From the 30day OTP Challenge List. There's virtually no Huckleberryquinn fanfiction and there needs to be some. So I'll do my best to adhere to posting once a day, or I might post twice a day if I know I won't be able to do it the next day.

Holding Hands

"Are you cold?" Huck asks, Quinn nodded her head enthusiastically. Of course she's cold, she's sitting in a car with no heat in single digit weather. She' tried blowing on her fingertips trying to sooth the stinging sensation from the cold, but so far it wasn't working.

"Very." Quinn watched as he held out his hands to her, she was unsure what two people with cold hands could do but at this point she'd try whatever. His hands were much larger than hers and surprisingly warm, she closed her eyes and slid her fingers between his in an attempt to stay as warm as she could. She thought that her coat would keep her warm but she hadn't expected to be sitting in the car this long. "Oh my god, you're hot... I mean.. your hands.. Not that you're not attractive, I just mean-" Quinn stumbled over her words, she felt herself blushing and welcomed that heat as well, her nose was already red and she was sure Huck wouldn't notice and if he did he wouldn't say anything.

"I know what you meant." Huck said effectively shushing her, he rubbed his thumbs against the back of her hands slowly.

"Are you always this... warm?"

"Yeah..." he kept his eyes trained on the rear view mirror. Quinn stared at the scars across his knuckles and knew that he did his fair share of fighting, she also knew that these hands had hurt a lot of people. Killed people. Tortured people. Yet, he was always helpful to her even now when she was wondering why she was holding hands with a murderer, a good guy but still a murderer. Huck's hands weren't soft but they didn't feel like sandpaper either, he had the hands of a hard worker. Quinn didn't expect to be sitting in a car with Huck holding hands but it felt nice, he was so warm and hadn't said a thing about how she was analyzing his hand. She wondered if he did yard work or if he sculpted? Maybe he was a craftsman addict. "He was a runner, it was my first time."

"What?" Quinn wasn't sure who or what he was talking about and was sure that she had a very odd look on her face.

"Jacob P. Winkle. He was a runner, that's why running is bad. It was my first time and he ran. I scraped my knuckles up badly, they healed but..." He looked at the long scar stretched across the knuckles of his right hand.

"Emelia Cartwright." Quinn said, there was a light pink scar wrapped around her pinky, she wiggled it and Huck saw how the scar winded around her finger. "Her dad was some big shot tattoo artist, well she figured a razor and some paint would be the same thing."

"You let her?" Huck asked, Quinn looked up to see a shocked expression and couldn't help but laugh. Now that she looked back on it, it was a bad idea even at a young age it was bad. Many of the children in her neighborhood even encouraged them to stop or threatened to tell an adult but she remembered wanting that tattoo so badly.

"Yeah at the time it seemed like a good idea but it really wasn't and I got grounded too." Quinn noticed the way he was staring at her hand and realized that he was just as curious as she was. "I was ten."

"I was twenty."

"You probably had someone to kiss it and make it better, right?" Quinn asked, Huck's eyes went from her hands up to her face and then past her. She knew he was thinking about something or someone, she wondered if her mouth had gotten her in trouble again.

"He's moving." Huck said softly and slowly untangled their fingers, She wondered if there would be more moments like these when he was less robotic and mysterious and more vulnerable and open. They began to trail the man in the black SUV to his next location. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Huck questioned.

"Tell anyone what?"

"That we were holding hands."

"I doubt they would believe me."