A/N:Like I said, here is Longest Yard fic, just because I can. And because I am in love with Willaim Fichtner. AND because I love this movie. I don't know if this will turn out to be a Knauer/OC pairing, but hey, I guess we'll find out, huh? Feed back is loved. Happy New Year's, here is a present.

Before we get on to my story, I supppose I should tell you my name. My parents (who happened to be the peace and free love hippies that never really left the sixties) christened me Blue Rose, and let me tell you, that is possibly the worst name you could give to a child, it ranks right up there with the people who try to name their babies Satan or Hitler. It makes sure that no one wants to known someone with a ridiculous name, and leaves you feeling unwanted, which, incidentally, begins my story.

Not being wanted gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and a nasty taste in your mouth that is comparable only to the taste of blood. But nothing compares to the feeling you get when you're told that no prison wants you around.

Well, the ones in New England didn't, anyway. They were either too full, or thought I was too dangerous. So, here I am, on the bumpiest bus ride ever, headed towards a prison in the middle of some thirsty desert. I could taste the dust in the back of my throat, and honestly wouldn't be surprised if I started coughing up little clouds of it. My only company on this little trip happens to be guards from the prison, and they seem too busy talking about football to care about me. What I care about, however, happens to be the collection of rifles they all have, and how many rounds each one holds. I'm a gun nut, you see, one of the reasons I'm in this little troublesome situation, and what was really bugging me was that I couldn't for the life of me remember what that particular model of rifle was called.

I was so deep in thought I didn't notice when we arrived at our destination until I was roughly pulled into a standing position by one of my escorts. "Come on, princess, time to join the party." I remained silent as I shuffled down the stairs, attempting to keep my balance as my wrists and ankles were hooked together by a long thick chain that also went around my waist. I vaguely remembered that it was called a T-chain or something like that.

I hopped off the last step, not trusting myself to making the long distance because I didn't want to drop on my face. Great first impression that would be.

The man that greeted my little posse and I was a tall, ranger looking type with dark sunglasses, and he even had a cowboy hat to top it off. Being in Texas was starting to make me miss people that weren't dumb rednecks, even if the people up north were fairly ignorant too. The man placed his hands on his hips before saying in a (surprise, surprise)southern drawl, "Thank you Sergeant, I'll take her from here. Aftenoon, Ms. Rose. Warden would like to see you. Come on." He started walking towards the giant, castle-like fortress called Allenville Penitentiary, place many called home. A rough shove caused me to almost fall forward, but I managed to catch myself, and started to follow the Cowboy, soon walking in front of him, that ugly blue bus following slowly behind me, along with my entourage. The Yard was just as dusty and parched as the world outside Allenville, and I let my eyes run over the layout of the place. Guards in tall towers surrounded the prison, and each man had the same model of rifle, the one I was currently struggling to recall. The men all stopped their various activities and turned to stare, eyes wide as dinnerplates, and I felt all the dirty looks I was recieving, but I was a pro at ignoring people. I've had years of practice, unfortunately.

Was it a Ruger Mini 14? No, it wasn't proportioned right...Definitely wasn't a Remington 870 either.

Finally it came to me! Howa Axiom .308 Winchester bolt action precision rifle. Gotcha. It took me a second to realise that the bigger of my two escorts and I were alone, and that made me feel rather nervous.

He removed his sunglasses and I noted the color of his eyes, which were brown and flat like a cows, and he gave me a nasty smile as he looked me up and down with a lecherous gleam not unlike the ones the inmates had been giving me.

"You don't look as threatenin' as every one's been sayin'."He was right, I suppose. I was about 5'6 and running miles early in the morning and late at night kept me slender. I had skin that held a year round tan, and I almost never burned, even without sunscreen, and just a few hours in the sun turned me golden. I held his gaze with my own unique stare, my right eye being green and my other blue. I had a mouth my mother declared as pretty (I made Deliverance jokes whenever she said that) and it seemed to be made for smiling. Too bad I never smiled that much. My light brown hair could've been beautiful, but I detested it long, and a prison barber hacked it off before I was sent here so it was screwy looking and sticking up, like I had stuck my finger in a light socket, except for the shaggy bangs that slightly obscured my eyes.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, sir." I said in my heavy New York accent, and made to move forward, towards what I hoped to be the Warden's office, when his nightstick came up and into my stomach with almost super human speed. I moaned loudly and dropped to the ground hard, unabled to catch myself as my hands were still chained. I panted and tried to roll the pain into a miniscule ball I could deal with, but to do that I'd have to have air in my lungs.

"Yeah, you don't look threatenin' at all, little lady."

"Guard Thomas!" A slightly familiar voice came from down the hall, and I recognized it as belonging to the Cowboy guard, and Guard Thomas quickly pulled me off the ground.

"Wasn't very nice." I whispered painfully as Cowboy came walking towards us.

"What happened here, Thomas?"

"She fell, Captain." Cowboy looked at me, then back to the guard before taking off his sunglasses and revealing eyes as bright and as blue as a gas flame that were alive with, dare I say, intelligence. I was always a sucker for blue-eyed boys.

"This true, Ms. Rose?" I gave a glance towards my attacker and nodded briefly, which caused Thomas to smile rather nastily in my opinion. My rescuer shook his head and also gave a little half-smile before suddenly getting real close to the other man's face. "Remember that I am the one running this prison, Thomas. I will not deal with men like that on my team. We clear?"

"Crystal." Cowboy took me away and down the hallway I had been intending to go down, and knocked on a door, sparing a glance towards me before he opened the door.

"Ah, my newest addition. Blue Rose, am I correct?" The Warden, an old man who looked like a drawing of Ichabod Crane come to life, came up to me and shook my hand, confusing me. What, did he want to be all buddy-buddy with me? An old, fat looking version of Colonel Sanders resided at the smaller of the two desks in the room, and was fanning himself in the disgustingly hot room. I almost started laughing as "I say, Mr. Beauregarde." popped into my head, but mercifully I kept a straight face. "This is Harold Dandredge, but political adviser. I'm running for govenor, you see."

"I suppose I should congratulate you, sir." The skinny old man chuckled at my words and waved his hand as if to dismiss my comment.

"They see the way I run this prison, and think maybe I should run this state. Now there are two things we take very seriously here in the state of Texas., and they are prison and football. We play a little of the latter here."

"The Warden is too modest to admit that his team is rather good, Ms. Rose." The Colonel stated, and it rubbed me the wrong way that all of these people were addressing me as if we had met at a gathering. Ms. Rose this and Ms. Rose that.

"But not good enough." the old man said firmly. "Five years since our last championship. Five years. But that's not why you're here. You're here because I would like to make an offer to you. I would like for you to help my guards while they're practicing out there on the field, give them towels and drinks. I feel that you would be safer there, Ms. Rose, and it would allow the guards to keep quite a close eye on you. What do you say?" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully.

"Well sir, I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid not." He turned instantly cold and got very close to me

"Now, I can assure you that your time here will be a whole lot easier if you just agree." I shook my head a little.

"I'm sorry, Warden, but my answer is no." The Ichabod Crane look-a-like shot a look at Cowboy, and turned away.

"If you'll excuse us, Ms. Rose. Captain Knauer you can stay." It took me a second to realise that's what Cowboy was called. I exited, and sat gingerly on the leather couch next to the secretary's desk as the door to the Warden's office closed. The lady behind the desk shot me a smile, and I heard brief shouts coming from the door I had just left, and I bit the inside of my cheek in slight worry. The Cowboy, whose name was apparently Captain Knauer, exited the office.

"Come on, Ms. Rose, time to show you your new home."

"Yes, sir." I murmured, wondering just how pissed off I had made the Warden, and just how screwed I really was.