Chapter Text
Steeling himself in front of the door of his new lodgings, Tom Wambsgans raises his fist and knocks.
Having been informed by his prison consultant of what’s expected of him, his plan is to be polite but not too ass-kissy. Tom is to make an introduction and explain that he’s the inmate’s new jail buddy, so sorry for the intrusion, but hopefully we can be friends.
In so many words.
When the door opens up, however, every iota of polite Minnesotan charm drains from his body. At least his shoulders also lose some of their tension, too. “Oh. It’s you?”
“Holy shit. Hi, Tom!” Greg says. They’re wearing the same clothing- how gauche, Tom’s mind supplies, to have shown up to jail in the exact same outfit. Ha-ha. “I guess- does this mean we’re roommates?”
“Cellmates,” Tom bites, and he barges in past Greg, glancing to see which bed is free.
“Well- I mean, it doesn’t have the feel of a traditional cell the way I’d conceived of them,” Greg says, “but. Yeah. You aren’t wrong, I guess?”
Two beds, one against each wall, a standing lamp between them, and windows over top. A desk which has two books on it and some paper, and empty shelf above it. Tom has a couple books to put on the shelf, but that’s about it.
The toilets are down the hall, as is the shower room. The look of those facilities made Tom’s gut twist, but he puts the thought out of his mind before he faints or something dramatic.
“Uh huh,” he says, and he tosses his bag on the bed on the left, and Greg leans against his bed on the other side. It’s a pretty small room.
With the combined length of their arms, they might be able to hold hands if they were both lying on their beds.
“It’s not- like, it’s not a conflict of interest to have us together, I guess,” Greg says, conversational.
Tom just stares at him for a second, “Must not be?”
“I mean. What are we going to do, together, uh, conspire to- to obstruct more justice at a company we don’t work at anymore?” Greg says lightly, lifting a hand and gesturing.
Tom shuts his eyes.
“And, the doors aren’t even that closely guarded, if we left it would just add years to our sentences? I just mean to say, uh, it’s not like we’d be planning a jailbreak just because we know each other,” Greg says.
Tom stands up, trying to ignore the droning, and looks through the window. Wonderful view of the giant trash bins in the back parking lot.
“Hey, I mean,” Greg says, and Tom turns towards him where he’s standing, coming to face Greg. “If you really think about it, it’s kind of like-”
“I want you to really consider the next words you say to me,” Tom says, and Greg just tilts his head like he’s trying to be persuasive.
“It’s almost like a- admittedly, very shitty, summer camp? Like- a cafeteria, crafts, planned activities, assigned jobs,” Greg says, “might not be so… hard.”
“I’m going to choke you to death, right now,” Tom says plainly, and indeed reaches his hands out and grips Greg’s throat. Greg immediately claws at his arms, just wrenching one hand away as they hear,
“Hey! Get the fuck off each other!” from the still-open doorway. Ugh.
They immediately step apart and Greg- holds his arm out in front of Tom’s chest, which baffles him for a moment. He says, “Dude, c’mon, we’re just fucking around!”
“Is that so?” the CO asks.
“Uh, yeah?” Greg says, cunty, and Tom just glances between them, not saying a damn thing.
“You want to try that again with a better attitude, convict?”
Greg glances at Tom, who shrugs, and speaks more calmly and persuasively, “We were simply play fighting, and we will… stop.”
“Good. Don’t let it happen again, stay the fuck away from each other, hands-off,” the CO says. He stares at them for another second, then continues down the hall.
“Dude,” Greg mutters, rubbing at his collarbone, and Tom breathes out shakily.
“Thanks. And. Sorry,” Tom says.
“If you- Tom. You won’t last ten minutes in solitary alone with your thoughts,” Greg says, and Tom glares at him weakly. Read for filth or whatever that phrase is. “Just, like, please don’t fuck with people here? We were both told.”
What he says is, “Yeah, Greg. I know.”
“Besides. It is actually way better that we’re roommates, isn’t it? We know each other, we don’t have to, like, suck up to each other or try to establish a dynamic.”
Tom sits back on his bed, not more than a twin, metal framed. It’s not very comfortable and he regrets it immediately, but just scrubs his hands down his face. “Yeah,” Tom says.
Greg pulls out the one chair at the desk and hums, staring down at a piece of paper. “We’ll get job assignments tomorrow, so I’m told?”
“Yeah, that’s the word on the block- or. Is this the block? I don’t-”
“I think we’re in the… can?” Greg says, Tom knows he was trying to joke but he doesn’t laugh. Then he glances at Tom, and huffs, “I don’t know the layout yet, Tom, or what the others call stuff around here.”
“No,” Tom says. “Guess that will… come with time. Haven’t made any new prison friends yet?”
“Other than you?”
“Ouch. We were friends before prison,” Tom says, and Greg just chuckles low under his breath.
“In fact,” Greg says, “we should probably start strategizing. Are we- do we let them know we’re friends? Or, act like we’re acquaintances and then divide and conquer?”
Tom pulls his chin back, and scoots to the edge of his bed, near the desk Greg is sitting at. Craning his neck, he can see Greg is just- doodling, small caricatures of people and evergreen trees. “Um. Good point. I don’t know. We probably shouldn’t get too chummy with each other.”
“Should we eat with each other in the cafeteria?”
“Uh,” Tom says. On the one hand, he just said they shouldn’t be chummy. On the other, the utter dread at the idea of having to find someone different to eat with or being left alone is- nearly unbearable. It’s like the most hellish version of middle school imaginable. “I think we should be safe to do that much.”
“Okay,” Greg says. Easy. Tom sniffs.
“You’re- not horrible at that,” Tom says.
“Huh?”
“Drawing,” Tom says, and Greg glances up at him.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks,” Greg says. “It’s just doodles?”
In an hour, or something, Tom’s not really watching the time, although there is a clock on the wall- it’s announced there’s a count before supper.
There are windows that mirror the ones to the outdoors into the hallway, so COs can always see in. They’d shut their door for a while, but open it now just in case.
They’re made to make their beds, though Tom’s is untouched, and he tucks his bag under the bed and Greg stacks his paper neatly as well. They stand, and are counted, and then free to go to supper.
They head to the cafeteria, where Tom laments the food as soon as they sit down.
“It’s-” Greg starts, and Tom shakes his head at him.
“If you say it’s ‘not so bad’, I will be going to a maximum-security jail on one count of second-degree murder,” Tom tells him, and Greg looks away for a second.
“All I am saying is- it could be worse,” Greg says, neatly circumventing what Tom told him not to say. Idiotic asshole. “Also- if you really don’t want to, you don’t have to sit with me, Tom! We’re already sleeping tog- in the same room.”
Tom kicks him hard under the table and Greg wrinkles his brows and just kicks him back, so Tom does it again, not quite so hard, and then Greg snorts with laughter and Tom gives him a bizarre look, then smirks.
Greg’s eyes are glancing around as more convicts enter the room. They got there a bit early, must have been counted at the top or something. Tom also looks around, as subtly as he can manage when he’s clearly sizing them up.
There’s a variety of men here. It’s a very low security level they’ve found themselves in, non-violent criminals. Tom was told by his consultant that fights do still break out, sometimes, and was instructed just not to make enemies. If he can manage to endear himself to the people who are popular, or at least a group of people that will stick with him if trouble arises, that might be helpful.
It’s only a few years, Tom reminds himself. He’s lucky to have a private room- there’s a dorm with a bunch of the prisoners sleeping together, and then a smattering of individual ‘cells’, although they really are more like two-person dorm rooms at a fucking college. The idea is they move towards massive-dorm life as they gain more freedom, but Tom doesn’t really understand why good behaviour leads to less privacy.
How is a man to even jack off in that scenario?
Those thoughts, he pushes completely out of his mind as some men request to join them at their table and Greg gives a shrug and says, “Sure.”
They talk for a couple minutes, and Tom keeps his head down before one of them says, “Hey! What’s your name?”
Tom looks up.
“That’s Tom,” Greg says, and Tom nods.
“Yep. Tom,” Tom confirms.
“Hey, we got a Tom already,” one of the guys says, pushing another guy with his shoulder. Tom quirks his lips up.
“Feel free to call me Wambs instead.”
“Wambs?”
“My last name,” Tom explains, and they sort of laugh. Greg smirks as well, and Tom just lowers his gaze.
He hears someone stage whisper, to Greg, “what crawled up his panties” and pretends he didn’t hear the question, nor Greg’s noncommittal but laughing response to it.
After a riveting chat and lovely dinner, they have some time in the courtyard and Tom runs track as Greg plays catch with some of the guys from supper, getting along swimmingly already. Tom makes no effort to talk to anyone for the rest of the free time, and they each leave early.
“Dude,” Greg says, when they get back to their cell. “You gotta do better than that.”
“Better than what?”
“Acting like- you taught me this, Tom, first impressions are super important,” Greg says. “Remember how you scared me shitless when we first met?”
“I did not,” Tom says, and Greg just shrugs.
“But- you, like, you made a very specific impression, and, if I’m not mistaking, it was a… powerplay?” Greg says, and Tom just glares, “So what the heck was that back there?”
“I’m not in the mood,” Tom says, and Greg huffs.
“Whatever, dude. Just- like. You know we have to ass-kiss and I know you are typically good at that so-”
“So what? Man up?” Tom asks, and Greg just gives him a confused but pissy expression.
“Sure? If you wish to call it that,” Greg scoffs. Then, there’s a beat, and Greg turns away from him, and picks up a bag, then looks back at Tom, “Wanna go shower with me?”
“Surely you’re not coming onto me already, it’s night one,” Tom says, “have a little class. Net me a tin of tuna or something to butter me up first.”
“I am not,” Greg says, eyes darting to the door for a split second before his hand darts out instead to smack Tom in the chest. Tom looks offended, but doesn’t hit him back, give the door is open and all. “Tom, I’m not doing that.”
“What the fuck, then? Why?” he ghosts instead, and Greg tilts his head.
“It’s- like. Safer, and- more normal, to go together?”
Tom gives him a look. “Tell me you’re not actually scared of-”
“Of..?” Greg says, but they both know damn well what they mean.
“Nobody is going to jump you in the showers,” Tom says. “That’s, like, a total myth.”
Greg just purses his lips.
“Because you’re such a hot piece of ass, huh, Greg?” Tom asks, and Greg just folds his arms over his chest.
“Are you insinuating I’m unattractive?”
“What is with this hot and cold,” Tom snaps, and Greg tightens his jaw further.
“Fine. Shower alone, see how you like it when someone jumps you, in there,” Greg says.
That makes Tom ugly laugh. He’s 6’4 and not exactly a weakling, he knows- of course, logically, that doesn’t mean he can’t be victimized but. Seriously?
Greg collects his things for a shower, “I just feel- Tom, it’s not very nice to tell your best friend to his face you think he’s ugly as sin.”
Tom screws up his face, “Greg, that’s not what I said and- what’s your fucking deal, man?”
“Have you maybe considered that I am also in jail right now?” Greg snaps, raising his voice, “that my headspace may be unideal, and I don’t feel so good exactly?”
Tom takes in a deep breath, “I mean- you seemed to me to be acting as if this is normal, Greg, and that you were hunky dory.”
“It’s not, and I am not! Just how stupid do you think I am, Tom? Seriously? Just because I’m- I’m happening to try to point out that we will be able to survive this doesn’t mean I’m- that I’m doing so okay.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Tom says, and he means it but it doesn’t sound authentic in the slightest, “for not reading your mind, Greg. It seems, just, that our coping methods are equal and opposite.”
“Yeah, it does,” Greg says, “Tom, seem that way.”
“So,” Tom says, “we can just- acknowledge and accept that you’re going to act too chipper and I’m going to be a curmudgeon. And fucking- get along with it.”
Greg lifts his chin for a second and looks at him almost defiantly, but his shoulders roll back a bit and he nods a moment later. “Okay. Fine.”
“Deal,” Tom says, and Greg sticks out his hand. They shake.
Greg then slings his shower bag over his shoulder and Tom sighs.
“One second, I’ll come with you,” Tom says quietly. Mostly because he needs to after running for forty-five minutes.
The showers have stalls, of course, but they can see over and, particularly in Greg’s case, down into them through the dividers. Blessedly, Greg faces the empty stall to Tom’s other side and they only glance over their shoulders a couple of times. They are almost fully alone, a couple other people at the very other end.
They don’t even talk, which makes it probably more awkward, but Tom can think of nothing to say.
In the middle, Greg starts laughing a little bit under his breath, and Tom sharply says,
“What?”
“Nothing,” Greg says.
“No, what’s funny?” Tom presses, twisting to look at him. Greg just shakes his head, hair wet and pushed back from his forehead.
“This.”
“This,” Tom repeats, and Greg nods. “This is funny to you?”
Greg laughs more, maybe a tinge manic, and Tom cranes his neck for a second, and then picks up his bar of soap and whips it at Greg, who says “ow” when it hits him in the leg, and then just laughs more.
Tom, joining him in laughter, says, “Give that back.”
“Why, Tom, so you can throw it at me again?”
“No,” Tom says, not sure yet if he’s lying.
“I won’t,” Greg says, though he’s still got humor in his voice, “not unless you-”
“What, Greg, wrestle you to the ground? Wet and naked?”
“No!” Greg shouts a laugh, “Tom, I was going to hold it ransom for Mr. Noodles, you freak.”
“Deal,” Tom says, again, holding out his hand over the divider, and Greg squats to get it, rather than bending over. Tom mostly keeps his eyes on the wall anyway. Greg eyes him warily but he places the bar in Tom’s palm.
Tom immediately pretends he’s going to throw it again and Greg blocks him with his arm and shouts, “Don’t.”
“Ssh,” Tom says, and Greg just glares at him. Then Tom laughs, and Greg shakes his head and laughs with him. “You’ll get us in trouble, Greg.”
“Never mind,” Greg says, as he shuts off the water, and reaches for his towel on the hook outside. “We are not surviving this, Tom. You are most certainly going to kill me within the week.”
“Now he’s talking sense,” Tom says, and Greg sighs, then laughs again.
“I- honestly, I might welcome it by the end of the week, too,” Greg says, and Tom shoots him a look as he shuts off his water, too.
Tom, in a previous life between college and Waystar, was extremely used to getting dressed in gym locker rooms, so he thinks nothing of it as they walk back, but he notices the extremely unsubtle way Greg tries to block his body at all times with the towel or facing the cubbies with their stuff.
Interesting, he thinks.