Title: Somewhere Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Jen

Subject info: Ryan O'Reily faces a decision

Pairing: Non

Rating: PG-13-R for language

Feedback: I'd love it. On list or private is fine.

Archive: Wherever, please just let me know : )

Warnings: Season 6 spoilers

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tom Fontana and HBO. I am making no profit from this writing.

This was originally written for the Lyric Wheel, and was my first completed fic. : )

Somewhere Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
by Jen

Who the fuck would've imagined that Hell bears a striking resemblance to the Hawaiian Islands? I've never actually visited the Aloha state, but I've sure as shit gone through enough travel magazines, and if that's not Maui over there, I'll eat my goddamn hat. Right now, I'm standing here looking across an ocean at the same crystal, blue-green waves that are in the magazines, the same dazzling, pristine beaches, even the same fucking droopy-leaved trees. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that I was getting a glimpse of Heaven, not Hell. But, after all of the shenanigans I've been up to in the last few years, I somehow seriously doubt that St. Peter is gonna open the Pearly Gates for my skinny Irish ass.

I guess you'd call the place where I'm standing Limbo. You see, I'm not technically dead yet. I can still see them working on my body back in the Oz infirmary. I tell you, it's really fucking surreal to look down and be able to see yourself laid out on a hospital bed, to be watching while they're trying to get your heart beating again. I'm no doctor, but I'd say that straight line on the monitor means they're not having much luck. Isn't it kind of fucking ironic that they all look so concerned about me while I'm dying, considering none of them gave two shits about me while I was alive? Just to illustrate my point, take a look at Querns and that cocksucker McManus, crowding in behind the doctors, ordering them to save me, acting like I was a beloved member of the family. Their looks of concern are all for show; if I die, those two will break out the champagne, don the party hats, and motherfucking Riverdance their way around Em City.

The only person in the entire hospital that I even remotely care about is Tobias Beecher. He's the one who found me in the gym, lying in a pool of my own blood, knife sticking out of my chest. His ugly mug was the last thing I saw before I got up here. I know he means well, but sometimes Beech can get a little strange. I guess seeing me all messed up like that flipped some fruitcake switch in his brain, because he started in on the goddamn nursery rhymes again, and I thought he'd gotten over that habit years ago. Beecher will always hold a special place in my heart, but it may take me awhile to forgive him for making 'Ryan O'Reily, puddin' and pie, got himself shanked, and made Toby cry' the last words I'll ever hear on Earth. I just hope to fucking Christ they don't let him write my epitaph.

Anyway, none of the things going on in the hospital right now matter one bit. The doctor pounding on my chest, Querns and McManus shouting orders, Beech standing in the corner muttering his own unique version of 'Little Jack Horner'; none of it's gonna save me. Only I can do that. That's why I'm stuck here; somebody, somewhere, is waiting for me to decide whether I want to live or die. If I decide to live, Scotty'll beam me back down to my battered body, back to that glorious place called Oz. If I decide to go the other route, I guess I'll get to cross the ocean and end up in either Hell, Heaven, or Magnum P.I.'s fucking guest room, depending on what that little island over there actually is. My fate is being entirely left up to me. I know I don't have much time to decide, though, because the doctors can't keep up the C.P.R. forever, and the skies around me are getting dark and ominous. The wind's picked up, and the waves are smashing harder against the sand. There's one hell of a storm coming, and something tells me I have to make up my mind before it gets here, or it'll be too late. So, like that stupid song says, should I stay or should I go now?

You wouldn't think it'd be a hard decision, would you? Especially since I've been acting like I was dead already for the last few months. If I knew for sure what, and who, was waiting for me on the other side, I'd be able to make up my mind a lot easier. If I could guarantee that all of the people I've loved and lost, or at least some of them, were there to welcome me, I'd be across that water in a fucking heartbeat. I just don't want to get over there only to find out that it's really purgatory, and I have to spend the rest of forever listening to Omar White's rendition of Don Ho's greatest hits, or get stuck with being Vern Schillinger's personal paradise prag, wearing a grass skirt and spoon feeding him poi. I suppose K- boy'd be running around over there somewhere, but, as much as I like hanging with him, a few rousing chess tournaments wouldn't begin to make up for those other horrors. Hey, if Hell does turn out to be anything like Hawaii, maybe the Devil will let me go back to Earth long enough to tell Beech. It'd be like free advertising for Old Scratch, because I'm fairly certain that Toby would sell his soul for the chance to spend eternity watching Chris Keller parade up and down the beach in a thong swimsuit.

Okay, maybe I should make a list of the many things I want to live for. It should take all of ten seconds. First, and I know this sounds ridiculous, there's Beecher. We've had our ups and downs through the years, but I've always considered him my friend, and pals are pretty fucking tough to find in a place like Oz. He really never asked anything of me, other than my friendship. And, now that K-boy's gone, I'm worried about him. I've been trying to look out for him the last few months, as much as I could, anyway. He just seems so fucking vulnerable. We're able to comfort each other because he has the same problem I do. His heart's broken into a million pieces. I hate to leave him all alone in that chamber of horrors, feeling like that. Although, if anybody could understand my reasons for wanting to die, it'd be Toby. I know he'd forgive me.

Then there's Ma. She's a good reason to stay around a little bit longer. Having discovered her so late in life, I haven't got to spend nearly enough time with her. She's an amazing woman; she's held up through the last few months better than I have, by far. But, I just don't know if she could make it through the loss of both of her sons. It was hard enough on her when she had to let go of Cyril, I think watching him sit in that motherfucking electric chair nearly killed her just as easily as it did him. How would it affect her if she lost me, too? Hey, I guess up here it's 'ask and ye shall receive', because just as I had that thought, I looked down, and the picture of me in the hospital was replaced with one of Ma. She's sitting in Father Mukada's office with him and Sister Pete. Obviously, she knows I'm in bad shape, because she's crying her goddamn eyes out. Christ, it's hard to watch that. The last thing I want to do is hurt her; she's been so fucking good to me. She believed in me when nobody else did, forgave me for all of the shit I've done. She never once asked for a single thing in return. And, here I am, ready to put a knife through her heart by giving up my life. That just goes to show you what kind of a fucking jizzball I am, that I could even consider doing that to her.

That's another reason to stick around; I hate the idea of giving up so easily. For the last seven years, till recently, all I did was concentrate on survival. Day in and day out I did anything and
everything just to keep myself, and Cyril, alive. Up until my goddamn soul was shattered, I didn't think the word 'quit' was in the O'Reily dictionary. Then, my brother died, and a huge piece of my heart seemed to just break away. One month later, while we were at Lardner, some sick fuck cut my father's throat, and just as Dad and I were getting to know each other, he was suddenly gone. That broke off another little piece. Then, three months ago, it happened. The thing that I still, to this day, find it almost impossible to speak about, or even think about. The thing that took what was left of my heart, and left me empty and black inside. The thing that left me walking around Oz like a zombie, numb to everything. I know it's the one thing I have to face before I can make my decision to live or die, but I just can't, not yet. I'll have to work my way up to it.

I was supposed to be listing the good things, I know, but when you live in a cumstain like Oswald State Penitentiary, there's just not that much to write home about. Unless your family enjoys reading fun filled tales of rape, murder, and miscellaneous atrocity. If that's the case, you could become another fucking Tolstoy. I guess there's only one reason left for me to go back that I haven't mentioned yet, and it's a good one. Revenge. There are quite a few scores I still haven't settled that need attention; I hate leaving goddam unfinished business. I'd love to put a huge amount of hurt on Governor Fuckwad for making Cyril go through all that E.C.T. bullshit before he strapped him in the chair, although I imagine the governor would be kind of hard to get to. But, if I really put my mind to it, I bet I could think of a way. After all, I don't call myself The Lord of the Fucking Dance because I get off on wearing fruity tights and doing a jig at the annual prison talent show.

Dad's another person I need to avenge, I never was able to find out who did him in. Whoever it was needs to learn that you don't fuck with the O'Reily's and survive. Then again, I guess I'm the only O'Reily left, and considering where I am right now, somebody already fucked with me, big time. That's one more asshole I need to ice; whoever put me in the goddamn hospital with a steak knife taking the place of my left nipple. Shit, sometimes I'd swear that the hacks actually *bring* weapons into the prison when they get bored, just so they can watch us run around trying to kill each other. It's like they're making one of those stupid-ass reality shows; 'Survivor 44: When Convicts Collide'.

Of course, I don't have nearly as many names on my shit list as I used to. A bunch of my enemies got taken out in one fell swoop thanks to a minor production titled 'Keller's Last Stand'. I still don't know what the fuck he was thinking, using all that chemical shit, making us have to uproot and move to Lardner. And the worst part is, it made no goddamn sense. First, he makes arrangements for all the big, mean Nazi fucks to be exterminated, simply to protect his beloved Toby, then right afterward, turns around and does an Olympic- quality swan dive smack into the middle of Em City, practically ensuring that his better half will be blamed for his death, and quite possibly be executed for it. Now, how fucked up is that? I swear he did it all just for shit and giggles. I was right there when he fell; I saw his eyes, and I tell you, they were laughing as he died. Whoever said that love conquers all was a motherfucking idiot; all it does is make you lose your sanity. Take it from me, I should know.

The biggest joke that my good friend Chris played, however, was taking out King Nazi Fuck himself, Herr Schillinger. I'm still royally pissed at him for that one. I've been planning revenge on that cocksucker for years now, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. And Keller has to go and use Toby to steal my thunder, right in front of the entire population of Oz, no less. Yep, if I end up in Hell, sharing a pod with K-boy, we're going to have plenty of things to discuss.

Okay, I just thought of one extra reason to live, but it's really fucking embarrassing. I never thought I would admit this, even to myself, but if there was ever a time to be honest, I guess this is it. I, Ryan O'Reily, Irish Iago, Jailhouse Machiavelli, Lord of the Fucking Dance, am terrified of dying. I wonder if it'll hurt, or if it'll just be like going to sleep. I'd have to go with the former,
considering most of the stiffs I've seen around Oz don't exactly have a smile on their face. It's just that I hate what I can't control, and death is like the ultimate unknown. I guess I should be a little reassured by this view I have now, at least I know there's *something* waiting for me, and not just complete nothingness. I grew up Catholic, but I never really got into all that religion shit, not
until Cyril went to Death Row, that is. For once, I felt like I had a little faith. Then, after all that, after I read the Bible and actually prayed for the first time in years, God went ahead and let my brother die anyway. Now, I don't know what the fuck to think. I guess God's there somewhere, but it just seems like he's one hell of a practical joker. So, I'm a little afraid that He might get his
jollies off by making my last breath as painful as possible.

Now, for the second list. My reasons to die. First, unless some major miracle happens, I'm going to be stuck in a maximum security prison for the rest of my natural life. Considering what things are like around Oz, that's probably the only fucking reason I need to end it all. The place is like a vampire. It sucks the life right out of you, bleeds you dry, then steals your motherfucking soul. I have no future there, except for my usual routine of scheming and surviving, which I admit, I'm pretty fucking good at. But, just because I've turned manipulation of my fellow inmates into an art form, it doesn't mean I want to stick around Em City forever. In fact, the mere thought of having to look at Tim McManus on a daily basis for the next fifty years makes me want to put a gun in my mouth and blow my goddamn brains out.

Next reason for becoming worm food. I'm tired. It's as simple as that. I'm so fucking tired of having to keep eyes in the back of my head. I'm tired of waiting for someone to get the better of me. I'm tired of all the nightmares, all the tears, all the lies. I wish somebody could take care of me, for once. I wish I didn't have to be so fucking strong all of the time. Sometimes you just need to give in and let somebody hold you and comfort you. That's nearly goddamn impossible in Oz, though I've managed it on a few occasions. You let any of those emotions show, and it'll be the last mistake you ever make. The fuckers in there can smell fear on you, and just like wolves, they'll chase you down and take you out. In prison, you have to build a wall around yourself, and never let any weakness show through. Doing that day after day will sap the strength right out of
you, no matter what kind of a badass you are.

We're getting down to it now, the three final, and most important reasons I have for crossing over. First, I wish to God I could see Cyril again, just to know that he's okay. It's been six months since
those scumfucks killed my baby brother, and I still find myself wondering where he wound up, wondering if he's back to normal or if he's still wandering around someplace with the mind of a child, scared and alone, crying out for me. I don't think I've slept more than a couple of hours a night since he's been gone. I keep waking up, biting back a scream, hearing Cyril's voice begging me to help him. Jesus, I guess I shouldn't be scared of anything that Satan could dish up, because nothing could possibly be worse than that. That will always be my own personal Hell, whether I choose to live or die. Even if, by some miracle, God welcomes me with open arms, and absolves all of my sins, I will never forgive myself for what I did to my brother. That's the one thing that I can never make right, the one thing that will haunt me forever.

I would give anything to have him back the way he was, before he got his head caved in and his brains scrambled. Isn't God, or Whoever, supposed to make everything alright again after you die? If something's wrong with you, isn't He supposed to fix it? I swear I read that somewhere. Cyril's been through enough, he shouldn't be forced to Forrest fucking Gump his way through eternity. I still remember what a tough little shit he was before the accident. He was my muscle, my protector, my best friend. We would have done anything for each other. Christ, I was proud of him. Of course, I was proud of him after he got slow, too, just for different reasons. He was
scared, couldn't think right anymore, but he still never fucking gave up; he kept fighting back till the very end. As much as I might have complained, I never really minded having to take care of him. After all, I'm the one who made him what he was, sentenced him to a life of confusion and terror. I just pray to God that's all over with now, and he's happy again, wherever he is.

Shit. The storm's getting closer. I can feel the vibration of thunder, can see lightning off in the distance. The waves are really choppy now. I don't have much time left, I'd guess that the rains
will be here in just a few minutes. It's time to list my final two reasons for welcoming death. It's now or never, so here it goes.

Three months ago, Gloria, my angel, was taken away from me. On the day that she died, for all intents and purposes, I died too. Us inmates had just moved back into Oz a few days earlier, and Gloria was still on vacation. The last time I'd seen her was on the day that we were evacuated from the prison, getting on the bus to go to Lardner. Jesus, I'd missed her so fucking much while we were there, but I knew that the future held some possibility for us, so I was able to get through the waiting. On the day that my world fell apart, Beech and I were playing cards in the middle of Em City, just like we do most days. That's where Sister Pete found me when she came to deliver the news. I knew something horrible had happened right away, because it was obvious that Pete had been crying, and she looked pale as a fucking ghost. She told me she had to talk to me in private, but I was just frozen there, stiff with fear. I couldn't move, and I screamed at her to just tell me. My first thought was Ma. She'd come back to Oz to volunteer, and I was positive that one of the prisoners had done something to her. So I wasn't expecting it when Pete said, "It's Gloria.". I just stared at her, not even understanding at first. Then came the words that killed my heart. "She just got back to town. It was a car accident. There was nothing anybody could do. I'm so sorry, Ryan, but she's gone."

I don't even remember anything that happened in the few minutes after that. I must've had some kind of blackout, because the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the bed in my pod, and somebody was holding me tight. I automatically assumed it was Sister Pete, but I remembered thinking she'd grown some serious muscles since we'd been at Lardner. Then, I leaned back to look at her, and I must've been a little crazy at the time, because my first thought was that she had grown a beard, too. And it was blond. That's when I finally realized it wasn't Pete with her arms around me at all, but Toby. Good 'ol Beech sat there with me for I don't know how many hours, talking to me, comforting me, holding me when I sobbed so hard it seemed like I would just fucking rip myself in two. And I let him, without one thought as to what people would say. I'm sure there was plenty of speculation going around Oz that day, talk of the new Irish replacement for Keller, but I didn't fucking care then, and I still don't. All I know is that I needed Toby right where he was, doing what he was doing. It didn't matter that he was a man, all that mattered was that he was willing to hold me, give me some of his warmth, I was so fucking cold. I didn't complain when he tucked me into bed like a child, didn't flinch when he softly kissed me goodnight, barely brushing his lips against mine. A lot of my hard and fast rules about certain things vanished that night, but that's a different story, for a different day.

So, Gloria was gone. Just like that. I didn't move from my bed for three days, and nobody made me. McManus didn't even come near me, which was one of the very few good ideas he's ever had. He sent Murphy instead, and Murph was the one who arranged for Beecher to move in with me, and for me to get fed. Not that I ate anything, but Toby sure never gave up trying. If I hadn't agreed to some soup on the third day, I honestly believe that Beech would've held my nose,
made me open my mouth, and force fed the shit down my throat. That's how concerned he was about me. By the fourth day, I was moving around a little, and was just starting to feel a tiny bit human, when Sister Pete came by and dropped the other bombshell. Poor Pete, I swear her and Mukada get stuck with all of the shit duty in Oz, and they're probably the ones who deserve it least of all.

This time, she sat next to me on my bed, handed me a little leather book, and said, "Read this Ryan. I'd stay, but I think it's best that you do this alone. I'll be in my office if you need me.".
Then she was gone. I didn't understand why she was acting so strange, I thought the book was probably full of comforting Bible verses, or something. That's the kind of thing you'd expect a nun to give you. I settled back on the bed to read it, and it only took me a few seconds to realize it had nothing to do with the Bible. It was a diary. Gloria's diary, to be more precise. And it was worded so funny, like Gloria was talking to somebody. At first, I thought maybe she was writing it to me, but it just didn't make any sense. When's the last time anyone called Ryan O'Reily their 'little gift from God'? I suppose now that I was being incredibly fucking dense, but it didn't hit me until about two pages in, at the line, 'Your Daddy's name is Ryan, and boy, is he going to be surprised to hear about you!'.

The book fell right out of my hands, I was so shocked. Gloria had been pregnant when she died. She was going to have a baby. *My* baby. We'd only been together that once, on the night of Cyril's execution. But, according to the dates in the diary, and my own feeble math skills, the timing matched right up with that night. She must've been about three months along when she was killed. She obviously didn't intend to keep it a secret from me, she was probably just waiting for the right time to tell me. That's when the full truth of the situation sank in, and I realized I was now greiving for two lives instead of one. I picked up the diary and finished it, tears blurring
my vision the whole time. It didn't take long to read, it was fairly short, and somehow that was the saddest fucking thing of all.

I know it probably sounds completely insane, coming from me, but I think I would've been a good father. I've always loved kids, and I certainly had enough practice taking care of my brother. I know it wouldn't have been an ideal fucking situation, with me stuck in prison, but Gloria seemed willing to try, and I definitely would have been all for it. I can't even picture what it would be like to have someone call me Daddy, to know that a little part of me was running around, playing, getting into mischief, completely free outside of Oz. I imagine it would almost be a little like I was running free, too, but now I'll never know. Towards the end of the diary, Gloria became convinced that the baby was a boy. I'm sure she was right. She told him that she'd like to name him after his Uncle Cyril, but that she wanted to talk to me first. Here's her answer: Angel, I wouldn't have wanted to name him anything else.

The first raindrops just hit my face. And, standing here on the shores of destiny, I've made my decision. It's probably not the one you expected. Hell, it's not even the one *I* expected. Call me
crazy, but I've decided to go back. Why? Because life's just too fucking precious to waste, even if it's led behind the walls of a prison. Someday, maybe I'll be allowed to see my baby brother again, be allowed to feel Gloria's embrace. Perhaps, someday, I'll even get to hold my son in my arms. Until then, I'm going to make him proud, show him that the O'Reily's never give up. Beech and I can watch each other's backs, give each other what little comfort we can, and mourn our loved ones together, so we never forget. After everything that I've been through, Death, this time I'm not scared of you. You can kiss my sweet Irish ass. And, as for facing that vampire called Oz, I have only one thing to say. Bring it on, motherfucker.



The End