Quinntana Week 2012 – Day 1: Unresolved Sexual Tension.
Warning: small details of this story might be triggers for some readers. If you are sensitive to violence or content regarding sexual assault then stop reading now.
Quinn stifled a yawn and stretched her arms up. The sun was still behind the horizon, a morning chill in the air. She spun the dial on her locker, it clicking several times before popping open. The blonde yanked on the lock and swung the door wide. Her eyes still held the remnant sting of a sleepless night, the girl rubbing at them as she pulled out her gray uniform and placed her folded sweatshirt in the small metal locker. She shoved her arms through the short pressed sleeves and buttoned the front, tucking the hem into her dark pants.
The CO's lounge was just starting to fill with early morning chatter, the smell of fresh ground coffee drifting in from the kitchen next door. Quinn sat down on the long wooden bench and began tying up her laces, trying to wake up before she started her rounds. A locker slammed next her, the girl looking up from her black boots to be greeted by a pair of sparkling eyes and a wide grin. Quinn just shook her head and went back to her shoes, wondering for the millionth time how her friend was always so chipper at five in the morning.
"Hey Sam," she drawled in a weary tone, standing up and pacing back to her locker.
"Morning," he chirped, passing her a steaming Styrofoam cup which she took gladly.
The early starts were hell, but it was a life she'd gotten used to over the past nine months. The hours were long and the benefits weren't the best but it was her job and for the most part she enjoyed it. She and Sam were part of the last recruitment, both fresh from the academy, finishing top of their class. It was tough for the first few months but all the newbies stuck up for each other and they'd made it this far; no thanks to the older officers that took enjoyment out of hazing the fresh meat.
"So what's the day look like for you?" Sam asked. The boy was adjusting his black tie in the long mirror next to the door. He slid it up around his neck before flicking down his stiff collar.
"I've got rounds then I'm in the Rec Yard with Cell Block B," Quinn sighed, taking a cautious sip of her coffee. It burned her throat on the way down but she could feel the effects of the caffeine almost instantly.
"That sucks," he shrugged, buttoning his sleeves. "I got Visitation."
"Seriously?" she groaned playfully. "Who are you screwing?"
"Guess the Warden just thinks I'm pretty," he quipped back with a lopsided grin. "Later."
She waved goodbye, turning back to her open locker. She rested her half empty cup on the shelf before reaching up and unclipping her gold cross from around her neck. She redid the clasp, hanging it on a hook on the metal door. Taking a deep breath, she eyed herself in the small mirror, straightening a few strands of loose hair. Her hazel eyes held faded dark circles, Quinn gently brushing her fingertips across the delicate skin under her lids.
"And so it begins."
The loud buzzing filled the empty hall, the heavy reinforced door swinging on its hinges. Her footsteps reverberated off the thick walls as she made her way down the off-white hallway, the harsh overhead lights humming as she walked. They reflected off the polished cement floors, her heels squeaking against the cold surface. She was buzzed through one more door before she entered Cell Block B, the sound of incoherent chatter filling her ears as soon as she stepped through.
It was her second round that morning. The women were back from the Mess Hall, all of them being held until ten-thirty when they were due out in the Rec Yard. Quinn passed cell after cell. Women of all ages lounged on their bunks and hung their arms out of the bars of their doors. Those who had cells next to one another talked amongst themselves while others just catcalled across the large two-story hall. She had gotten used to the constant noise, sometimes she was even able to pick out certain inmates voices amongst the chatter. And it was something she did frequently as it kept her mind occupied when the rounds got too monotonous for the blonde.
Quinn's job was simple. Keep the peace. She didn't have to talk to them or even be polite. She just had to break up fights and keep them in line. She'd been assigned to other blocks before but this one seemed to give her the least amount of trouble, save for the few rowdier inmates that just appeared to do it for the attention. She was slowly making her way back to the control room when she heard a low whistle echo from the cell behind her. Even before she turned around she knew who it would be; Quinn would know that whistle anywhere.
There's one in every block.
"Looking good, Fabray," the shorter brunette jeered, eyeing Quinn as she spun on her heel. She moved her hand to her nightstick out of habit, the girl laughing as she rest her arms on the metal bars of the door. Quinn paced back to the cell, keeping her eyes on her, that cocky smirk spreading across her lips. "You can hit me as hard as you like Blondie, as long as you kiss it better."
"Cut it out, Mack."
Quinn shifted her gaze to the bunk, the girl's cellmate watching them from her spot on the small mattress. She was mostly in shadow but Quinn could see her dark eyes shining in the low light. She had her legs crossed at the ankle and a tattered book in her hands. She stared her friend down, Mack huffing and backing away from the door, mumbling to herself about her being no fun.
"Santana," Quinn regarded, tightlipped.
The girl didn't say a word, returning her eyes to the book in her hands. Mack jumped up on to the top bunk, settling in and crossing her arms across her chest. Santana stayed silent, Quinn watching her for a moment longer before stepping away and continuing with the rest of her rounds.
She kicked at a stray rock, it skidding across the grass and landing near the rusted bleachers. A few women looked up at her as it ricocheted off the metal, Quinn keeping her face neutral and continuing her path around the chain link fence. The sun was high in the sky, the day getting warmer by the hour as a light sheen of sweet formed on the back of Quinn's neck. The inmates were out in the yard, their bright orange jumpsuits a stark contrast against the green grass. They were all bunched together, though a few strays were doing laps of the oval in twos and threes.
Cell Block B was the first group Quinn was ever assigned, but they were all the same to her. They each had their own cliques and their own drama, though some more than others. And after being at the prison a few months, Quinn learned fast the hierarchy of the blocks. Knowing the ins and outs of the groups helped differentiate between the scraps that needed to be broken up and those that were best left to dissolve on their own. Quinn skimmed her eyes across the yard, seeing the clear divide amongst the inmates of Block B as if the lines were painted in the grass.
There were the Bleachers; older women who kept to themselves and who stayed out of everyone's way. They were in for the hard yards; murder, arson, fraud. Most of them had probably forgotten what the outside world looked like, spending too long staring at the high walls. Some of them were sentenced to die behind bars and unless they had a death wish, the other inmates knew to give them a wide birth whenever they passed them in the halls. Each of them had pull with the right people and if they wanted you dead, not even the Warden could save you.
Then across the yard were the Weights. Gym junkies who felt they had a point to prove. Majority of the fights in the block were started and promptly finished by these girls. Most of them did it out of boredom or if a girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were in for the more colorful crimes; armed robbery, drive by shootings, gang violence. All of them had short tempers and usually found themselves in solitary confinement on a weekly basis. But they knew when to say when, especially when it came to the Bleachers.
And then finally there were the Courts.
If Cell Block B had a pretty and popular group, the Courts were it. They were typically younger, most transferring from Juvie to finish their sentences and were all in for nonviolent crimes ranging from grand theft auto to drug possession. They were just kids caught up with the wrong crowd and didn't know when to get out. They occupied the basketball court. It bordered on Weights territory with the Bleachers across the far side of the yard. They never stepped off and no one else stepped on. It was the unspoken rule of the block.
And then in the middle of it all was Santana Lopez.
The girl was in for the third degree murder of a police officer. But it wasn't just any cop. He was the Warden's stepson. So in the eyes of a judge it was a closed case before she even set foot in a courtroom. The fact that she fled the scene didn't help her sentence either. She was a Court and the other girls listen to her, whether out of intimidation or they just needed someone to follow. But there was something about her. She wasn't like the other inmates. She didn't own the title like the others would have, she just seemed to accept it as law and move on.
She was different.
Quinn wandered closer, watching the girl play a game of Horse with Mack while the other Courts just sat alongside on the hot bitumen. She had a smile on her face that reached her eyes, a rarity on Santana. She dribbled the ball once, twice, and then took the shot, the ball swishing through the chain net. Santana turned with a cocky grin and shoved her friend in the shoulder, Mack stumbling as the group laughed at the two friends.
Quinn held her distance, passing another officer who simply nodded in greeting. When she looked back at the basketball court Mack was just taking her next shot, the ball rebounding off the backboard, Santana yelling out that's S with a teasing grin before the ball had even touched the ground. Santana shucked off her sleeves revealing the standard white singlet all the inmates were issued on arrival, letting the orange jumpsuit hang loosely on her hips.
The girl had just turned to retrieve the ball when she was pulled up short, her smile dropping from her face. The laughter coming from the group promptly died, the loud crack of metal hitting metal resounding into the midday air. Mack stiffened, Santana stepping in front of her and shielding her from view. Lauren Zizes, a big girl with an even bigger temper had been bench-pressing on the Weights' slabs when the ball had rolled to a stop near her feet. She'd straightened up, her eyes falling on Santana who stood her ground. Quinn watched on from afar, judging whether this was one of those things that would just dissolve on its own.
Lauren had slowly made her way over to the edge of the court, the ball grasped in one hand. Santana had grabbed Mack's wrist behind her back for support, Quinn seeing her grip tighten from her spot fifty feet away. A crowd had started behind the bigger girl, all the Weights gathering for a fight, some of them just waiting for the word from Lauren. A few of the other guards had spotted the confrontation, all of them touching their nightsticks and wandering closer. Quinn took a shallow breath, following Karofsky over to the court, another recruit that joined the same time as her and Sam.
If Santana was scared, her face didn't show it, her eyes never wavering. Lauren stared her down silently while she tossed the ball between both hands. But after a moment she simply smirked and threw it back at her chest. Santana caught it but the force of it sent her stumbling backwards into her friend, the brunette coughing as the wind left her lungs. Lauren laughed along with her lackeys, her eyes moving to see at least three guards within twenty feet of her. She shook her head and with one last look at Santana, the Weights dispersed back to the benches behind them.
"You best watch your back, Lopez," she warned before turning on her heel.
Quinn released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, removing her hand from her nightstick. She flexed her fingers, her eyes on the darker girl who was still standing on the edge of the court, not having moved an inch. Santana stared after Lauren for a moment before wordlessly passing the ball back to her friend. Mack gladly took it, dribbling it back to the other Courts who were staring wide-eyed at Santana.
She seemed to shake her head lightly before turning to walk back to her friends. She was part way across the court when she looked up from the dry bitumen and caught Quinn staring at her. She slowed to a stop just under the hoop, her hands resting on her hips. The blonde's heart rate picked up, those dark eyes holding her there for a second too long. Mack threw the ball to her, Santana's attention snapping back to the game, releasing Quinn from the intense gaze. She swallowed dryly and went back to walking the fence.
What the hell is going on with to me today?
Quinn stood in the hall as the inmates walked by on their way back to the cells. A few Bleachers nodded to her as they passed, Quinn returning the gesture. She kept her arms crossed over her chest, trying to remain indifferent and unaffected. It was her job to not let things get to her, to be impartial to the inmates feelings. They weren't her friends; she shouldn't care. She learnt that on her first day. They all did. It was drilled into them not to get attached, because when feelings got in the way it clouded your judgment.
And there were always moments when she feared for her own safety. She knew there would be when she took the oath. It was also normal to get anxious in high stress situations and as a Corrections Officer she was faced with them daily. But this morning was different. When she reached for her nightstick it wasn't her life she feared for.
I'm not infatuated; I'm just showing compassion.
I'm not doing anything wrong.
Even as the words came to mind she knew she was kidding herself. A part of her knew it the first day Santana was brought to Block B all those months ago. The girl had this hold on her. She'd kept her distance so far. Limited her interaction with the brunette, but that didn't stop those dark eyes from filling her thoughts every night. And whenever she passed her cell, it didn't stop her from looking back. It didn't stop her from seeking out the closest path to the basketball court when she was assigned to the Yard.
It didn't stop any of it.
Quinn shifted her gaze further down the hall when she heard raised voices. The Courts were just making their way up behind the Bleachers, all of them hanging off one another and joking amongst themselves. Santana was a few paces behind the main group, her eyes distant. She was running her hand along the cold wall, taking measured steps. But when she passed Quinn she looked over at her with that same intensity from the Yard, the blonde taking a hard breath.
I'm not infatuated.
Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw Lauren coming up close behind Santana, a wide smirk on her lips. The girl's brow furrowed in curiosity, turning to see what Quinn was looking at when Lauren shoulder checked her right into the wall. Santana put her hands out to braces herself, her palms slamming hard into the reinforced concrete. Santana winced, Mack turning on her heel at the loud crack along with the other dozen Courts.
"Cop Killer," Lauren sneered over her shoulder as she made her way through them and further up the hall.
Quinn kept her eyes on Santana, trying to gauge her reaction to the snide comment. But her face looked void of all emotion, those eyes no longer holding their previous fire. Her hands slowly curled into fists. Mack saw it before Quinn did, Santana launching off the wall and taking a swing at Lauren. Her friend got between them both, but it was too late. Santana had clipped the back of her head, Lauren turning on her and landing a shot right to her jaw over Mack's shoulder in one fell swoop.
The brunette landed hard on the polished concrete, blood pouring from her lip and coloring her teeth. Santana brought a hand to her mouth, trying to get to her feet. But Lauren didn't pay any mind, pushing Mack aside and going in for round two.
And then several things happened all at once.
A distant scream came from down the hall, presumably one of the inmates yelling fight.
There was also the shuffle of footsteps of surrounding guards trying to get to Lauren before she took the second swing.
And then there was Quinn, putting her hand to her nightstick and stepping forward. She could feel the weight of a body hit the side of her shoulder, the force of it knocking her sideways. And before she could register anything else her voice kicked in.
The Captain appeared right beside her, her big arms already wrapped around Lauren's torso. Quinn caught herself just before she fell, her right knee buckling and hitting the ground. She could hear the other inmates screaming abuse at each other but it didn't sound like they were throwing punches yet. The sound of Shannon wrestling with Lauren also met her ears, her eyes blind as her back was to the scuffle.
"I got this one, Punkin," she huffed, slightly breathless. "You get Lopez to the Infirmary."
It was then that Quinn looked down.
Santana was staring wide-eyed up at her, their faces only inches apart. Quinn swallowed thickly at their proximity, the girl's warm breath hitting her parted lips. Bright red blood had started soaking into her white singlet, Santana running her tongue along her split lip. Quinn's gaze followed the small movement before flicking back up to those eyes that were still staring back at her.
What the hell did I just do?
A hand shot out and grabbed Santana by the wrist, pulling Quinn out of the moment. Karofsky yanked her to her feet roughly. The girl winced in pain, her hands probably bruised from when she impacted with the wall. Quinn picked herself up and holstered her nightstick before spinning on her heel. The boy had begun dragging Santana through the crowd, the blonde having to jog to catch up to them. The other inmates parted like the Red Sea, the burly guard setting a good pace.
They took the first left, opening out onto a deserted hall. Karofsky slowed but still had a tight grip around Santana's bare arm. The girl stayed silent with her head bowed, her white trainers squeaking against the cement floor. Quinn came up on her other side as they got closer to the Infirmary. Then without thinking, she placed her hand on the small on her back, Santana's eyes flick up to her.
"I got this, Dave," Quinn intoned.
She kept her eyes on the officer, Karofsky looking at her in confusion. But there must have been something in Quinn's demeanor that prompted him to drop his hand and nod in understanding. Wordlessly, he turned on his heel and began to jog back to the crowded hall, raised voices still able to be heard from the empty corridor.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Santana brought her hand up and absently rubbed where Karofsky had been latched on only moments ago. She took in a deep breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. Quinn suddenly got nervous, realizing this was the first time they'd ever been alone together. She wasn't sure whether her brain had registered yet that she was with a convicted murderer, but she knew that wasn't the reason her stomach was knotting together uncomfortably. She shook her head and let out a calming breath, pressing her hand firmly against Santana's back.
It was just one more left before they came to a security door, the man behind the window taking in the blood on Santana's singlet and lip before buzzing them through. Quinn nodded at the guard before he went back to reading his magazine, his feet kicked up on the control panel.
As they pulled up to the door, Quinn could see there were no other inmates on the gurneys and Dr. Moore was nowhere in sight. She bit her lip, wondering if she should go back to the guard and ask if she was on break or if she was up with the Warden. But Quinn just shook her and opened the metal door, motioning for Santana to go first. The girl was yet to say a word, walking over to one of the three beds and swinging her legs onto the white sheets and lying back.
Quinn pulled up a small stool and sat down across from Santana, watching her carefully as they waited for the doctor to come back. She was staring out the window, a thin trail of blood still trickling from the cut on her lip. She brought her hand up and wiped at her mouth, wincing when her finger grazed the split. Her short nails bit into her palms, her jaw clenching against the sting.
Before she could second-guess herself, Quinn's legs had carried her over to the supply tray beside the bed. Santana looked up at her, Quinn grabbing fresh gauze from the labeled box. Turning, she pressed it gently to the girl's bottom lip, Santana watching her the whole time. She tried to keep her mind off how close she was to her or the fact that her fingers were lightly touching her chin as she continued to wipe away the blood.
"I could've handled that," Santana murmured, those eyes searching Quinn's face.
"You can't throw a punch to save your life," Quinn jested half-heartedly. "She would have killed you."
She looked back down to her lap with a huff, Quinn continuing to fix her up as best she could. But she was no doctor. If truth were told, a part of her was just looking for an excuse to be close to her; to feel just how soft those lips really were. She was staring at them when Santana looked back up at her with a teasing smirk.
"What do you care anyway, Officer?"
The way she said it pulled Quinn up short, her hand pausing its ministrations. She opened her mouth to respond but her words were stuck somewhere between her throat and her quickening pulse. Santana's smirk only grew as the blonde coughed nervously and dropped the gauze back on the tray.
I'm not doing anything wrong.
"I've seen your file," Quinn stated, standing back a step. "You seem to have a history of picking fights with the wrong people. Ended up in here a few times too."
"Whatever Fabray," she huffed, her hands fiddling with her ruined singlet. "If you've seen my file then you know why I'm here."
It was true. Quinn knew more than she would admit about the girl's case and there was nothing black or white about it. In Quinn's eyes it shouldn't have been such a closed book; there were too many factors for it to have been that simple. It was a house party that spiraled out of control. The police were called, people fled, a boy died. Everything about it was gray.
When Santana testified in front of the jury, she claimed the Hudson boy had tried to rape her. She had been locked in one of the upstairs bedrooms, a stupid prank her friends pulled while she was sleeping off her hangover. Her statement read that when he came at her, she pulled his gun and fired. And after that it was his word against hers. But since he wasn't able to defend himself, the Warden stepped in.
"What you did was self-defense," Quinn murmured softly, her throat tight. "You're only here because of who he was to this prison."
Santana swallowed thickly as Quinn picked the gauze back up and continue wiping her cut. By this time most of the bleeding had stopped, the old blood drying in patches against her chin and collarbone. Quinn placed her hand on the side of her neck, moving the bandage down lower. Soft fingers brushed against the skin of her arm and laced around her wrist. Quinn looked back at Santana, those dark eyes on her lips.
"I can do this myself."
It was barely above a whisper, Quinn's hands freezing their movements. Her heart jumped into her throat, those fingers like fire against her skin. Quinn couldn't breathe, her mind becoming white noise as Santana's eyes stayed on her lips. Everything she said about remaining indifferent and not caring went completely out the window when she was this close to her.
"I don't mind," Quinn husked, taking a step closer.
It was like something was pulling her, Santana's hand still gently wrapped around her wrist and the gauze pressed to her neck. She knew it was wrong, but just like it didn't stop her from looking back or seeking her out; it didn't stop her now from leaning in, their lips mere inches apart.
"You should go." Even as she said it, her grip on her wrist tightened ever so slightly.
"Yeah," Quinn breathed, before leaning the rest of the way.
Just as her nose brushed against Santana's, the distant buzzing from the security door sounded out in the hall. Santana jerked back, dropping her hands to her sides. Quinn had just enough time to step back from the bed when Dr. Moore came through the door, her hair in a high bun and a bright smile on her thin lips.
"Okay, what's the damage?" she chirped, snapping on a fresh pair of latex gloves. "We've got to stop meeting like this Ms. Lopez."
Quinn coughed nervous and walked over to the door. When she looked back at Santana, her eyes were on the window that overlooked the Rec Yard, the older woman's hands already going to work. With one last glance at her, she opened the door and walked away.
This is definitely not an infatuation and I'm doing everything wrong.
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Also if you guys want a part two or a continuation of any kind to these Quinntana Week one-shots...ask and you shall receive.
See you guys tomorrow for Day 2: HBIC Cheerio!Santana/Pink Hair Skank!Quinn.