A Jailbird's Song (P, angst)

Voy_Girl · **Mon Oct 07, 2002 2:30 pm A Jailbird's Song (P, angst)**

Title: A Jailbirds Song

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Author: Tha1n0nlYVoyGirl

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Written: 7/3 2002

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Code: P

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Angst

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Summary: Christmas at Auckland Prison.

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'A JAILBIRD'S SONG' by THA1N0NLYVOYGIRL

* * * * * * * * * * *

Tom Paris leaned his back against the cold wall in the big Auckland messhall.

Today they served almost twice as good food as usual.

It was Christmas eve.

But Tom didn't taste any of the food. He hadn't got any appetite and those special smells only served to remind him of what he could have had, what he could've been if he'd only done as his father had told him to do.

He thought about where he'd been only a year ago. At his father's house, together with his two older sisters and of course, his father.

His Christmases before Auckland might not have been very good or idyllic, but he'd been home.

It was before he'd joined the Maquis.

As Tom stood there, remembering all his Christmases before, the warden walked up to him.

"Merry Christmas, inmate!"

"Sir."

The warden leaned himself against the wall too, next to Tom.

"Every year we usually let a person who's been orderly for a whole year go home to visit his family. Unfortunately, you haven't been that good."

Tom expression didn't change the slightest.

"However, every inmate who hasn't done anything stupid the last month usually gets a call. You've been orderly for five weeks now. Ain't you lucky? You get a call home. Here's your ticket. You can make one five minute call with it."

"Thank you, sir, but I don't want it."

"Don't be foolish, boy! Take it and call home to your celebrating family!"

The warden pressed the small silver/bronze badge into Tom's unwillingly open hand, and then he left.

Off to talk to another inmate. Probably one who would be overwhelmed by joy to get the chance to call home.

Tom left the mess and headed towards the drawing room. He didn't intend using the ticket.

He went on down the hallway, in his own thoughts, watching his feet walk on and on.

Doing that, he didn't notice Eagle Marc before he stepped on the rutinated jailbirds foot.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you. You all right?"

"I'm fine., just curious. What interesting thoughts flew through your mind? I was the only other person in the entire hallway, and you didn't see me?!"

"I'm just tired, I guess. But I heard you play, what's that tune called again?"

"'Sweet Home Alabama'. That's when I live when I'm not here. I got this harmonica from my wife many long summers ago."

"You miss your wife?"

"Her and my five kids. Should've been nice being able to call them these days. I should've, but I couldn't help myself from punching that stupid shrink out two days ago."

Tom looked at Eagle Marc for a moment, opened his clenched fist and offered Eagle Marc the ticket by holding his open hand in front of the older man's face.

"Here, you need it more that I do?"

Eagle Marc picked up the ticket from Tom's palm and studied it.

"Thanks. The missis' gonna be very happy hearing from me."

"Your welcome."

"But why don't you use it yourself?"

"I don't... get along very well with my family."

"That's sad. You should care for them more though, if you'd call them, you might be able to work stuff out."

"I don't think that would work. It's yours, ok! Now use it before it's a new day!"

Tom started walking away from the bearded man which shoe he'd left a dust mark at.

"Son! Wait!"

He stopped and turned around to face Eagle again.

"You're way to kind-hearted to be here. How come you ended up locked up at this place?"

"A stupid mistake. Just as everything else I've ever done, and probably ever will do."

"You'll be something one day, I can feel it in my toe. You know the one you stepped on... I know it. You'll be something one day."

'Yeah, right!' Tom thought, left Eagle Marc alone with his old, shiny harmonica, he did no longer care about visiting the drawing room.

All he wanted to do was to get back to his cell and get some sleep before another cheerless day would begin.