Title: Keller’s Revenge
Author: P’al Kwai
Requestor: fluffyllama
Fandom: Oz
Pairing: Keller/Beecher
Rating: 17+
Wordcount: 4105
Warnings: Language, explict m/m slash
Summary: Set after Exeunt Omnes, Keller doesn’t jump, Toby is paroled, and then Keller escapes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters represented here. They
are owned by HBO and Tom Fontana.
Beta: Don
A/N: **Beecher/Keller: On the run. [Request by fluffyllama]. It didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted, since I interpret Beecher/Keller on the run to be an escape by both of them and then their adventures on the run from the law. But I couldn’t come up with a believable scenario for an escape, thus this fic. It’s really not completed either, since I’m not happy with this ending, and my beta agreed with me, but I didn’t sign up for this round until December 8, so I didn’t have time to do a total rework of this fic. Hopefully, I’ll be able to write a sequel with a more satisfactory ending.
November 19, 2003
The bench is hard, and Toby’s ass is getting sore after forty-five minutes of waiting, waiting for his parole office with whom he had an appointment forty-five minutes ago. Sighing, he stretches his legs out in front of him and wonders how much trouble he would be in if he gets up and leaves.
Fifty minutes later, his parole officer, Michael Westgate, finally emerges from his office, followed by another man, one who Toby last saw nine months ago in Oz, Agent Pierce Taylor from the FBI.
“Tobias Beecher,” Agent Taylor greets him with a hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Can’t say I feel the same.” Standing up, Toby pointedly ignores the extended hand. “And I suppose I have to speak with him?” He looks at Westgate, asking a question he already knows the answer to.
Westgate gives him a short nod, as he turns toward his office. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Toby communicates his displeasure, as he follows the two men. His afternoon had started out bad and is only getting worse. Entering the office, he speaks before his parole office can even close the door, anything to get this tête-à-tête over with as soon as possible.
“I’ve had no communication with Chris Keller, since the day Oz was evacuated.”
“So I understand.” Agent Taylor seats himself, and then gestures to Toby to sit. “That’s why it was even more imperative that I speak with you because Keller escaped from Oz a few days ago.”
“Wha-” Toby is stunned, as he falls into the nearest chair because suddenly his legs become too weak to stand.
“Seems Keller managed to persuade some up-and-coming legal aid lawyer to take another look at his case. Well, in the process this particular lawyer fell hard for his charms, and. . . .”
“Aided him in his escape,” Toby finishes the thought, as he sits back, head whirling with this new revelation.
“Yes, said lawyer is now in custody, and of course, has no idea where Keller can be found.” Agent Taylor leans forward, staring hard at Beecher. “There’s a good possibility that he’ll be coming for you. Cooperate with us, and. . . .”
“And what?” Toby can’t help the derisive tone in his voice. “You’ll give me parole, oh wait, I’m already out on parole. You’ll. . . .” He gives Taylor a questioning look. “What?”
“Keep him from killing you.” Taylor sit back and folds his hands. “And your family.”
“And my family?” Toby lets out a short laugh, as he stands up. As far as he concerned, the discussion is over. “You need to do your homework better, Agent Taylor. I have no family anymore. See you next week,” he says to Westgate, as he puts on a cheery smile while strolling out of the office. Walking through the crowded waiting room, his face immediately becomes somber. His life has just been turned upside down again.
**
It’s a four thousand plus square-foot house, which Toby, at one time, called home. His parents’ house, whose bare walls and floors now mock him with their memories. Almost completely empty, except for a small dinette table in the kitchen, and a bed, dresser, and television in the downstairs bedroom, the big house echoes with loneliness.
Sitting on the floor in what was once the dining room, he contemplates what he should do. His mother had made him the generous offer of permitting him to live in the house, until it sold. It’s what has saved him from making any hard decisions about his future because he still holds out hope that his family will have a change of heart and allow him back in.
For a few moments, he idly wonders if Taylor’s warning has merit. Would Chris come looking for him? But he quickly dismisses the idea. Keller is anything but stupid, and since his escape was three days ago, Toby is quite sure that his former lover is nowhere in the vicinity.
Sighing, he pushes himself up off the floor, decides he’s not hungry, and plans to waste another night mindlessly watching whatever’s on the television. Stumbling to the bedroom, he falls down on the bed, not bothering to change into nightwear and clicks on the TV. He channel surfs for a bit and then settles on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, distracting himself by answering the question before the contestants do, reminiscent of many hours in Oz with the show, Up Your Ante.
Like numerous nights before, Toby falls asleep with the TV on. His sleep is never peaceful, as every night he relives the nightmare of his life since his car ran into a little girl named Cathy Rockwell.
**
This night his dreams are unfocused and blurry, similar to being high on meth or pcp. He thinks he sees Keller’s face and hears Keller’s voice in his dreams, but everything is so distorted, he can’t be sure. Head swimming, he feels nauseated, and a part of him wonders how he can feel so sick in a dream.
At one point, he’s sure that he’s flying or perhaps floating because he feels himself gliding through the air. And then suddenly he’s trapped in a small space, and he tries to yell or scream, absolutely certain that he’s buried alive. More nausea, and a feeling like someone ran sandpaper around his mouth and throat. He so desperately wants some water, but he can’t drink in his sleep, so he curls up in a fetal position and waits for consciouness.
**
November 24, 2003
Waking up with a start, bile rising in his throat, Toby manages to fall off the bed, as his body is overtaken with dry heaves. He suffers a miserable few minutes before his body calms, and he falls over on his back. Vision clearing, he looks around the room in puzzlement; he’s no longer in his parents’ house. Body shaking, he tries to stand, but his legs refuse to cooperate, as they buckle, and he falls back to the floor, panting heavily.
“What the fuck?” he speaks out loud, just to hear his voice. It’s husky from lack of use and fluids. Studying his surroundings, he notes that the décor of the room is Southwestern or Mexican, as the entire floor and baseboards are ceramic tile, and the room is filled with bright colors. Using the bed as leverage, he tries to stand, but again, his legs just won’t hold him, and he falls back on his butt. His string of curses are cut-off by the bedroom door opening with a bang.
“Toby, my Toby, how ya doing?” Christopher Keller strolls in with his usual swagger.
“Keller!” Toby spits out the name with venom, as a part of him kicks himself for not taking Agent Taylor’s warning more seriously. “Where the fuck am I, and. . . ?”
A sudden surge of nausea stops his verbal attack, and he falls on his side, legs drawn up to his stomach. Stomach clenching, he coughs and chokes, as Keller hauls him up and literally throws him back on the bed. Something touches his lips; opening his mouth he feels the welcoming wetness of cool water.
“Just sips,” Chris orders, as he pulls the glass away. “Anything more and you’ll make yourself sicker.”
A few more swallows, and Toby feels slightly better, as his mouth once again has moisture. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on the nausea and shakes, willing them away. A cool cloth wipes away his sweat, and he opens his eyes to see Chris above, a satisfied expression on his face.
“You kidnapped me,” Toby accuses him, carefully keeping his voice level. “And just where am I?”
“South of the border, baby.” Chris gives him a wide smile. “South of the border.”
“You managed to transport me south of the border?” Toby asked, realizing he should be surprised, but isn’t. Keller is good at acting the two-bit hustler, but on more than one occasion, he had shown that he had some big time resources backing him up. How he came by them, and who they were, was all part of the mystery of Christopher Keller.
“Called in a few favors,” Chris says nonchalantly, as he rests a big hand on Toby’s forehead.
“Is that right?” Toby asks. Chris’ hand is surprisingly cool. “Like you did when you had someone deliver that toxic substance that caused Oz to be evacuated.”
“Yeah.” Chris smiles again, but Toby notes that this time the smile never reaches his eyes. “Take a rest, Tobe. I’ll be back in a bit with some popsicle chips and clean clothes. We’ll get you in the shower then.”
A shower sounds heavenly, so Toby makes no protest, as he closes his eyes and rolls over on his side.
**
November 25, 2003
Wrapped in a blanket, Tobys sits out on the back patio, a cool breeze brushes his face, and despite his situation, he can’t help but take in the beautiful scenery and the fresh air.
“Here you go Tobe.” Chris interrupts his pleasant contemplations with his bigger than life presence, as he sets a tray on the small table next to Toby. “One chicken broth, and one green Jell-O.”
Glancing over at the tray in distaste, Toby can only grimace.
“Now, now.” Chris sees the grimace, as he steps in front of Toby and dips a spoon in the broth. “No faces; you need the fluid.” He raises the spoon to Toby’s mouth. “Open up.”
“Fuck you!” Toby snatches the spoon out of Chris’ hand, hating the other man’s mockery.
“Fuck me, yeah.” Chris’ expression is grim, as he backs away. “That’s basically what you told me nine months ago in Oz, to go fuck myself, and yeah, you really meant it because you left, and I never heard anything more from you.”
Toby sighs, remembering that fateful day: Chris’ declarations that he’d couldn’t leave Toby alone, the toxic powder that killed both Aryans and guards and caused Oz to be shut-down, and their transportation to different facilities, which eventually led to Toby’s parole being reinstated. Officials had been desperate to alleviate the overcrowding of area prisons.
“We’re not good for each other, Chris.” Toby looks over and stares Keller in the eye. “And I think deep down you know. . . .”
“All I fucking know,” Chris interrupts loudly, “is that I did everything for you, protected you, killed for you, and my fucking thanks was a get lost. You know, Tobe, I had numerous chances to take you out in Oz, in fact, as you know, Schillinger was making plans to kill you, but I circumvented the whole situation by telling him that I would do the deed.” Two steps backward, he leans up against the patio railing. “Yeah, I would kill you, course my excuse to Schillinger was that I just wanted to fuck you in the ass one more time.”
Chris grins, but his grin is anything but pleasant, causing a white hot fear to run down Toby’s spine. “Yeah, maybe that’s what I should do, fuck you in the ass one more time, and then. . . .” He makes a cutting motion across his throat.
Swallowing hard, Toby does his best to hide his fear. “So why all this?” He gestures with his hand. “Why go through all the trouble to bring me here? You could have broken my neck right then and there at my parents’ house.”
Leaning forward on the balls of his feet, Chris bends toward Toby with a whisper. “Because I love you.”
**
Nighttime finds Toby lying in bed, tense with anticipation. Keller would be joining him shortly, and unlike the night before, Toby knows that it won’t be a chaste-sharing-of-the-bed. He’s apprehensive, but it’s not the sex that scares him, it’s the incomprehensible mind of Chris Keller. Is he going to be fucked and then murdered, or fucked and. . . .what? Toby has no idea.
The bathroom door opens and Keller emerges wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. It’s a look that suits Keller, and one that Toby has seen before.
“Hey.” Chris unwraps the bath towel and throws it on the floor. “You still awake?”
“Awake and wondering.” Toby turns slightly to look at Keller, who’s crawled into bed next to him.
“Yeah, wondering about what?”
“Just what you want from me.”
“Your ass, baby.” Keller rolls over and straddles Toby. “Your ass.” Leaning down he runs lips and tongue down the side of Toby’s face. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he whispers.
**
November 26, 2004
Early morning, the sun hasn’t even began peeking over the horizon, but Toby is totally unaware of the anything, except the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears. To him it’s just another night and another nightmare.
“Hey, hey, hey.” A voice still edged with sleep and a comforting hand penetrate the black veil of sleep. “Toby, you’re just having a bad dream.”
Breathing hard, Toby half-sits up, as he can still see his small son, Gary, blood running from an arm that is missing a hand, calling for him, crying for him.
“Toby.” His name is said with such gentleness, such tenderness, that he feels his eyes fill with tears. So many months of indifferent, uncaring people, and now Chris Keller. He wraps his arms around Keller’s neck and buries his face in the other man’s throat. At this moment he craves sympathy and understanding.
A hand entwines itself in his hair; his head is pulled back, and a hungry mouth finds his. The kiss is long and deep, as Toby feels both tongue and teeth. A shift in position, and Keller is once again on top of him, his cock sliding down Toby’s perineum, looking to enter again.
One hard thrust and Chris is seated deep in Toby. Head thrown back, he hesitates, wishing that time could be stopped, and that these moments could be captured and relived over and over.
Hips rising, Toby meets Chris thrust for thrust. Ass muscles clenching, he tries to forget for a few minutes, forget about his life and the heartbreak it’s become. Grabbing himself, he strokes hard, seeking the oblivion that sex can bring.
No one speaks, only panting and the slap of flesh on flesh fill the room. The pace picks up, and Toby closes his eyes, and lets himself go; his cock pulses and splatters his hand. Body tensing from orgasm, he feels Chris drive himself in completely, and then the wonderful sensation of a cock throbbing inside of him, and a warm wetness filling him up.
“Toby.” He hears his name whispered again, as he closes his eyes, and lets sleep overtake him. This time the sleep is restful, as his nightmares are kept at bay until he wakes with the morning sun.
**
Standing outside the front door of which Toby now knows is a guest cottage on what appears to be a huge estate.
“Don’t go snooping around, Tobe,” Keller warns, as he immediately follows Beecher out the front door. “Just stay here in the guest house, and there won’t be any problems.”
“”Why?” Toby turns to face Chris. “Is the owner of all this?” He waves his hand around. “The boogeyman?”
“Worse,” Chris says in all seriousness, as he takes Toby by the arm and leads him back into the house. “He’s someone you don’t want to meet.”
“But he’s an acquaintance of yours? A friend?” Toby persists.
Keller’s lower lip comes out, as he shakes his head, a sure sign that he doesn’t want to say.
“He’s the one, who aided in my kidnapping, isn’t he?” Toby takes a educated guess. “So now, you owe him?”
“Well, actually, he owed me.” Still shaking his head. Chris he sinks into a cushioned chair in the living room. “But. . . .”
“But what?” Toby prompts, remembering that it always took persistence to get Chris to talk when he didn’t want to.
“I’ll be owing him soon.”
Toby sighs; it’s like pulling teeth. “Why?”
“Going to aid me in another big undertaking.” Chris rubs a spot behind his ear, and finally looks Toby into his face. “Going to help me bring your kids down here.”
“Wha- no! Goddamn it, Chris!” Toby begins pacing the room. “I don’t want my kids here; for Christ’s sakes, I don’t think I even want to be here.”
“Oh, so we’re back to fuck you, Keller.” Chris sits up straighter, his expression darkening. “Last night and this morning were just what, fucks because you were horny?”
“Yes, no!” Toby rattles out in confusion. It was always like this with Keller; the lovemaking at night never meshed with the harsh reality of the day. “I-I. . . .” He throws himself on the couch and buries his face in his hands. “I did love you, and maybe, I still do, but like I told you in Oz; you’re death, and I need to. . . .”
“Go back to your lonely existence in an empty house; the only person you see from time-to-time is your parole officer,” Chris interrupts. “I saw the way you were living, and by-the-way, where are your kids, Tobe?”
Lifting his head, Toby stares over at Keller.
“Not with you, are they? Toby. . . .” Chris falls down on one knee in front of Beecher. “You’ve been living alone these last months in a big, lifeless house. So how can you tell me that’s not a type of death? I offer you a life, Tobe, a life here with me, and your children.”
**
November 27, 2004
“So what do you think?” Keller spread his arms, his smile all charm. “Perfect for the kids, don’t you think?”
Nodding in a non-committal fashion, Toby stares around the interior of the house they’re currently looking at. It’s the fourth one of the day, and part of him agrees with Keller; it’s perfect.
“They’ll each have a room of their own, and a spare for a playroom, and of course, a private suite for us.” Chris lowers his voice to a whisper, as he gives Toby a wink.
“Just how are you planning to pay for this?” Toby asks. It’s part legitimate question, and part evasion. He still not sure about bringing his children here to live.
“I received an inheritance,” Chris says with aplomb, as if someone like him received inheritances everyday.
“An inheritance?” Toby says with a rise of the eyebrows.
“Yeah, my mom. . . .” Chris walks over to a window and looks out. “My mom was no rocket scientist, but she did have looks, and I guess. . . .” He turns back to Toby. “ A whole lot of sex appeal.”
“Like mother, like son,” Toby mutters to himself.
“So she hooks-up with some rich guy, and I mean rich, and gets herself knocked up. Now knowing my mother, she probably arranged the whole thing figuring that would be her meal ticket for many, many years.”
“So your father was rich?” Toby asks skeptically. He knows Keller is a first class liar.
“Yeah, filthy,” Chris says with a grin.
“So the son of a very rich man pulls ponzi schemes for a living, and ends up sentenced to eighty-eight years in prison for what was initially a hold-up of a grocery store. Why do I find this hard to believe?”
“What can I say?” Chris gives a shrug. “I was bored.”
“Uh-huh.” Toby looks around, studying the house a bit more. It really was beautiful.
“Toby, my old man never officially or legally recognized me. It would have been a slur on his name and standing to admit he had a child by a woman of dubious reputation, so he gave us money when he felt like it. That practice continued when I was an adult. Months, maybe even a year or two could go by, and I would hear nothing from him, and then one day out of the blue, wham, a windfall. Guess his conscience would get to him every now and then. Well, not too long ago, the old man kicked the bucket, and he died childless, well, died without a legitimate heir.”
“And he left you his money?” Toby doesn’t know whether to believe Keller or not.
“I guess toward the end he was pissed-off at his family and business partners, so to get back at all of them, he leaves me the bulk of his estate.”
“So you’re, you’re telling me the truth?” Toby is still doubtful; although Chris’s story, if true, would answer many of the questions that surrounded him.
“Yeah.” Chris nods his head, as he walks over to Beecher and leans close to him. “That’s how I was able to afford to bring you here with me, baby.”
**
January 12, 2005
Standing on a street in Bogota, Colombia, Toby stares at the building across the way, the United States Embassy. He’s going to go back to the country of his birth, but still he hesitates, as he looks around, hopefully. He had waited here in the capital city for two days, knowing that if Keller wanted to find him, he would. But no one came to take him home.
Taking a deep breath, Toby checks for traffic and then slowly crosses the street. He hurts all over, but a voice inside him keeps nagging him; what did you expect, to live happily ever after with Christopher Keller? A pipe dream. You knew that a year ago, that’s why you rejected him, left Oz, and never looked back. So why are you being such a total fool now?
Toby smiles sadly; his inner voice does have a sense of humor. Approaching a guard, he states his name, social security number, and that he’s an American stranded here in Colombia. The guard, of course, has to call someone, who will then need to speak to a superior, etc, etc. It will be a long process with countless explanations, but Toby figures he’ll drop the name of Special Agent Pierce Taylor. Perhaps, that will help in verifying his story.
Following the guard inside, he’s shown into a small waiting area. He sits, knowing that he’ll be here for hours. Resting his head against the wall, he closes his eyes and remembers, remembers all the promises Keller had made to just a couple of short months ago. Promises that had been all lies, and had been made with the intent to never be kept. Idly, he speculates, not for the first time, if Keller had set up the whole kidnapping, living-happily-together south of the border scenario with the aim of breaking his heart again, or did Killer Keller just lose interest in him. Toby’s not sure, but can’t discount it totally, although it seems hard to think that it was premeditated considering the time, effort, and cost that Chris had put forth. It was excessive, but then Keller always tended to be extreme.
“Mr. Beecher.” A young man enters the waiting room. Toby immediately pegs him as a flunky. “Do you have your passport?”
Toby shakes his head.
The young man stares at him in skepticism. “Any type of identification?”
“No. I was kidnapped almost two months ago and brought here against my will.”
The young man’s skepticism turns to outright disbelief. “Just wait here; I need to go and speak to my superior.”
Despite his depression, Toby snickers. He wonders how many superiors will be called in his case. Closing his eyes for a second time, he remembers the past month, the lonely days and nights, Keller’s growing indifference to him, and the many young men, who had been paraded in front of him. Chris had gotten his revenge.
“Mr. Beecher.” This time it’s flunky and flunky’s boss. “Do you own a passport, and if so, what is its number?”
Toby sighs. In a bureaucracy if one didn’t have the proper documentation, the bureaucrats were just totally at a loss. “I do own a passport, but I have no idea what the number is.”
“Is there someone you can call and get the number from?”
Toby thinks for a moment. As far as he knows, his passport is still at his parents’ house in Manhattan. “My brother.”
“Come with us.” Flunky’s boss holds the door of Toby. “You’ll need to call your brother.”
Standing up, Toby obeys, questioning if anyone is going to ultimately believe his story, or if he’ll end up incarcerated again. The thought of incarceration does not have him trembling at the knees because he feels dead inside. Yes, Keller had gotten his payback.
****
Finis