Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break.
Written for the second challenge at scofieldsucre on livejournal. I had an icon as a prompt, but all I could really see was Michael and Fernando standing in their cell, smiling. And I've never tried to write something like this from Sucre's perspective before, so let me know how it goes.
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Michael smiles at him, and Fernando can't help but smile back even though his old-ex-new cellie's got a rapidly forming knot on his forehead and blood smeared across and drying in one eyebrow. "Some plan, huh?"
The Fish ducks his head and winces, like he's got a headache or something—not surprising given the bump and all. "Not one of my better ones, no. If I'd known you were going to bail and stick me with a crazy from Psych Ward, maybe I would've tattooed on a backup plan." He rubs his arm like he's cold even though it's not. Not for Sucre, at least.
He's seen Michael without a shirt, seen the intricate designs like stained glass windows from an old church that decorate him front and back. His fingertips itch at the memory, wanting to trace the blue lines, but Scofield's holding himself warily despite the smile, and Fernando's afraid that to touch him would be to transmit some of this nervous, giddy energy that's welling up inside of him, and that'd spook the Fish for sure. So, he keeps his hands to himself and tries to crack a joke. "Not like you got much room left, huh?" And damn it, if that doesn't sound all wrong when he says it.
But apparently, it's all right because the Fish's smile cracks wide open into that evil sort of loco grin that Fernando's already learned means big trouble. Usually for him. "Oh, there's plenty," Michael assures him, "Just in places that most people don't get tot see." There's a hint and a tease there, and suddenly the cell is a lot hotter.