Sucre didn't like being in the know. It didn't make him feel special, and it didn't give him a feeling of power. Knowledge is dangerous in a place like this. No, Sucre liked to keep to himself, do his time, and stay in the relative safety of fuzzy vagueness.
Not the smartest guy by any means, but not dull either, Sucre learned to hedge off his observations. He was doing pretty well too, then Fish came to Fox River. Now Sucre knew so much, he thought his head might burst from the unfamiliarity. He wasn't scared though, not like he knew he should be. A prisoner with all the stuff he knew? Damn, he should be singing to the guards. But he could handle it. He could follow through. For her, Sucre could do anything.
He thought he knew the most of it. Knew what was important, at least. But then he stumbled into the shed, actually going to get work supplies.
He had startled them. They turned and glared at him, guarded and accusing both together. Sucre must have shown his confusion, for Fish's face relaxed a little. A glance at his brother told Burrows it was OK. He didn't know. They were safe. Sucre noticed Burrow's eyes dart toward Fish's rumpled shirt, then to his own, finally resting at his boots.
I just came to get some--he meant to say, but didn't. He wondered if he should skip the excuses, just act good naturedly, but Sucre knew the silence had gone on too long.
"Burrows!" Clamored a guard outside. He bolted for the door, looking at neither of them as he past.
"Well," broke Fish calmly, "I suppose we should get going as well."
Back in their cell, Sucre tried not to think. He didn't know anything. Nothing happened for him to know about anyway.
He was lying on his back, willing his mind to stop when Fish returned from the infirmary. Once his escort had passed from earshot, Fish spoke.
"You look preoccupied. Something happen today?"
Fish gazed at him evenly, his face betraying nothing. Sucre met his eyes firmly.
"Nah, Fish. Nothin' happened today. How's the arm?"
Fish smiled. "I'm getting used to the needles."