(no subject)
Title: Like Kin
Characters: T-Bag, OC
Prompt: For prisonbreak100 21. Friends
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing in particular, some allusion to disturbing crimes but that's it really.
Summary: C.O. Riker eyed the con from the corner of his eye. He was out in the yard, keeping to the gates and staying relatively out of the way. Like he knew what was good for him. Like he’d done all this before.
Author's Notes: Little thing I thought up a while ago and finally wrote (a few lines inspired from Oz). There's been a lot of Michael and Sara and Lincoln around so I thought I'd do my usual and, you know, post T-Bag.
C.O. Riker eyed the con from the corner of his eye. He was out in the yard, keeping to the gates and staying relatively out of the way. Like he knew what was good for him. Like he’d done all this before.
“Hey,” said a slow voice, and Riker looked up to see the con he’d been watching looking straight back at him. He leaned against a post and Riker stopped walking. “Did you need somethin’?” the con asked. He was still speaking with that strange slow voice. Riker could immediately detect his unmistakable hick accent, the one he himself had lived with all his life.
“No,” said Riker, and made to continue on.
“Well I do,” said the con, following him on the other side of the fence. “I need a friend.”
“Well it ain’t gonna be me,” said Riker. “Get along now.”
“Of course,” said the con, not stepping away. “I’m a con… and you’re not.”
“It’s a good point,” replied Riker, eyeing him again.
“Hey, you’re a Mississippi boy ain’t you?” asked the con, smiling now. “I’m from ‘Bama. Not enough of the old kind up here, you know what I’m sayin’? Too many…” He trailed off, and gestured at the group of black inmates near the weights. “Of the wrong sort.”
“Never gave it much thought,” said Riker, his eyes narrowing. “You’d best move along now, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“How is it down in ‘Sippi?” asked the con. He had a glint in his eye, and Riker felt himself growing strangely uncomfortable.
“I said, move along.”
“I had some grand old times down there,” continued the con, not appearing to take no for an answer. “Killed myself a sweet young thing.”
Riker halted, and turned to the con, who chuckled. Riker was fairly certain he’d only said it for shock value. But then again.
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Never did, but it’s Bagwell.”
“Bagwell,” repeated Riker slowly. “Ain’t you the one who killed them six kids down in ‘Bama?”
“Pleased to hear so many people know exactly who I am so soon, makes me feel all famous-like.”
“It ain’t hearsay, I’ve only seen your file. Six counts of rape, kidnapping, and first degree murder. And apparently you’re a racist too. Looks like you got all your bases covered.”
The con shrugged. “I apply myself.”
Riker snorted and walked over until the only thing between him and Bagwell was the fence. Bagwell looked back at him, his mouth twitching into a smile.
“Let me ask you somethin’,” said Riker. “Do you sleep at night?”
“Yes,” came the reply without hesitation.
“How does that work?” asked Riker. “Given what you did. You can just sleep on through the night?”
Bagwell looked steadily at him, the smile gone from his face.
“When people ask me why I did those things,” he said, lifting his hand to thread it through the fence, “I tell ‘em all kinds of bullshit. Just to fuck around. But you know,” he continued, shaking a finger at Riker, “you’re a different one. You’re a man from down home. You and I, we’re like kin ain’t we.”
Riker said nothing and gave him a stony look. A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“So I’ll tell you the truth. Truth is, it was what had to happen. It had to be. And so that’s why I can sleep at night. And I sleep good.”
“You might say that,” said Riker, himself smiling now. “But I know better. I seen your file, remember.”
Bagwell narrowed his eyes and looked at him with a guarded expression.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well it’s supposed to mean that I seen who you came from. Or rather,” and now his eyes glinted malevolently too, “what you came from. Your nice old daddy… and his retard sister.”
Bagwell’s grip on the fence tightened considerably. He looked murderous, like he wanted to scream, but his gaze flicked to the other cons in the yard and he seemed to be trying to control himself.
“Don’t you say that to me,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Riker, “I won’t tell anybody. This’ll be just between you an’ me. We’re friends now, remember.” He spat out the word ‘friends’ like it tasted sour.
“Oh really,” said Bagwell, and Riker had the distinct impression Bagwell was thinking about blood.
“Sure,” replied Riker casually. “Don’t need every asshole here thinking all Southerners are inbred sons of retards. You’re a disgrace, but I ain’t gonna exploit you.”
Bagwell was silent, glaring intently at the ground. His grip on the fence was still tight enough to make his knuckles white.
“Now let me tell you somethin’,” continued Riker, and Bagwell looked up. “And I’ll tell you the truth now. All this ‘meant to be’ shit, that ain’t the truth. The truth is, you’re just a good girl treated wrong, ain’t you? World treat you bad, and you think you got the right to go kill kids.”
Riker paused to crack his neck. Bagwell looked at him coldly, but Riker continued.
“But don’t you worry. I ain’t gonna tell anybody your little secret. ‘Cause we friends now.”
Bagwell let go of the fence and turned around. Riker smiled and continued on his way, humming an old song to himself as he felt a pair of eyes burning holes into his receding back.
Characters: T-Bag, OC
Prompt: For prisonbreak100 21. Friends
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing in particular, some allusion to disturbing crimes but that's it really.
Summary: C.O. Riker eyed the con from the corner of his eye. He was out in the yard, keeping to the gates and staying relatively out of the way. Like he knew what was good for him. Like he’d done all this before.
Author's Notes: Little thing I thought up a while ago and finally wrote (a few lines inspired from Oz). There's been a lot of Michael and Sara and Lincoln around so I thought I'd do my usual and, you know, post T-Bag.
C.O. Riker eyed the con from the corner of his eye. He was out in the yard, keeping to the gates and staying relatively out of the way. Like he knew what was good for him. Like he’d done all this before.
“Hey,” said a slow voice, and Riker looked up to see the con he’d been watching looking straight back at him. He leaned against a post and Riker stopped walking. “Did you need somethin’?” the con asked. He was still speaking with that strange slow voice. Riker could immediately detect his unmistakable hick accent, the one he himself had lived with all his life.
“No,” said Riker, and made to continue on.
“Well I do,” said the con, following him on the other side of the fence. “I need a friend.”
“Well it ain’t gonna be me,” said Riker. “Get along now.”
“Of course,” said the con, not stepping away. “I’m a con… and you’re not.”
“It’s a good point,” replied Riker, eyeing him again.
“Hey, you’re a Mississippi boy ain’t you?” asked the con, smiling now. “I’m from ‘Bama. Not enough of the old kind up here, you know what I’m sayin’? Too many…” He trailed off, and gestured at the group of black inmates near the weights. “Of the wrong sort.”
“Never gave it much thought,” said Riker, his eyes narrowing. “You’d best move along now, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“How is it down in ‘Sippi?” asked the con. He had a glint in his eye, and Riker felt himself growing strangely uncomfortable.
“I said, move along.”
“I had some grand old times down there,” continued the con, not appearing to take no for an answer. “Killed myself a sweet young thing.”
Riker halted, and turned to the con, who chuckled. Riker was fairly certain he’d only said it for shock value. But then again.
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Never did, but it’s Bagwell.”
“Bagwell,” repeated Riker slowly. “Ain’t you the one who killed them six kids down in ‘Bama?”
“Pleased to hear so many people know exactly who I am so soon, makes me feel all famous-like.”
“It ain’t hearsay, I’ve only seen your file. Six counts of rape, kidnapping, and first degree murder. And apparently you’re a racist too. Looks like you got all your bases covered.”
The con shrugged. “I apply myself.”
Riker snorted and walked over until the only thing between him and Bagwell was the fence. Bagwell looked back at him, his mouth twitching into a smile.
“Let me ask you somethin’,” said Riker. “Do you sleep at night?”
“Yes,” came the reply without hesitation.
“How does that work?” asked Riker. “Given what you did. You can just sleep on through the night?”
Bagwell looked steadily at him, the smile gone from his face.
“When people ask me why I did those things,” he said, lifting his hand to thread it through the fence, “I tell ‘em all kinds of bullshit. Just to fuck around. But you know,” he continued, shaking a finger at Riker, “you’re a different one. You’re a man from down home. You and I, we’re like kin ain’t we.”
Riker said nothing and gave him a stony look. A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“So I’ll tell you the truth. Truth is, it was what had to happen. It had to be. And so that’s why I can sleep at night. And I sleep good.”
“You might say that,” said Riker, himself smiling now. “But I know better. I seen your file, remember.”
Bagwell narrowed his eyes and looked at him with a guarded expression.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well it’s supposed to mean that I seen who you came from. Or rather,” and now his eyes glinted malevolently too, “what you came from. Your nice old daddy… and his retard sister.”
Bagwell’s grip on the fence tightened considerably. He looked murderous, like he wanted to scream, but his gaze flicked to the other cons in the yard and he seemed to be trying to control himself.
“Don’t you say that to me,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Riker, “I won’t tell anybody. This’ll be just between you an’ me. We’re friends now, remember.” He spat out the word ‘friends’ like it tasted sour.
“Oh really,” said Bagwell, and Riker had the distinct impression Bagwell was thinking about blood.
“Sure,” replied Riker casually. “Don’t need every asshole here thinking all Southerners are inbred sons of retards. You’re a disgrace, but I ain’t gonna exploit you.”
Bagwell was silent, glaring intently at the ground. His grip on the fence was still tight enough to make his knuckles white.
“Now let me tell you somethin’,” continued Riker, and Bagwell looked up. “And I’ll tell you the truth now. All this ‘meant to be’ shit, that ain’t the truth. The truth is, you’re just a good girl treated wrong, ain’t you? World treat you bad, and you think you got the right to go kill kids.”
Riker paused to crack his neck. Bagwell looked at him coldly, but Riker continued.
“But don’t you worry. I ain’t gonna tell anybody your little secret. ‘Cause we friends now.”
Bagwell let go of the fence and turned around. Riker smiled and continued on his way, humming an old song to himself as he felt a pair of eyes burning holes into his receding back.