“This is bullshit, you know.”

Lance and Justin never questioned why they were allowed to work together. They merely accepted the favor for what it was, a chance to monitor two of them interacting. They talked only in whispers as they were bent over, scrubbing.

“Such bullshit.”

Lance sighed and dipped his brush into the hot, soapy water again. “I know.”

“We used…” his breath caught. “We used to be somebody. Something.”

Lance caught his gaze. “I know, but we still sort of are.”

“What?”

“They monitor us for a reason, Jup. They’re still scared of us.” Lance glanced around down the corridor, checking for Guard.

“What, that we’d attack them with soap and a scrub brush?”

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know.” He stopped talking when he heard footsteps in the corridor behind them. He didn’t look up as they stopped in front of him. The boots were Guard issue, and Lance didn’t want to invite trouble.

“You. Number?”

“451622.”

“You?” The boot nudged Justin.

“451625.”

“Check your supplies in and return to your quarters immediately.” The boots continued down the passage, not doubting that their orders would be carried out.

Lance and Justin stood, soap buckets in hand, and followed the direction of the boots.

Joey was already home when they arrived.

“JC isn’t here,” he said.

Justin looked back toward the street. “Maybe he’s coming…”

Joey shook his head. “I don’t think he is. I think…”

“No,” Justin interrupted him. “No, they can’t. Not again. Not…” he trailed off, still staring out the window. “They can’t, can they?” He turned pleading eyes to Lance, then to Joey, hoping they’d contradict themselves, hoping that it wasn’t true.

Lance reached for Joey’s hand and clung to it. Using that strength, he turned to face Justin. “They have before.”

Justin’s face crumpled. Lance stepped forward to hug him, soothe him in any way possible. He felt tears well up in his own eyes as Joey’s arms wrapped around them both, and they all huddled together.