?*

Miguel swallowed the though quickly, no wanting to admit that *he* would miss seeing his friend.

He pushed on, crawling through the dark, to his freedom.

He could see a small bit of it already. The dark sky speckled with bright white stars. A cry almost escaped his lips, but he pressed them together tightly and stifled it.

*Almost there. Don’t want to get caught by the fucking hacks. Besides, there was plenty of time for that pussy shit once he was out.*

Busmalis pulled himself out of the hole and into the night. Miguel heard him as he sucked in a deep breath and released it. "Alvarez? Alvarez! Come on." He reached down into the tunnel and Miguel winced in pain as he was pulled free. He collapsed to the ground, and for a minute all he could do was lay there – smelling the air, the grass – and his freedom. Busmalis grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him to his feet. Miguel’s fist clenched and he drew it back to throw a punch – and then he remembered.

They were out.

Busmalis reached out for a handshake. Miguel’s lips curled into a smile as he relaxed his fist. He gripped the other man’s hand tightly and shook it.

"Good luck Alvar…uh…Miguel. I hope I never see you again." Busmalis paused and shrugged again. "No offense." He walked off into the night.

"Me either, hermano. Me either." Miguel watched the other man’s back fade. He glanced around once more and began walking away from the hellhole of Oz.

* * * * *

"Hello?"

"Hey baby."

"Who is this?"

"Maritza…it’s me."

"Miguel?"

"Fuck yeah it’s Miguel. Who the fuck’d you think it was?"

"I don’t kn…where are you?"

"I’m out baby."

"Out?"

"Escaped…from Oz."

"What? I don’t understa…"

"I’m coming over there. I’m about…shit…fifteen minutes away maybe. I just didn’t want you fuckin freakin out when you saw me."

"No Miguel."

"No?"

"Don’t come here. Please. I don’t want you to come here."

"What the *fuck* do you mean ‘you don’t *want* me to come there’?"

"Miguel, I can’t go through it again. I won’t go through it…"

"I’m coming."

He slammed down the payphone and started walking.

* * * * *

Miguel approached the building, hidden from sight by the inky blackness of pre-dawn. He jogged up the stairs to the apartment where he knew Maritza had been living in since she’d released from prison. His anger had dissipated, turning into a strong desire to see his woman. As he approached the door, he noticed that it was slightly ajar. He smirked, thinking she must have come to her senses and cracked it open for him.

He knocked gently on the wood and pushed the door open. He was expecting to see her there, waiting for him. She was no where in sight.

"Maritza?" He called. No answer. He walked through the tiny space searching for her. "Maritza!" He called again, more insistent, more angry this time. He passed in and out of the rooms, searching for some sign, any sign, that she was in there somewhere. Her clothes were there. Her shit was all over the place.

When he couldn’t find her, he began to panic, thinking maybe something was wrong. That something had happened to her in the time it took him to get here.

*It was only 15 fucking minutes Miguelito. What could happen in 15 goddamn minutes?*

El Cid’s sarcastic, condescending voice cut through his mind like a knife. It pushed him, forcing all his doubt and uncertainty out in the open.

He shook the thought from his head and continued tearing apart the rooms of the apartment.

"Maritza!"

He called and called. He was about to leave and search for her when he saw the envelope sitting on the kitchen counter. It had his name on it. The writing was easily recognizable as hers. He picked up the envelope and slumped against the cool surface of the refrigerator.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

He tapped the envelope against his forehead with each word. The tears began to form before he even broke the envelope’s seal. The hot salty water pooled in the corners of his deep brown eyes and began spilling over to his cheeks.

He pulled the sheet of paper free and began reading. Her writing was halting and sloppy...the letter obviously had been written in a hurry.

"Dear Miguel,

I’m not quite sure how to say this, but for my sake and yours, I won’t waste what little time you have. I’ll tell you straight. I love you. I love you as much today as I did the day we met. Please don’t ever forget that. But…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t handle the thought of going back in. We did some really fucked up things before we got locked up. But we also did some beautiful things, like having our son. When he died, I swore to myself and to God that I would change. I decided that once I got out, I would never go back. That I would change my ways and clean myself up. And I have Miguel, I have. I don’t want to be tempted back into that bullshit again. You love the wild and crazy life…and when I’m with you, I have no control.

I will miss you terribly. But please, please don’t try and find me. I want to move on and I want you to move on. Please, Miguel, do that for me. Let me go.

I know that you came out with nothing. I left you something to use to get on your feet. It hurts me more than you know to leave it, but I have nothing else of value to give. I put it on the top shelf in the freezer.

Please be careful. They will look for you here first.

Goodbye Miguel.

Love, Maritza"

He gripped the tear-stained paper in his fist and turned to open the freezer. There it was – sitting right where she said it would be.

The ring.

The one he had given her the first time he said he loved her. A sob escaped him. He picked up the golden band and clutched it tightly against his chest. The edges of the small diamonds sliced into thetender flesh of his palm as he tumbled to the floor.

Alone. Again.

He fell asleep right there. The ring and the letter held against his heart. He called out her name quietly, tears falling freely from his eyes as sleep claimed him.

* * * * *

"How the *fuck* did this happen?" Leo Glynn screamed at his staff. "How the *fuck* was Busmalis allowed to dig a *goddamn* tunnel in the medical ward? How the *fuck* did both he and Miguel Alvarez get through that tunnel and escape?"

Blank faces stared back at him. Shoulders shrugged.

"I don’t know how…"

"We do a thorough check every night…"

"This is unacceptable! We have search parties out scouring the area for them. I *suggest* that you all get up off your goddamn *asses* and search every square inch of this prison."

"But we’ve already….."

"Check it *again*!!!" Leo Glynn slammed his large, angry fists against the table and stormed out of the room.

Silence.

Sean Murphy cleared his throat and took charge of the situation. He glanced around the room, making a mental count of how many people were available and how many should go into each search party. One, very noticeable face was missing from the group seated around the table.

Ray Mukada.

"Does anyone know where Fr. Mukada is?" Murphy’s voice cut through the room.

"He called me this morning." Sr. Pete offered. "He mentioned that he was going to stop by an ill friend’s house on his way in today and that he would be a little late."

"Did you mention anything about the situation?"

"No. But I did let him know that he needed to get here as soon as he could. That there was an incident late last night and Leo was holding a staff meeting regarding the situation." She paused. "He asked what happened, but with his close relationship with Miguel, I figured it best that he didn’t hear about it over the phone."

"Well, as soon as he gets in, make sure he’s brought up to speed." Not a statement…a command.

Sr. Pete wasn’t surprised or insulted by his tone however.

"I will talk to him as soon as I possibly can."

The room emptied and Sr. Pete walked alone to Ray’s office to wait.

* * * * *

A ringing phone startled Miguel awake. It took him a moment to get his bearings and figure out that last night was not a dream, not a fantasy. He had escaped from Oz. Maritza was gone. He shook the sleep from his groggy head and stood. The answering machine picked up and he heard Maritza’s voice gently asking the caller to "please leave a message and I’ll make sure I call you back real soon." Fresh tears threatened to fall, but he used all of his strength and halted them before they left his eyes. He heard a very familiar male voice booming through the machine.

"Hello? Ms…uh…Alvarez? This is Leo Glynn, Warden at Oswald State Correctional Facility."

A long pause.

Miguel heard Glynn nervously clearing his throat and he couldn’t help but feel…vindicated. All those long days in solitary. Glynn’s little fuckin toy. Throwing him in the motherfuckin hole whenever he could, trying to get him to squeal like a fuckin rat about who raped his daughter.

If he knew. If he ONLY FUCKIN KNEW who was sitting here listening on this end of the call. Wild laughter erupted from his mouth as the warden continued speaking.

"I wanted to inform you that Miguel Alvarez escaped from Oz late last night. We have search parties already combing the surrounding areas. He may be heading your way. Please contact me should he show up there. Thank you."

Glynn left a number and hung up.

Miguel’s moment of glory was short lived. The words "He may be heading your way," slipped into his brain and slowly brought him back into reality.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How long had he been asleep for? He glanced at the clock over the stove.

7:38am.

Fuck! Time to move. He’s got to get going. No time to be sad. He had to save his own ass by getting the fuck out of here as quick as he could.

He rushed through the apartment, trying to find something, anything, that he could take with him. Money, clothes, anything. He found some of his old shirts and jeans in a closet and jammed them into a pillowcase. No jewelry or valuables, nothing.

Except the ring.

Miguel tossed the gold band into the air and caught it within his fist. He spread his fingers and placed a gentle kiss on the circle of precious metal before shoving it into his pocket.

"Ah well. You do what you gotta do hermano."

He took a long look around, shrugged, and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

* * * * *

Ray drove through the entrance to the prison. He had cut his visit short. His mind was on whatever had happened at Oz during the previous night. He couldn’t imagine what could have occurred. Obviously it was bad. Leo had called an early morning staff meeting. He didn’t even do that when an inmate had been killed.

He locked the car door and walked to his office. The prison was in complete lock down. CO’s and S.O.R.T.’s were scouring the halls. There were people everywhere.

He pulled open the door to his small office and closed it behind him. He was startled to see Sr. Pete pacing in front of his desk. She had been waiting there for him.

"Hey, Pete." He smiled at her as he placed his knapsack on the desk and unzipped his sweatshirt. He tossed it on his desk and turned back to face the nun. "What happened? What’s going on around here? And why couldn’t you tell me over the phone?"

"Ray, you may want to sit down for this." She cautioned him. "It’s about Miguel."

"What’s happened to Miguel? He’s not…dead is he? I *knew* putting him back into solitary was a really bad idea!"

"He’s gone Ray. He escaped last night. With Agamemnon Busmalis. Through a tunnel Busmalis had somehow managed to dig in one of the walls of the medical ward."

The priest fell into his chair. He looked as if he’d been slapped.

"They have to find him Pete. You know what solitary did to him. If we don’t find him he’s as good as dead." Tears began to form in his soft, searching eyes.

She walked over to his slumped, defeated form and placed a reassuring arm around his shoulders.

"It’s ok Ray. We’ll find him. Somehow, someway, we will find him. Leo has already called in the authorities and they are searching."

"What about Maritza? Has anyone called her?"

"Leo was going to call her and let her know. Ray…are you ok?"

"Yeah. I’m just…yeah I’m fine. What can I do to help?"

"Well, I wasn’t sure if I should mention this, but I think it may be important." She paused and waited for him to meet her eyes. "There is a small possibility that he may come to you. Try and find you on the outside. If he does, you need to convince him, somehow, to turn himself in. To come back to Oz."

He turned his eyes back to the floor. "Why would he come to me Pete? To Miguel I’m the enemy. I’m the ‘authorities’. The bad guy. He won’t come."

The nun curved her palm under his chin and gently raised his face. "Ray, now you know it’s a possibility. You *know* it is. You and Miguel…you have a special relationship. He trusts you."

"He doesn’t trust me. Not anymore."

"You can try all you like to convince yourself of that, but you know it’s just not true. Miguel considers you a friend. And right now, he may just need a friend."

Ray shifted his gaze to the small altar, nodding in agreement. His eyes slipped shut, his mind flashing back to the last time Miguel was in this office. Covered in Rivera’s blood, flames of insanity burning from his eyes, incoherent mumblings falling from his lips. Ray himself bound, powerless to stop him as he put the scalpel to his own throat.

His eyes popped open and met the nun’s.

"We have to find him, Pete." The words tumbled from him in a choked whisper.

* * * * *

Alone.

Always alone.

On the inside, on the outside, nothing seemed to change. Miguel recounted the money he got for Maritza’s ring one more time and tried to figure out where he could go. What he could do.

Nothing.

He couldn’t think of a single place he could go. At least where he could go and be safe.

All day.

He’d spent all day going over his options in his head. And he had none. He wandered aimlessly, stopping every once and a while to get something to eat, or to piss when he needed to.

Whatever.

He stayed hidden – cutting through alleys and side streets, avoiding everyone, drawing no attention to himself. He watched cops come and go, always assuming they were looking for him. He walked towards the edge of town, thinking maybe he’d just hitch out of town. Get away. Start fresh somewhere. A place where no one knew "Miguel Alvarez".

But a nagging thought kept him there, stopped him from running away. A silent option that he was trying to avoid. He played it over and over in his head each time he passed a phone booth, saw a phone book.

Call Ray. Find Ray.

Miguel knew the priest would turn him in. How could he not? Miguel was a criminal – Ray, a man of God. Good vs. Evil. Right vs. Wrong.

But the thought just wouldn’t disappear – wouldn’t let go. It ate away at his resolve, his stubbornness. He knew he needed to get away. If he stayed, he got caught. But he couldn’t bring himself to go, couldn’t run.

Savior. Shit!

He made the decision and stopped the next time he saw a phone book.

* * * * *

Fr. Ray Mukada sat alone in his office, an aura of disbelief permeating the air around him. A forgotten cigarette burned in the small ashtray in front of him.

Miguel. Gone.

He stood and approached the altar. He lit a match and touched the tiny flame to the lone candle’s wick. He fell to his knees and said, what must have been for the hundredth time, a prayer for his young friend.

The ringing of his phone startled him. Hopeful for even the smallest piece of news, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the receiver.

"Office of the Chaplain, can I help you?"

Nothing. No voice, no heavy breathing. Just silence.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Still no answer.

"Miguel? Miguel is that you? It’s Ray, Miguel. Please say something."

*click*

"Miguel! *Miguel*! Shit!" He slammed down the phone and waited. For another call he prayed would come. But he sat and stared at the phone and prayed for nothing. It didn’t ring again.

* * * * *

Miguel had panicked. He had reached out and he fuckin panicked.

"Fuck!" He pounded the glass of the phone booth with his fists until his anger was gone.

He ripped the page from the phone book and quickly flipped through it. When he found the page he wanted, Miguel ripped it from the binding as well. Frustrated and exhausted, he tossed the book at the payphone, knocking the receiver free of its cradle.

He studied the second torn page for a minute before crumpling both up and shoving them into his pocket. Thunder rumbled in the sky above him. He began to walk as the water-soaked clouds released their cold drops. The chilly rain quickly soaked Miguel. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and sighed.

It was going to be a very long day.

* * * * *

No news. Not a single word for the entire day, except that neither Busmalis nor Alvarez had even been sighted. They were like ghosts that disappeared when someone turned on a light.

Ray Mukada spent most of the day in his office. Waiting. Listening to the rain sing as it struck the roof. A sad symphony that did nothing to make him feel any better.

To make things worse, everyone on the entire staff kept stopping by his office. Some, more than once.

Did he need anything? Was he doing ok? They knew he and Alvarez were close. How was he taking it? Did he think they would find the men? Would they still be alive? How could this have happened? Was he scared?

God help him, it took all his strength to answer each of their questions with his usual kindness. When all the while he was screaming inside. Screaming for them to shut up, to leave him alone, to mind their own business. He wanted to slam the door shut and lock himself away from the questions and the comments and the never-ending sorrow that pierced his heart every time the realization hit him that he may never see Miguel again.

His feelings of devastation over the inmate’s disappearance disturbed him greatly. Since that day in the medical ward, the day they met, he had felt a special closeness with Miguel Alvarez. A sense of friendship that he’d never felt before. Although he had been hurt when Miguel had allowed the other Latinos to take him during the riot – to beat him – he had forgiven him almost immediately.

Would he have been so forgiving had it been Schillinger or Said or O’Reily?

As much as he’d like to believe that he would have been, that he actually did treat each inmate equally, it just wasn’t true. He’d always defended Miguel whenever he needed it. He had helped him before the birth of his son, and had provided support after the baby’s death. He’d put his job and his own safety on the line time and time again for him.

Why? Why Miguel?

The answer was one he didn’t want to admit, didn’t want to believe. It was an answer he relived every time he was jolted from sleep in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, as thoughts of the young Latino pulsed hotly through his veins.

When the day finally ended, Ray was relieved. He avoided contact with everyone, sneaking out of the prison through a back entrance, and climbed into his car. He drove off into the stormy night, the tension in his body dissipating slowly over the long ride home. He pulled the stiff white collar away from his throat and placed it in the breast pocket of his shirt. He began to hum softly to himself. By the time he finally pulled into his driveway, he was feeling better.

Still worried…but better.

He exited his car and ran through the pouring rain into the open garage. Ray almost regretted his decision to move out of the rectory. If he had remained there, the garage wouldn’t be an issue.

Instead of wallowing in pity, he made a mental note to clean out all the mess in there so that maybe he could park his car in the damn thing. He laughed at himself as he brushed the rain from his face.

Ray felt it before he even opened the door that separated the garage from the house. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but he sensed something was wrong. Not danger exactly. Something…different, yet familiar.

Tension. Anxiety. Fear.

But not his own. He’d never been afraid in his own home. His sanctuary. He shrugged off the sensation, stepped over the threshold and closed the garage door behind him.

"It’s probably just the weather," he quietly reassured himself in the dark hallway. "Yeah…the storm. It’s making me jumpy."

He shook the water from his damp hair and flipped the light switch, filling the vicinity with dim light. He glanced up at his reflection in the mirror that hung on the adjacent wall.

The priest saw him just a moment too late.

* * *

Miguel sprang out of the shadows and grabbed him from behind, trapping Ray’s arms against his sides. He covered the priest’s mouth with a strong hand, cutting off any possible sound he may have thought to make.

"Hi Father," he whispered softly into the other man’s ear. "I bet you’re surprised to see me here."

Ray could see him in the reflection of the mirror. Their eyes met and his body tensed at the visual contact – stomach lurching as blood surged through his veins. It pounded loudly within his temples.

Again, memories of the past flashed through Ray’s mind. He saw the man that had let him be taken during the riot, who made no attempt to protect him from the others. Who had let him be beaten. The man who had blinded another man.

A criminal.

A murderer.

But Ray saw something else too. Pain. The pain of loss. The tears that had fallen when Miguel’s son died. The sorrow of wasting away, cast out from everyone, banished, sent to live in a solitary world. A world where no one cared if he lived or died.

But someone did care.

His throat tightened as tears threatened to fall. He recognized the battle behind those eyes. The battle that reached deep into Miguel’s heart and soul. The self-loathing. The blame. It was as clear as black and white. Darkness and light, fighting for dominance in this confused, tired man.

Ray’s body relaxed slightly, the tension draining from his tight muscles.

"Now, if I let you go, do you promise not to yell or scream?"

The priest nodded and was released.

"Miguel." Ray sighed the inmate’s name - relief that he shouldn’t be feeling was apparent in his strained voice. He did not turn to face the other man, but held his gaze in the mirror. For a moment he was without words. He stared into the eyes of the soaking wet man that had invaded his home. He gasped, his breath quick and shallow, mind reeling with fear and uncertainty, his heart thudding rapidly against his ribs.

The beginning of his own internal struggle over right and wrong.

"Miguel, I can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing here?"

Miguel began to fidget. His eyes dropped quickly to his fingernails and he started picking at them. He did everything except look at Ray.

"Miguel!" The priest spun around and slowly approached Miguel, still unsure and slightly frightened of the man standing in front of him. This wasn’t Oz where CO’s stood nearby to break things up before they get out of hand. When Ray got no reaction, he thrust out his hands and grabbed the younger, stronger man by the damp material of his sweatshirt, startling him into raising his eyes.

"What are you doing here Miguel? How in the hell did you get into my house?" The tension between them was palpable and heavy. "Answer me!" He still received no answer. Without thought of repercussions, Ray shoved Miguel backward, knocking him off balance.

Miguel backpedaled and managed to regain his footing mere seconds before smashing into the wall behind him. His own strong forearms shot out and knocked Ray’s hands from his body. He bent forward until he was face to face with the smaller man. He leaned in as close as he possibly could without actually making physical contact.

"I *didn’t* have any other fuckin’ choice man!" Miguel’s voice was hostile, unyielding.

Challenging.

Ray did not back down. He held his ground and didn’t move or make a sound. He felt the heat radiating from Miguel, felt his scorching breath tingling along his skin. It coursed through his body, an electrical shock humming through his veins. The scents of rain and sweat mingled with those of fear and want and need. He held his breath, trapping it in his lungs, forbidding the intoxicating aroma from entering and wreaking further havoc on his rapidly weakening resolve.

They were frozen in time, neither wanting to bend to the will of the other.

Finally Miguel broke – a sob tearing from his throat. He managed to choke it off at the last second. He found his voice, but when he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper.

"I got no other choice." He sagged back against the wall behind him and slowly slid down to the floor. He pulled his legs in against his chest and placed his head in his hands.

Ray stared down at his friend. Sorrow and regret gripped his heart, squeezing it like a vice. He inhaled deeply to quiet his throbbing nerves and knelt down beside the broken man. He placed his hand gently on Miguel’s shoulder.

"Miguel, you do have a choice."

"No. I don’t."

"You have to listen to me."

Ray felt Miguel’s muscles constrict beneath his palm.

"No. I know what you’re gonna say Padre and I won’t fuckin do it."

"You have to Miguel. You have to go back. To Oz." Ray tightened his grip on the agitated man’s shoulder. It was batted roughly away.

"I ain’t goin back. I ain’t fuckin goin back to that shithole!" Miguel’s eyes blazed with unharnessed hatred. He jumped to his feet and began to pace the tiny hallway. Rainwater fell from his body and splashed to the floor.

Ray followed Miguel’s lead and stood. The water dripped from his own hair, joining the puddle forming on the wooden tiles. He tried again to comfort and calm Miguel by placing his hand gently on his forearm.

"Miguel, it’s the only thing you…"

"NO FUCKIN’ WAY!" He spun to face Ray and shoved him back towards the wall. Miguel pinned the priest against it with his hands. "Because you know what?"

Ray shook his head as Miguel moved his face lower. His body trembled as the inmate’s lips gently brushed against his ear.

"If I go back to Oz, I’m fuckin dead. Dead."

Miguel wrapped his hand around the back of Ray’s neck and pulled his head closer. His voice dropped to a low growl. Ray shivered as the inmate’s warm breath stroked across his skin like feathers. Gooseflesh rose in waves along his skin. His stomach coiled in and tightened, forcing heat into his groin.

"No, Miguel. That’s not tr…"

The Latino nodded against Ray’s cheek. The sandpapery stubble that covered Miguel’s face scratched along his own baby smooth flesh.

"Yeah, man. You *know* what would happen. Glynn’d send me right back to fuckin solitary. The hacks’d keep on starvin me." He pulled his head back so he could meet the other man’s eyes. "And El Cid…he’d fuckin get me, even in there."

"I wouldn’t let them…" He was silenced by a finger pressed to his lips.

"What’re you gonna do, huh? You sound like a broken fuckin record, man. ‘I won’t let them.’ I’m sorry Padre, ya know, but you can’t do a fuckin thing in there. And me? Fuck. I’d rather die out here, free. Free. Better than dyin in there, fuckin locked up like an animal."

Miguel pushed away from the priest and wandered into the adjoining room, leaving Ray alone. He crossed the floor and Ray watched him drop wearily onto the small sofa. Ray willed away the gooseflesh flowing along his body, took a deep, steadying breath, and followed Miguel into the room.

"Miguel." Anxiety colored his words. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Hide me."

"What?!?"

"Hide me."

"I…I can’t." He walked to the window and stared out at the rain.

"Yeah, you can. Nobody’d ever think to look for me here. It’s fuckin perfect."

"Do you *know* what you’re asking? You want me to hide you…an escaped convict…in my home?"

"Yep."

"You are asking me to break the law, Miguel. To commit a crime." He shook his head in disbelief. "You are asking me to go against everything I believe in, everything I am." He turned back to face the other man. "For you."

Miguel stood and slowly approached Ray. He met the priest’s eyes squarely. "Yep."

"Miguel, I can’t do that. I can’t believe that you even thought to come here. To me." Ray stared at the other man as he moved closer. "Shit Miguel, what were you thinking?"

"Don’t you fuckin listen to me man? I *said* that I ain’t got anywhere else to go."

"You know, I should be picking up the phone and calling Warden Glynn right now."

*Then why haven’t you Ray?*

His own subconscious taunted. He forced it quiet, not wanting to acknowledge the answer he already knew all too well.

"So do it. Fuckin do it then! Pick up the motherfuckin phone Ray and make the call!" Miguel screamed in frustration.

"No."

The inmate was visibly shocked and stumbled backward, his eyes clouding with confusion.

"No I won’t turn you in." Ray sighed and continued. "I know what’s waiting for you back there. I can see it now. Glynn’s rage, Hernandez’s hatred. If I send you back there, you will die."

The stunned man nodded his head, his mind reeling with shock and relief.

"But, I can’t let you stay here Miguel. You have to find somewhere else, someone else. What about Maritza? Why didn’t you go to her?"

"Fuck *that*!" Miguel turned away from the priest, sobs shaking his body. But he refused to allow any tears to fall. He hated the weakness he felt, but was completely powerless under the flood of emotion.

Ray closed the space between them. "Shit Miguel. I’m sorry. Did I say something?" He reached out and touched the taller man’s shoulder, but Miguel’s body went completely rigid. "Miguel, what is it? What happened with Maritza?" He placed his palm on Miguel’s forearm and slowly turned him around. The inmate’s muscles rippled and relaxed under Ray’s touch as Miguel reached into his pocket.

Miguel extended his hand to the priest and dropped a crumpled up sheet of paper into his hand.

Ray accepted the offering and began to read. His heart leapt into his throat, choking off his breath. He lifted his gaze to meet Miguel’s, the pain he felt for him evident in his face.

"I had no idea." He folded the letter and placed it on the table beside the sofa.

"I don’t blame her Padre. I did, but not anymore." He rubbed his tired eyes with the sleeve of his soggy sweatshirt. It did nothing except make his face wetter than it originally was.

"Please, Miguel. Call me Ray." He smiled softly at his friend. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Miguel snapped. He immediately regretted his tone – realizing how harsh he must have sounded. "Sorry, Father. Uh, I mean, Ray. I just wanna get the *fuck* out of these soakin wet clothes."

They both laughed uneasily. Ray nodded and walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a dry pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt. He handed them to Miguel and lead him to the small bathroom. Ray removed his own damp sweatshirt and hung it over the side of a chair to dry. Miguel reappeared, dressed in the dry clothing. Ray was sitting on the sofa, waiting for him. Neither spoke for what seemed like an eternity.

"Miguel," the priest began hesitantly, breaking the silence. "I don’t know what to do for you. If I let you stay, I’m breaking the law. If I let you go, there’s no telling what will happen to you. And I can’t, in my heart, take responsibility for that. I can’t."

"Padre, you really wanna know why I came to you? Huh? Do you really fuckin think this was the only reason?" He picked up the letter, showed it to the priest and crumpled it back into a ball. He tossed it back onto the table and sat down next to Ray.

Ray wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know why Miguel had come to him – even though in his heart he already knew. He nodded but didn’t say a word, allowing the other man to continue.

"Do you remember that day? The day in fuckin Glynn’s office?"

Ray stared at Miguel, face full of confusion. There had been so many of those days over the years.

"When Glynn was on my ass about his daughter and the fuck that raped her?"

Miguel received a brief, confirming nod from the priest and continued.

"He was gonna kill me that day, I think. And you, ya know, you stepped in. You wouldn’t fuckin leave man. *You* jumped in front of me when Glynn was gonna pound me. You fuckin saved my ass. You, Padre." Miguel pointed a slender finger at Ray’s chest. "You. Not fuckin Maritza, not the fucks in El Norte. You." His eyes dropped shyly to his hands and he started to pick at his fingernails again. "Bet ya didn’t know I noticed, huh?""

Ray was completely silent. He had never realized, had never known that Miguel had been paying attention to what happened between them over the past few years.

"Miguel…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don’t know what to sa…"

"Don’t say nothin Padre." He met Ray’s eyes, searching for understanding, begging forgiveness for the things he’d done in the past. Pouring out his heart and soul without a single word being spoken.

Ray was trapped within those eyes - his mind taking him to a place where he knew he shouldn’t go. Into the place that shattered his sleep, waking him, wrapped in his soaked sheets, passion pulsing through his veins like lifeblood. The place where he felt the heat of Miguel’s skin pressed against his own. Where he tasted the salty sweat that poured off of Miguel’s body as Ray traced the muscles along the inmate’s back with his tongue. In a place where there was no sin, no pain, no sadness. Only pleasure and release and sweet satisfaction.

"Yo Padre."

The voice came at Ray like an echo. It sounded distant and quiet.

"Hey." Miguel gripped the priest by his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Ray, what’s up man?"

But Miguel already knew. He had known since that first day. That one day they would eventually end up right here, in this very situation. Whether it had been in Oz or right here in Ray’s living room, Miguel had felt it coming. Saw it reflected in the priest’s glazed expression. Heard it in the quick, short, choppy breaths Ray was taking. Felt it in the slowly growing erection hidden beneath the rough black material of the priest’s pants.

Need.

Miguel was very familiar with the feeling. He almost felt sorry for Ray. That he had never experienced anything like this – ever. But the feeling past quickly and Miguel couldn’t help but allow a grin to slip across his lips. He shook Ray again, more insistent this time.

Ray blinked, the haze lifting from his mind. He was immediately aware of Miguel’s hands on his shoulders, and the reaction his body was having to them. A shiver passed through him. Ray knew what the smile spreading across the other man’s face meant. That "hungry wolf looking for its next meal" expression he had seen at least once on almost every face that had passed him every single day in the prison. He dropped his eyes, embarrassment and shame spreading a deep red blush across his cheeks and down his neck.

"Miguel, I…."

"Shhhhhhhh." Miguel reached out again and placed his finger against the priest’s lips, quieting him. He increased the pressure on Ray’s shoulder, stroking his long fingers across the clothing-covered skin. "It’s ok man." He waited until Ray lifts his eyes. Their gazes met. "I understand."

They remained locked in this moment for what seemed like hours. Their souls laid bare for each other. Feelings declared through nothing more than a simple look. Each searching and seeking for what they needed most. With his heart pounding, Ray reached up with a shaky hand and traced the entire length of the scar on Miguel’s face with his fingertip. From the inmate’s temple, along the cheekbone, and finally down to Miguel’s lips. Ray’s touch lingered there, softly stroking up and down the reminder of what Miguel had done.

His trade to God for the life of his son.

Miguel swallowed roughly and sighed. His eyes slipped shut as the priest’s gentle, timid touch passed down over his neck, stopping at the prominent Adam’s apple.

Ray’s fingers stay there for a very long time, as if he were trying to memorize each curve, each imperfection in his friend’s skin.

Miguel felt his own body as it began to respond to the soft pressure, his heart beating in rhythm with each circular stroke. He knew he would eventually have to take the lead in this, but the only thing he wanted right now was for Ray to keep touching him. He swallowed again, trying to force the lump from his throat.

Ray was mesmerized by Miguel’s neck. He touched everything, burning the image of it into his mind. When the taller man swallowed for the second time, any hesitations Ray may have had, disappeared. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Miguel’s. A jolt of electricity passed between the men.

The sudden shock startled Ray. He backed away slightly and lightly ran his fingertips over his own lips, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I’ve never kissed any…another man before." He shifted his eyes to Miguel. The smile fell from his face.

Miguel was staring at his mouth.

Ray recognized his look, had seen it so many times in Oz. Pure, unadulterated lust. His small pink tongue nervously slipped out to moisten his lips. Miguel’s own lips were curled into smirk.

"Mmmmm hmmmmm." Miguel murmured and moved in closer. "And?" He flicked the tip of his tongue along the outer edge of the priest’s lips.

Ray dove into the other man, shoving him back against the arm of the sofa. His lips crushed against Miguel’s roughly. At first, Miguel was stunned. He hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly. He had figured that he would’ve been the one making that move. The priest’s lips moved over his, inexperienced and sloppy. Miguel took control of the rhythm and slowed Ray down. He placed his hand near the nape of Ray’s neck and pulled him in, deepening their kiss.

Ray opened his mouth to take a breath and Miguel quickly invaded the space with his skilled tongue. He ran the tip over the priest’s teeth, tongue and lips. Ray’s innocence slipped from his lips in deep pants as Miguel worked his tongue like a lollipop. He slid his free arm around Ray’s back, and gently, but insistently guided him backwards. Their mouths were suctioned together, each breathing the other’s air.

Miguel broke contact and slowly backed away. He was now straddling the smaller man. He kept their eyes locked together as he began to unbutton Ray’s shirt. He paused for a moment as his eyes met the stiff, white collar in the priest’s breast pocket. Miguel pulled it free and stroked it between his thumb and index finger.

*This is fuckin wrong hermano.*

His subconscious argued.

*He’s a fuckin priest man.*

And in the pit of his stomach he knew it was wrong. He felt the knot of doubt building inside. His mind wrestled with the unsettling thought of taking this man’s innocence from him. But Miguel had been waiting for this. They both had been waiting – playing their little game of cat and mouse with each other – for way too long.

Ray easily read the struggle behind Miguel’s eyes. He was as transparent as a sheet of glass. Ray raised his hand and removed the collar from his friend’s hand. He looked at it for a moment, then placed it on the table beside the sofa. He turned his eyes back to Miguel.

"Padre, I dunno if this is a good idea. Ya know, I don’t want you to do something…"

"Miguel, don’t. It’s a choice I knew I would make." He glanced over at his collar once again. "I knew that sooner or later it would come to this. I’ve denied and hid the feelings I have for entirely too long. I can’t lie anymore. I can’t. I won’t. I *want* this."

Ray reached for his friend and placed the palm of one hand against Miguel’s belly. He ran it over the tight, perfectly formed muscles, slipping an errant finger inside the waistband of the sweatshorts once or twice.

"Miguel, I want *you*."

Their eyes met again and the line was no longer blurred between them. It had been erased. Ray knew there was no turning back now. All his years of study, sacred vows, all shattered with those four simple words.

Miguel’s fingers fumbled with the buttons. His hands shook with nervousness – not from what he was doing – because he’d fucked men before, usually out of necessity – but this was different. It meant so much, to both of them. He parted the still-damp material of Ray’s shirt, exposing the naked flesh below. He lowered his head, dotting the priest’s skin with heated kisses. He paused at each nipple and ran the tip of his tongue over the puckered, sensitive skin. He was rewarded with soft groans as Ray arched his back into him.

Miguel dropped his hands to the waistline of Ray’s pants and began to unbuckle the belt. He felt Ray grabbing at his shirt, trying unsuccessfully to pull it free from his body.

"I’ll do it for you." Miguel’s voice was barely audible as he gripped the edge of his own shirt and yanked it over his head. He dropped it to the floor and stood before Ray.

The priest explored the newly exposed skin with his hands and fingers. He slid his hands over Miguel’s arms and chest as the inmate leaned down to him, gently stroking each tattoo as he passed it. He paid special attention to the taut muscles at Miguel’s waist, dipping his fingertips into each ravine between the tightly packed skin. Ray lifted his hips when he heard the telltale sound of his zipper being lowered.

Miguel brushed his lips across Ray’s and delicately began slipping the stiff, restrictive pants over the priest’s hips. Miguel knelt in front of his friend and pulled the pants down each leg, moving slowly, not wanting to spook the smaller man. He wanted to make sure that Ray would have an out if he needed it.

The cool air of the room assaulted Ray’s skin once his pants and briefs had been removed. Gooseflesh rolled in waves over his body. He watched as Miguel’s hand wrapped around his exposed penis. The inmate gave it a strong, tight, slow stroke, and Ray cried out loudly in response. His hips bucked upward from the sudden shock of someone else’s touch. He almost came right then and there. Had he been with someone as inexperienced as he himself was, the moment would have come and gone.

But Miguel was not that innocent. He was not that naïve. He tried in vain to stop the smile that began to spread across his lips – but Miguel had never been able to keep his own arrogance in check. It made him feel powerful, getting a reaction like that from simply touching Ray’s cock once. He was in control…something he hadn’t had in a very long time.

It felt extremely good – satisfying.

He released his grip slightly and slid his hand gently up the silky skin of Ray’s shaft. His touch was feather-light, almost non-existent, as he massaged the priest’s cock.

Ray’s breathing steadied and he began to shift his hips in rhythm with Miguel’s skilled strokes. Ray’s hands found the drawstring at Miguel’s waist and he pulled the ties loose.

Taking his cue from the smaller man, Miguel released Ray and stood. His shorts slipped easily over his hips and dropped to the floor. He didn’t move – waiting for Ray to take the lead. He remained standing, naked, in front of the Asian padre.

"Please, Miguel." Ray reached out his hand to the inmate. "I want to *feel* you."

The Latino smiled and took the priest’s hand. Miguel pulled Ray to his feet and their lips met.

Miguel turned and backed Ray up slowly until he was pressed up against the wall. He could feel the unsteadiness in the other man’s body, and he leaned forward, pressing his own muscled frame against him. Miguel could feel Ray shaking and vibrating against him and he became completely aroused. He deepened the kiss and guided Ray’s hands up around his neck – to steady him. Miguel reached down with one strong hand and lined their cocks up side by side. He drove his hips roughly into Ray’s, forcing sweet friction between them. He rocked back and forth, stroking both of them within his fist.

Ray broke the kiss and sucked air into his lungs. His head dropped back against the hard wall. Ray’s mouth fell open and he began moaning in the back of his throat. He slipped his hands around Miguel’s waist and pulled him in closer, tighter.

Miguel watched his friend’s face as he pumped against him. Pleasure and agony were floating across the priest’s pretty features in equal amounts. He knew that Ray was getting close and he tightened his grip. Miguel could feel the heat of his own release approaching as well.

Ray felt his penis pulsing against Miguel’s. His legs shook as he thrust his hips roughly into the taller man’s fist, his orgasm coiling deep within him, begging for release. Ray’s began to feel dizzy and his head dropped forward to Miguel’s shoulder. All of the muscles in his body constricted tightly.

"Oh…God. Miguel!"

Warmth spread over Miguel’s stomach. He felt the priest’s teeth sink into the skin of his collarbone. The pain from the bite pushed Miguel over the edge. The air rushed from his own lips in a rough hiss. His body tensed and hardened as his own hot seed sprayed out of him, coating the skin of his friend.

Miguel’s hand dropped away from their spent cocks and he slid it up into Ray’s hair. He lifted the man’s face to his own and kissed him. Slowly. Softly. Their bodies pressed together, soaked and sticky with their sweat and come. Miguel gathered Ray in his arms and held him tightly as they came down from their high.

Reality returned very slowly.

Ray pulled back first. His face felt flushed, his lips puffy and bruised. He met Miguel’s eyes and
smiled shyly.

"I, uh. I don’t really know what comes next, Miguel."

The priest’s naïveté was heartbreaking, and Miguel couldn’t help but feel guilty. He stroked his damp, sticky belly absently with his fingers. He turned his eyes away from Ray when he spoke.

"Uh, well, we need to clean up, man." He turned away from Ray and walked toward the bathroom.

Ray’s heart fell and his throat tightened as he watched Miguel’s retreating back. The full
realization of what he had done him full force. He covered his face with his hand and took a few deep breaths – a useless attempt to rein in his conflicting emotions. When Ray heard the shower start, he picked up his underwear and shirt, and pulled them over his naked body. He gathered the rest of their clothing and walked into the bedroom. He dropped the clothes to the floor and sat down on the bed. His head was pounding. He raised his hands to his temples and gently rubbed the painful ache, wishing it away.

When Ray heard Miguel enter the room, he looked up. The inmate had a towel slung around his hips. His skin and hair were wet and shiny. He wouldn’t meet the priest’s eyes. Ray knew Miguel was feeling guilty. It was actually quite apparent as Ray watched him lean back against the door frame and fall into his unconscious habit of picking at his fingers. A habit Ray was very familiar with.

"Miguel."

The Latino’s eyes shifted to Ray’s for a brief second, but dropped quickly back to his hands.

"So?"

"So what, Miguel?"

"So I better fuckin go then." His voice was sharp, biting.

Ray stood and approached him.

"Miguel." The priest reached out and placed his hand on Miguel’s forearm, halting the inmate’s nervous finger picking. "Would you look at me for shit’s sake!" Miguel finally met his eyes. Ray could see the same feelings reflected in the dark brown pools that he saw the day of the riot – and afterwards.

Remorse.

Regret.

Guilt.

"Miguel, I want you to stay. I want you to stay *here*."

"But you…"

Now it was Ray’s turn. He pressed his lips against Miguel’s, gently cutting off his words.

"I know what I said before." He turned and led Miguel over to his bed. He sat and pulled the other man down beside him. "It is my choice, my decision." He kissed Miguel deeply.

"Stay."

Miguel fell back against the soft mattress. He covered his eyes with his arm and nodded.

"Ok." His answer was soft and timid.

Ray stood. He walked to the opposite side of the bed and pulled down the covers. He slipped out of his clothes and slid underneath the warm blankets. He pulled them over his naked body, and reached out for his friend.

Miguel loosened the towel from his waist and climbed in beside him.

Ray reached over and pulled Miguel’s head to his chest. He stroked the other man’s hair, dropping small kisses along the top of his head. Miguel curled his body into Ray’s as he felt himself being lulled into sleep.

"It’ll be ok, Miguel." Silent tears fell from Ray’s eyes. He hugged Miguel close against him as he, too, slowly drifted away into peaceful slumber. "I’ll take care of you now."

~Continued in Epilogue~