prisonbreak100
Here we go with entry number 2:
Title: Buttons
Character/Pairing: T-bag, Sara
Prompt: 048. Punishment
Rating: G
Summary: T-Bag finds a new hobby
Author’s Notes: Sort of potential pre-het - is that cheating?
Warnings: None
“I think that’s enough for today.” The new doc snaps her pen closed and looks at him over the top of her clipboard, trying for neutral and fetching up somewhere around a sort of freaked-out constipation.
“I feel sorry for you, Doc.” That breaks her concentration, and disgust creases the corners of her pretty mouth.
“Oh, why’s that, Bagwell?”
“State says I have to get counselling for my proclivities, but the State’s too cheap to pay a professional to come in here, so you get stuck with me.” She almost smiles at that, a smile he’s only ever seen in the distance, directed to some other man’s face. He wants to make her smile, because if he can then he’s won. “Seems like you’re the one gettin’ punished.”
“That’s as may be.” She gets up and starts to tidy in a semi-random pattern, waiting for the guard to tap on the door and take him away.
“Whatcha gettin’ punished for, Doc?” Because it’s so obvious in every line of her body that he’s hit a nerve with that one. There won’t be any smile today, but there might be something even more interesting. It’s like his Daddy always said, ‘there’s a boy that just can’t resist pushing every button that he finds.’
“Maybe for working here against all sensible argument to the contrary,” she mutters, the bitterness seeping out around the edges of her half-attempted levity. T-Bag leans back in his plastic chair and clasps his cuffed hands behind his head. He takes in the distracted movements, the healing hands moving in and out of drawers.
“People been telling you not to work here?” He doesn’t expect an answer, and she is saved from having to cover the awkwardness that her good upbringing would undoubtedly force her to cover, by a knock on the door and a guard entering.
“See you next week, Bagwell,” she says absently as he leaves, and he smiles to himself in the knowledge that although she might be able to forget him easily this week, every week that they sit there in that cold little room he’s going to creep inside her head further and further. Until he knows what buttons to press, and just how to press them so that she screams in frustration and misery every time she wakes up at night from another dream about the horrors of his life.
Until one day, just for fun, he’ll make her smile, and get to feel the sunshine of her on his skin.
Title: Buttons
Character/Pairing: T-bag, Sara
Prompt: 048. Punishment
Rating: G
Summary: T-Bag finds a new hobby
Author’s Notes: Sort of potential pre-het - is that cheating?
Warnings: None
“I think that’s enough for today.” The new doc snaps her pen closed and looks at him over the top of her clipboard, trying for neutral and fetching up somewhere around a sort of freaked-out constipation.
“I feel sorry for you, Doc.” That breaks her concentration, and disgust creases the corners of her pretty mouth.
“Oh, why’s that, Bagwell?”
“State says I have to get counselling for my proclivities, but the State’s too cheap to pay a professional to come in here, so you get stuck with me.” She almost smiles at that, a smile he’s only ever seen in the distance, directed to some other man’s face. He wants to make her smile, because if he can then he’s won. “Seems like you’re the one gettin’ punished.”
“That’s as may be.” She gets up and starts to tidy in a semi-random pattern, waiting for the guard to tap on the door and take him away.
“Whatcha gettin’ punished for, Doc?” Because it’s so obvious in every line of her body that he’s hit a nerve with that one. There won’t be any smile today, but there might be something even more interesting. It’s like his Daddy always said, ‘there’s a boy that just can’t resist pushing every button that he finds.’
“Maybe for working here against all sensible argument to the contrary,” she mutters, the bitterness seeping out around the edges of her half-attempted levity. T-Bag leans back in his plastic chair and clasps his cuffed hands behind his head. He takes in the distracted movements, the healing hands moving in and out of drawers.
“People been telling you not to work here?” He doesn’t expect an answer, and she is saved from having to cover the awkwardness that her good upbringing would undoubtedly force her to cover, by a knock on the door and a guard entering.
“See you next week, Bagwell,” she says absently as he leaves, and he smiles to himself in the knowledge that although she might be able to forget him easily this week, every week that they sit there in that cold little room he’s going to creep inside her head further and further. Until he knows what buttons to press, and just how to press them so that she screams in frustration and misery every time she wakes up at night from another dream about the horrors of his life.
Until one day, just for fun, he’ll make her smile, and get to feel the sunshine of her on his skin.