fredbassett

Title : Within These Walls, Chapter 6 of 30
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Nick, Stephen, Connor, Danny
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 59,000 words in 30 chapters of approx. 1,500 – 2,500 words each
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ending up in Dartmoor prison for refusing to recant their belief in evolution is only the start of the problems facing Nick, Stephen and Connor. And Sir James Lester soon ends up with other problems on his hands than just an over-crowded prison population.
A/N : For acknowledgments etc please see Part 1.

Stephen came awake abruptly as he always did. He lay on his back for a moment, staring up at a flaking, white-painted ceiling, fighting the sudden feeling of disorientation, which was followed by an equally sudden, sharp nausea as he remembered where he was, and why.

He rolled onto his side in the grey light of early morning, and found himself staring at the man in the other top bunk, a man who, the previous night, Stephen had accused of being a sex offender. Not exactly one of his brightest moves, even he had to admit that, but he’d been tired, hungry and fucking fed up. He’d spent the day locked up in the back of a prison transit vehicle, with no food, little water, and the smell of his fellow prisoners’ sweat assaulting his nostrils.

Then he’d been forced to strip, at gun point, before being subjected to a full body cavity search in a roomful of other men. Not exactly one of his better days.

The man named Danny Quinn started at him expressionlessly, clearly leaving the next move up to Stephen.

Swallowing his pride, Stephen Hart sat up, holding both hands up, palm outwards. “Truce? I’m sorry about what I said last night.”

Quinn held his gaze for longer than was comfortable then nodded slightly. “Truce.”

With a feeling of relief, Stephen swung down from the bunk, moving as lightly as he could to avoid waking Connor in the bunk below him. His bladder was full and demanded urgent emptying. With his back to his cellmate, Stephen stood over the stainless steel toilet bowl and let loose a long stream of urine, sighing quietly, not caring who was watching or listening at that point. He shook himself off, zipped his jumpsuit back up, washed his hands, dried them on cloth-covered legs and finally turned back to face Quinn.

“So what happens next?”

“I have a piss and you watch me?” Quinn’s eyes held amusement and Stephen found himself returning the man’s grin.

“After that?”

“If we’re lucky they let us out and feed us.”

“If we’re unlucky?”

“They’ll chuck us a couple of energy bars and we’ll kick our heels in here for the rest of the day. Depends on the reason for the lockdown.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows, questioningly.

Quinn shrugged. “I know no more than you do, sunshine. Could have been caused by trouble on another wing. Rumour has it a few hot-heads in D Wing have been playing silly fuckers, so maybe it was that. We’ll find out when they let us out of here and not before.”

“How long do they keep us locked up for?”

“Twenty-three hours a day, if they feel like it. You’ll be assigned to some sort of work pretty quickly, and they’ll let you out for work-gangs after that, but not until you’ve been assessed for escape risk. Until then, if you’re lucky, there’ll be an hour of free association a day, plus half an hour out for meals: breakfast, lunch and supper.”

Stephen stared around the cell, barely able to suppress a shudder. Twenty-one and a half hours - more if he was unlucky - every day, in a cell designed for two people, but now holding four. Jesus H Christ, he’d go mad within a week, he knew he would.

Quinn saw the look on his face and gave him a not-unkind grin. “You’ll survive. Most do. With your looks you’ll be able to buy quite a few favours. Better that way than someone taking what they want by force.”

Stephen’s stomach gave an unwelcome lurch and he dropped his eyes from Quinn’s. The guy wasn’t saying it to goad him, he was simply stating a fact. And that made it even worse. He took a deep breath and looked up. “Has that happened to you?”

Danny Quinn didn’t flinch, in fact his expression didn’t change at all as he said quietly, “Yeah. Happened in my first week in Albany. There were four of them in the showers. It hurt like hell and I needed stitches afterwards. Took me two weeks before I could take a crap without feeling like someone was sticking a red-hot poker up my arse. Worse thing was I blamed myself. Big strong guy like me, ex-copper, of course I should have fought ‘em off.” His voice trailed off for a moment, and his eyes took on an unfocussed look.

Stephen opened his mouth, but shut it again, not knowing what to say. He knew perfectly well that his looks would make him vulnerable. He’d had enough problems on remand, but here it would be different. Here it would be a hundred times worse and he knew he had no chance of leaving Dartmoor without being raped. He glanced down at Connor, and was relieved to see the young man was still asleep, curled into a tight ball with the blanket scrunched up under his chin.

“It’ll be the same for him, won’t it?” said Stephen heavily.

Quinn sighed and nodded. “He’s young enough to appeal to the real nonces, that’s his problem. At least a hundred of them were transferred over here from Albany, and there are still a few of them here on the Intake Wing. Best thing your friend can do is find someone who wants a bitch – preferably one of the soldiers, and hope they’ll protect him. Otherwise he’s stuffed. Literally.” Quinn’s eyes rested on Connor for a moment and he shook his head.

Stephen opened his mouth to ask another question, wanting to know how a former policeman had managed to end up in prison, but, mindful of the man’s words to Cutter the previous night on the subject of too many questions, he shut it again and simply climbed back onto his bunk.

“You’re a fast learner, Hart,” commented Quinn approvingly.

Stephen stretched out again on the hard mattress listening to the noises of the enormous prison gradually waking up around him. A while later he heard movement from the lower bunk beneath Quinn, which signified that Nick Cutter was in the process of waking up. He watched the Scotsman turn on his back and stretch, then Cutter abruptly stopped all movement for a moment as he remembered where he was. Eventually, like Stephen had been, he was driven from his bunk by the dictates of his bladder – and the need to perform other bodily functions.

Stephen turned over, pressing his face into the pillow. Christ, could this place get any more fucking humiliating? He stayed like that, motionless, while Cutter finished what he had to do, flushed the toilet, washed his hands and returned to his own bunk, without speaking.

Eventually, Connor followed suit, only this time, a few minutes later, a quiet voice muttered, “Er, guys, could someone bung me the loo roll?”

The three men lay motionless, until Quinn broke the silence with a bark of laughter. “Jesus, kid, you’ve got a lot to learn.” He leaned down, opened one of the lockers and chucked a roll over to Connor, saying, “Catch!”

Connor joined in the laughter, breaking the tension, leaving Stephen to contemplate the enigma that was Danny Quinn.