"All right girlie, you're in here with Rose here. Watch her, okay? She's a nasty one, that. But we've got you together because you've got a lot in common." The guard chuckled as she gestured into the small cell. "What with your race and all, and your murder business."
Santana stepped gingerly into the cell, eyes watering slightly at the stench. Fucking hell. Prison.
Rose, or whatever her name was, lay on the bottom bunk reading a book. As the guard spoke, she rolled her eyes and flipped her off.
Well, Santana could understand that reaction.
"Thanks," she mumbled, leaning up onto her toes to look at the top bunk suspiciously. The mattress was stained a little, but was clean for the most part.
"Sleep tight, girlies!" The guard called out, shutting the door with a bang and twisting a key in the lock.
"Hey," Santana offered, wondering if this was about to turn into one of those movies where she got like, raped or beaten up by a gang leader or something. She felt sick.
"Hey," the girl responded easily, continuing to read her book.
Okay, she could handle that. Hell, maybe they were similar outside of the narrow minded shit the guard had said.
She put her things on the sink in the cell, and reached up for the folded sheets on the top bunk. Might as well make her bed, she figured, and lay in it.
"Attention, inmates! We got here a little fishy for y'all to play with. Her name is Brittany, and I hear she's real flexible!" The guard laughed at her own joke, as Brittany peered around her body at the seven girls cramped into the room.
Hey, prison wasn't so bad. This was like cheerleader camp.
"Hi!" She waved, smiling brightly at the other women, who all scowled at her.
The guard kept chuckling as she closed the door.
"Break her in, bitches!"
"What does that mean?" Brittany asked as the guard walked away, and one of the women stood up. She was tall – really tall – and had cornrows in her hair.
"She means we should teach you who's boss, that's what she means." The woman's voice was a low rumble as she stepped towards the blonde.
"Oh, who is the boss? Because I'm new, and like, if there's a boss that's cool." Brittany shrugged, moving in and looking at the bunks in the dorm style room. She finally found a free top bunk, and that was awesome because she loved the top.
There was silence from the other women in the room, until they all suddenly burst into laughter.
The tall woman with corn rows shook her head, and extended her hand.
"Name's Monique. And you're one of those girls off the teevee, right? Got everyone's tits in a twist on the news and shit?"
Brittany shook the hand vigorously, nodding and smiling.
"Yep, that was me and my friends. Quinn – she's in like, the worst locked up place here – and Rachel – she's over in some other building but I think it's like this one – and Santana. San is somewhere else, too." Her smile fell off her face as she imagined the other girl in the room with her, here, and how they could share a bed if they were together, and keep each other warm.
Monique nodded thoughtfully.
"Tell you what, Fishy, I kind of like you. You ain't one of them snooty white bitches like we thought you would be. And the guards in here? Shit, half of them are worse than the inmates. Fuck them, you feelin' me?"
Brittany sighed deeply, glad that she was liked.
"I'm feelin' you, yeah. But can my name be Ducky instead of Fishy? I like ducks so much better."
She wasn't sure why they all started laughing, but she joined in anyway. This wasn't so bad, after all.
Rachel was trying not to hyperventilate. This was not how her life plan was meant to go. What was wrong with her? She'd gone and killed people? She was ready to vomit. Or pass out. In the name of all that was holy, she was in prison.
Every prison scene from every movie and television show she had watched – and she had seen a lot in her friendless youth – played out in her mind. She wouldn't shower, she just wouldn't. She would refuse on the grounds of privacy and a desire not to be raped when she picked up the –
Oh God, she prayed as she was led to her cell, please don't let me ever, ever drop any soap in any situation. Perhaps she would forego soap entirely? She wondered if she could get shower lotion in prison? Dropping that didn't require one to bend over and pick it up, after all.
She tried to calm her racing heart, she truly did. But here she was in a jumpsuit, being lead by a prison guard, to her cell.
She was wrong. Oh God, she was so wrong. She should've driven to the nearest police station, not embark on a road trip of criminal acts!
She was – she was about to pass out – she could feel –
"You're in here, small fry. Grab that bunk over there, and get yourself settled in." The guard looked at her kindly, his expression one of sympathy. "Listen, it ain't so bad in here I promise. Just get settled in, and then we'll see about getting you set up in one of your programs, okay?"
Rachel was trembling violently. Programs? What programs? Did he mean gangs? Oh God, what if there were a tribe of ultra white neo-Nazis in here who would shiv her as soon as she stepped foot in the yard?
"Who's this?"
It was an inmate speaking! A criminal! She wasn't one of them!
"Her name is Rachel, poor little thing. Listen, Janice, can you show her around? Tell her about some of the programs we got on offer, you know, maybe the tapestry program, or wildlife? You like animals, sweetie?"
Rachel blinked, ready to throw her belongings on the ground and run screaming in the opposite direction. But wait, what?
"An – animals?"
The inmate – Janice – smiled kindly, nodding her head. She was in her thirties, and had long red hair pulled into a plait.
"Oh honey yes, they like to focus on rehabilitation here. There's college courses, and all kinds of things to get your skills up for when you get out of here –" she put her arm around the trembling girl, gently guiding her into the room as the guard smiled at them both.
"Sleep tight, ladies."
"When I get out of here?" Rachel was fairly certain that wasn't an option.
"Sure! Or you know, just to pass the time. Whatever you like, sweetie. Hey, you like music? They've got open mike nights over there in the rec hall once a week, and every month we have our own American Idol –"
Rachel felt her heart rate calming substantially. She wasn't being raped, and this kind and lovely woman was talking about –
"American Idol?"
Well, she'd never seen that in the movies, that was for sure.
The door slammed closed behind her.
The guard had barely said a word, either. Just shown her to the little cell she supposed was now her home, and shut the door behind her.
It wasn't too bad, she mused. Kind of what she thought a college room would be like. Except the toilet didn't have a door, and there were bars on the window.
But there was a little shelf, and a bed.
She wondered if there was a library somewhere in the prison, and whether she'd be allowed to visit it.
She'd get one hour everyday for exercise, but other than that, she had to stay in her cell by herself.
Well, Quinn mused, she was used to be being by herself. It would just be like her childhood all over again.
O-O
"Where you from?"
Santana looked around her for a moment, before turning back to her cellmate.
They were seated at a table in the cafeteria, and so far the only thing Rose had said to her was 'Hey'. That morning, she'd simply followed the girl around like a lost puppy because she wasn't sure what the fuck else to do with herself.
"Lima."
Rose snorted.
"What a shit hole."
Santana nodded, shrugging her shoulders.
"You?"
"Grew up in Columbus. My sister is still there, but the rest of the family is gone. My brother's up in Chicago."
Santana exhaled a breath, wondering where Brittany was, at that very moment. Somewhere close by, surely.
But not close enough.
"Big family?"
Rose chewed the rest of her mouthful slowly, before swallowing.
"Yeah, you can say that. You?"
"Not really. I have a brother but he – well, none of them are talking to me anymore, so."
Rose shrugged, pushing more eggs onto her fork. Or what were meant to be eggs, anyway. Santana was ready to starve herself rather than eat this shit. She wondered if they had burger nights in jail.
"Sometimes your family is your blood, and sometimes your family is your love. They can be both, but they don't have to be."
Santana uncrossed her arms, her jaw tensing as she thought about Brittany. And Quinn.
And Rachel.
"So uh, what are you in for?"
Rose continued to eat.
"Murder."
"Oh, right. Yeah that guard said that – you're not really much of a talker, are you?"
At this, Rose chuckled.
"I say only what needs to be said. But you, you say a lot of things, don't you? That could be useful, one day."
Santana picked up a piece of toast off her plate, squinting at one of its sides. Was that mould?
"Yeah well, it hasn't been so far."
Rose only smiled.
"Okay, so then you move your leg like this, see." Brittany lifted her leg up until her foot was pointing above her head.
Monique stared at it, her jaw dropping open, as did the other women.
"No way in hell I'm doing that without ripping my vagina in half! What the fuck?"
The women started laughing, as Brittany rolled her eyes.
"Hey, I can teach you guys how to do it. I promise. We'll take those bitches over in Hale, they won't know what hit 'em!"
The women all nodded at each other encouragingly, and began trying to lift their legs up as high as they could.
Brittany was so proud of them. They were so lucky that a girl with her dance training had been assigned to their room. The next dance off at open mike night?
It was theirs.
"Jesus, you can sing!" Janice yelled as she clapped her hands, standing from her seat as others followed.
Rachel blushed, bowing slightly, and turning to leave the microphone. Her rendition of Katy Perry's Firework had been a hit in Glee, but that was nothing compared to the reaction she was getting from the women seated in front of her.
"Sing another!" A voice called out.
"Please don't stop!" Someone else joined in.
"More! More!" The crowd chanted.
Rachel felt like crying. In this sea of misfit women, she had become their hero.
"This next song is dedicated to all of you, and to my friends, who I wish could be here tonight." She cleared her throat, leaning over to the woman who had offered to play guitar for her.
The woman laughed, and nodded.
She turned to her audience, and hoped above anything, that Quinn could hear her, wherever she was.
"Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going anywhere..."
Quinn turned the page, her mind lost within the pages of the book that had been delivered to her that morning by an inmate with a trolley full of them. She'd been a bit dubious at the title, 'Flowers In The Attic', but God was she engrossed in the terrible, tragic story.
She leant her head against the windowsill, her ear resting on the ledge.
Faintly, she could hear music coming from somewhere. And a voice that –
She threw the book down, scrambling onto her knees and pressing her head against the bars on the window.
She could hear Rachel. She knew it was that voice.
She'd listened to that voice for three years. Had mocked it for longer.
She closed her eyes, unable to make out the words.
But she didn't need them. Just hearing her was enough.
Enough to rip her out of the book; out of the jail cell; and throw her back to the best night of her life.
She had been determined not to cry. Had promised herself that she wouldn't. They could throw her in jail and leave her to rot in a tiny room for the rest of her life.
But they wouldn't make her cry.
And they still wouldn't.
It was just Rachel, that was all. Reaching into her heart, and reminding her she was there.
O-O
"I didn't do it." Rose whispered, and Santana barely heard her.
Lights out had been called an hour ago, but Santana couldn't sleep. Kept tossing and turning, because it had been a month now and she still hadn't seen Brittany. Like, fuck, they were in the same prison. So what if they were separated, she thought they'd have at least caught a glimpse of each other by now.
She'd gone to the open mike night or whatever – though it was only the other level three's, and they had spent most of the time singing heart breaking fucking crap music that made her want to commit another act of murder.
It just wasn't fair, okay? She had been shot, and nearly died. Wasn't that enough? Did they have to keep Brittany from her, too?
"Do what?" Santana whispered back, leaning over the edge of the bunk and letting her hair fall around her face.
She couldn't make Rose out in the bunk beneath her, but at least it would be easier to hear her like this.
"Kill that guy. I didn't do it."
Santana blinked for a few moments, wondering where the sudden opening up was coming from. She'd got bits and pieces from Rose so far, but their conversations hadn't really gone in depth or anything. For the most part, she followed her around because people seemed to automatically part for Rose, like she was Moses or some shit.
Santana could respect that.
"What happened?"
"Cleo, she got caught up in some shit. Drugs and shit. It was my fault, you know? I left her in Columbus, went to my brother to deal with some business, and in my absence she – anyway. I took the rap. Here I am."
Santana frowned. She knew Cleo was Rose's younger sister, but why the sudden heart to heart?
"Okay, so why take the rap for something you didn't do?"
Rose sat up, her head now not far from Santana's.
"Because of love. Listen, if that Brittany chick you talk about – would you take the rap for her?
"Yeah." She didn't even pause, wondering where this was going.
"What else would you do for her? Risk your life?"
"Yeah." Again, she didn't pause. She didn't have to.
"You do anything to see her again?"
"Yeah." Seriously, it wasn't rocket science.
"Good to know." Rose answered, lying back down.
Santana frowned because, what the fuck?
"What was the –"
"Just sleep, my friend."
Santana pulled herself back onto her bed, gritting her teeth because this cryptic shit with her cellmate was starting to do her head in. They'd start talking about, like, something random that came out of nowhere. And all of a sudden Rose would start firing questions at her, and then just stop.
Whatever.
She rolled over, and closed her eyes. She conjured up a smile she hadn't seen in too long, and hoped to God – or whoever – that she'd dream about Brittany all night long.
Her final thought was, actually, yeah. She would risk her life to see her again. This imprisoned shit was whatever, and if it was endless? Fuck that.
One more moment with Brittany, however brief, was worth anything.
"Listen, LaFresia, you are totally sweet and really hot, but my heart belongs to somebody else." Brittany shrugged her shoulders, hoping the woman in front of her – who was becoming a really good friend – wouldn't be too hurt.
"Girl, I don't want your heart. I was just talking about a little something something, you know?" She leant towards the blonde, raising her eyebrows.
"I would totally go for that if this was, like, two years ago. But I," she reached out a hand, laying it on LaFresia's shoulder. "The person who has my heart – Santana – she has everything else too."
LaFresia sighed, before shrugging her shoulders.
"Look, I can respect that. Outside these walls? My everything belongs to my husband. It's just going to be a fucking long time till I'll see his ass again, and a girl can't help it when she's horny. And you, baby girl, are the prettiest thing in here." She smiled, as Brittany laughed.
"Well, if it weren't for San, you would totally be my first choice for a sex buddy. But I just –" it wasn't that it was hard to say, but it was the first time she'd really felt it as truth. "Even if I never have sex again for the rest of my life, I can handle that. It's not the same with anybody else."
LaFresia shook her head, stepping forward to hug the girl she'd propositioned and been rejected by.
"Well here's to praying your ass gets laid before you die, girl. And this Santana chick – I seen her on the news, she is hot – that bitch is the luckiest woman alive, okay?"
Brittany hugged LaFresia tightly, missing the way Santana used to fit in her arms. She was close by, she could feel it, just over the way in another building. They shared the same food, the same recreation space, just not at the same times. She wondered if she could somehow leave a message, because even if she couldn't talk to or see her, she had to communicate with her somehow.
It was too hard, and it was making her too sad. Sure, she had the dance classes, and she'd joined a prison gang. She was enrolled to get her GED, and there were classes on offer that seemed like they might be fun. One was called, 'Thinking For A Change' and that seemed like a good thing to learn.
But it hurt to spend day after day laughing with her crew, and unable to slip her hand inside Santana's and know she was there.
She'd do anything, she thought, to see her again.
Rachel sighed, giving the women in her group a small smile as they bounced a basketball back and forth between them. It wasn't that she was against physical activities or sports, more that the days were beginning to blend into one long, repetitive day, and there seemed to be no end to it.
She'd imagined prison would be a horrible place, filled with vicious criminals and violent acts. And sure, she'd seen two women get into a physical fight in the cafeteria one day, and had been appalled when they'd been marched back to their cells and searched. She wasn't sure the correlation between the two acts; it seemed more a threatening, invasive act than one with a point.
But she hadn't realized that it would become like some eternal day she couldn't get away from. People needed change, and challenges, she mused. And there wasn't much of that on the inside.
She was finishing her GED, which was something. She was on the waitlist to join the wildlife program, hoping it would involve actual contact with animals. She'd frequented the library, reading about the history of the prison and marveling at the amount of riots and break outs it had experienced. Not in recent times, though. And the reason it was called a farm was not because the people inside were considered animals – as she had first taken offense to – but because it used to function as an actual farm.
Her eyes turned to the buildings surrounding the recreation area. In one of those buildings was Quinn. Somewhere, in a small cell of some kind, she was at this very moment doing – well, she had no idea. Perhaps she was reading? She remembered the blonde had an avid fascination with literature when they were in Glee Club together.
God, that was so long ago now.
Or perhaps she was in the cafeteria? Or the library – was she even allowed in the library? She'd probed Janice's mind for information on the different security levels, and who was allowed where.
It was something akin to heart break – or food poisoning – to hear that there was no chance she'd ever just run into Quinn – or anyone from level four – one day coincidentally.
"What you looking at, kid?"
She turned to the voice, seeing a woman from her cell – Mary – smiling at her and bouncing a ball.
"I was just wondering which building was level four?" She pushed herself off the wall she was resting on, and looked at the woman hopefully.
Mary dribbled the ball a few more times, before turning and pointing at the furthest building from the yard.
"That's C-Corridor. All the level fours and death row are up in there. My sister's up there, you know. I go see her sometimes, take up the book trolley and whatever."
Rachel blinked, her heart jumping into her throat.
"Do you see Quinn Fabray? Do you know her?"
The woman laughed, squinting at her through the bright sunlight.
"She's the young blonde one, right? Real quiet, soft voice, got them eyes that are like – shit I don't know. Looking into your soul or some crap, right?"
Rachel began to walk hurriedly toward the woman, putting her hands up for the ball. Mary bent her knees a little more, catching the ball, and bouncing it toward Rachel.
"That's her."
"Yeah, I drop her books all the time. Little thing reads like crazy. She's one of your friends, right? Went on that killing spree together?"
Rachel nodded furiously.
"Could you – could you tell her something? From me? We're not allowed to – we're meant to stay separated, so –"
Mary just shrugged.
"Sure, whatever. Won't be the first time I sent a message for someone. But uh, no offense kid, what's in it for me?"
"Do you like to sing? I've seen you at the open mike nights a lot, you –" she could see her now, sitting in the audience, mouthing along to the words as Rachel sang them. "Seem to enjoy music."
Mary nodded, catching the ball and standing up straight.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I would offer you singing lessons, if you liked, as payment for your messaging services."
"Singing lessons, huh? For risking my ass delivering your message? Thanks, kid, but no thanks. A horse got a better singing voice than me." Mary went to turn away, basketball clutched in her hands.
"Wait! That's preposterous, everybody can sing given enough time, care and attention. A voice is not born, it is made. Yes, some people have natural talent – myself included – but nothing worth anything comes without trying, without –" she stepped forward, feeling her voice fill with desperation. "Practice. I can help you, I promise."
Mary paused.
"All right, let's try this singing shit, and I'll deliver your message. And also? You'll get me two packs of smokes for every message I deliver to your little girlfriend."
Rachel nodded furiously, unsure how she'd even get cigarettes, but willing to do just about anything.
Mary winked at her, relaxing back into her previous stance, and bouncing the ball to Rachel.
"What do you want to say, kid?"
The ceiling on her cell was actually kind of interesting. It was covered in tiny dots – was it the pattern? Crappy design? – and she was pretty close to being able to calculate how many dots were up there.
She'd cut it into sixteen squares, she approximated, and if she could get a count on the amount of dots in one square, and multiply it by sixteen, boom. She'd know how many dots were up there.
Well, roughly.
What would she do with that knowledge? She wasn't quite sure. But at least she'd stop wondering. She'd stop looking up at it for so many hours of every day and wondering just how many fucking dots were up there.
She sat up quickly, losing count. She could hear the book trolley.
She went to her door, waiting patiently for the long flap in the middle to creak open, and books to be passed through.
"Hey, you Quinn?" A sotto voice asked.
She frowned.
"Yes?" She said at normal volume, ducking down when the voice made a shushing sound.
"I got a message for you from the Diva. Pass me your books so we can keep talking."
Quinn blinked, reaching for the three books she'd gotten the previous week. The who?
"Okay?" She passed the books through, catching glimpses of someone's hands slowly tucking them into the trolley.
"She misses you. Thinks about you all the time. She says, don't stop believing, and says you should read this –"
A book was pushed through the slot. Quinn squinted at the title, 'A Guide To Traveling On The Astro Plane'. She wanted to roll her eyes, but found they were tearing instead. She laughed softly. God, Rachel.
" – and she hopes it works, because she's losing her mind without you."
Quinn's jaw dropped, and she hugged the book to her chest. Rachel had touched this book, had chosen it especially for her. It could've been about homosexual cannibals in space who existed on a diet of abortions, and she still would've treasured it.
"Tell her," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Tell her thank you, and I miss her too, and –" she wanted to include love, but it felt wrong saying it to someone else, and having it delivered as a message. "I think about her every single moment."
The slot shut, and she heard the trolley creaking as it was pushed away.
Once again, she dissolved into tears. This was so unfair.
She looked at the book title again. She hoped to God it worked.
O-O
"Listen, you with your little political groups out there fighting for your asses and shit, you're lucky. They still talking about you on the news. I'm just saying, it could be used to our advantage." Rose lifted the weight in her hands, as Santana frowned at her and watched.
"All right, look, you've got my attention and shit. But what I need to know is, how?"
Rose lifted the weight again, smirking.
"I don't know yet, but I've got a good feeling about you."
"Great," Santana muttered with an eye roll. "Well, let's hope we can get out of here based on our feelings."
Rose snorted.
"Look, the reason you were caught? You had nowhere to go, no one to help you. Me? I can help you. But you gotta help me, too."
"Enough with the cryptic shit! What is your point? Lay it out for me, because I'm seriously starting to get annoyed with all this –"
"My point is, when the time comes, you are going to get me out of here. When you do, I am going to make sure your ass is never found. I got contacts, okay?"
"Yeah right, you've got some club or whatever on the outside –"
"Do the Latin Kings ring a bell?"
Santana stopped speaking, mouth hanging open. No fucking way.
"No fucking way!"
Rose just shrugged, dropped the weight, and reached up to grab her collar and push it to the side. On her chest, above her right breast, was a tattoo of the letters 'ALKQN'.
"You help me, I help you."
Santana just nodded, feeling the blood rush from her face. Holy shit. She was so glad she hadn't slapped Rose, at any point, for being cryptic.
Fuck knew she'd wanted to.
She gave the other woman a tight smile as she resumed lifting weights with a smirk on her face.
Santana turned, then, taking deep breaths. But something caught her eye, and she frowned.
There, near the wall of one of the buildings, was a bunch of white rocks that had crumbled off the side of it. And low on the wall was, what looked like, writing?
'I miss you. Just so you know. Love, Ducky'
It couldn't be, could it? And shit, there were tears in her eyes and everything. It couldn't be Brittany, there was no way.
She picked up one of the rocks anyway, looking over her shoulder as the guard on duty turned his back on them and started gesturing at a group of women who had started throwing the basketball to each other a lot harder than what was deemed friendly.
'Every second of every day. I love you. Always, Queerio'
It was the best she could think of on the spot. She just hoped, if it was Brittany, she'd know.
Brittany skipped toward the wall where she'd left her message, hoping today would be the day she'd get a reply. It had been over a week already. Maybe Santana wasn't using the work out area?
And there it was.
She squealed, jumping up and down.
"Hey!" One of the guards yelled, and Brittany quickly did a cartwheel. She stood up, jumped up and down again, and then smiled at the guard.
"Give me a J! A! I! L! Go jail!"
The guard frowned, shook her head, and turned around.
Well, it was probably too dangerous to write on the wall right now. But she had words from Santana, and love. It felt incredible.
"What you so happy about?" Geminique grumbled, pumping iron and scowling at the muscles in her arms.
"I got a message from San!" Brittany gushed, smiling so brightly that Geminique almost returned it.
"You get one of the janitors to pass it on or some shit?"
Brittany frowned.
"No, I wrote it on the wall." She pointed behind her, and Geminique dropped the weight as she let out a full belly laugh.
"Girl! Oh my God! I swear this place was nowhere near as hilarious before your ass got here. You don't write shit on walls!"
Brittany frowned.
"Well, how do you get messages to people?"
"Ever heard of bribery? Shit girl, with that look on your face I'd about do it for free. Listen, I know someone who can get your messages across, okay? Don't write on no fucking prison walls."
Brittany blinked, sitting on the weight bench across from the woman who had resumed pumping iron.
"Thanks, Gem."
"I got a friend of mine, she mops the place and shit. Name's Dominique, okay? You pay her in smokes, and she's yours."
"But smoking is bad."
"Yeah, and cigarettes are the biggest form of currency in here. I swear to God, girl, I don't know how you got by on the outside."
Brittany pouted slightly.
"I had Santana."
Geminique nodded her head, offering the blonde another smile.
"And now you got us, Ducky."
Rachel took a deep breath, looking at the building she'd been told Quinn was in. Most of the windows, though barred, were open.
Here went nothing.
"I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living,"
She sang as loudly as she could, hoping it was enough to carry her voice into the windows above.
Behind her, she didn't notice as her fellow inmates stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. Some were frowning, and others were looking at each other in confusion.
"I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving,"
She hadn't really thought meeting on the astro plane would work. But at this point, she was willing to try anything.
She continued to sing, her voice lifting and growing stronger with every word.
Behind her, even the guards had stopped what they were doing, and simply watched as the tiny girl unleashed the loudest voice they'd ever heard.
Quinn had her hand clasped to her heart as she listened to Rachel sing. She couldn't see her, no matter how hard she tried to peer through the bars of the window. But there was that voice – as clear as day.
It took her back to the first time she'd woken up with the girl wrapped around her body. Back to the first moment she'd thought of kissing her – as Santana and Brittany had moaned in the background and she'd been so sexually frustrated she'd almost mounted Rachel's flashlight.
And then when she had kissed Rachel. When she'd pressed her mouth against her, and felt like – like nothing mattered. Like everything mattered. Even in the middle of the worst experience of her life, she had her best.
Her eyes slipped closed, as Rachel continued to sing.
"No song unsung, no wine untasted,"
The night in the motel had been the most she had ever felt in her life.
Part of her had wanted to handle the moment properly. Find flowers, or light some candles, or anything even vaguely romantic. But they hadn't thought to steal those, and the bushes surrounding the motel had been void of flowers.
And then she'd remembered what Santana had said – don't over think it. Just feel.
So she'd walked back into the motel room, and gently cupped Rachel's face, and pressed her mouth against her. They had kissed slowly, at first, dragging their lips over each other's, pressing closer each time. Quinn had tentatively pushed her tongue into the other girl's mouth, unable to hold back her moan at how good it felt.
She'd french kissed before, sure, but not like that. Not so gently, and so – what had Rachel said later? That it was erotic.
She laughed, now, with the memory. After the first time, they had lay there facing each other, and Quinn had almost buried her face in the pillow just to escape, well, everything. The way Rachel had been looking at her, like all of a sudden there was nothing else.
Nothing but that room, and that moment.
And then Rachel had leant over, and kissed her again. She'd pushed the blonde onto her back, and straddled her waist, already grinding down.
Quinn's eyes opened as she felt the heat rising to her face. She'd never thought it would be like Santana and Brittany. With all those moans and cries like what they were doing was so intense they were just helpless to do nothing else but enjoy it.
She wasn't sure, really, what was worse. Never having it, or having it briefly, and missing it for the rest of her life.
"I had a dream my life would be, so different from this hell I'm living, so different now from what it seems, now life has killed the dream I dream..."
Rachel's voice faded away, and Quinn all but let out a sob at its absence.
She hadn't allowed herself to remember that night since she'd been imprisoned. Had kept it in a safe place, far from things like prison guards and toilets without walls. She had distracted herself with books; with watching the television on the bottom floor in the guard's compartment, that they turned up for a few hours at night so the level four inmates could hear the news and whatever was on.
Had buried it away, to keep it safe.
But fuck that. Here it was, at the forefront of her mind, and damn it. She wanted it back. She wanted Rachel back. She wanted to feel again, and say, to hell with all of it. There are some things you should never give up fighting for.
She didn't know how she would do it. But there was something stirring in the back of her mind, and when the book trolley came by the following day, she would have a message of her own to send.
O-O
"And she's got friends in Lincoln?" Rose puffed, dribbling the basketball before bouncing it toward another inmate.
Santana didn't really know what she was doing, but kept her arms up and her body bumping into Rose's.
"Yeah, that Dominique chick said she's practically got her own fanclub. Rachel too. Something about singing and winning American Idol or some shit. I don't know."
Rose kept her eyes on the ball, smiling at Santana's words.
"And your girl up on death row is in?"
Santana caught the ball as it came towards her, bouncing it a few times, before sending it back to the woman who had thrown it at her.
"She ain't on death row, but yeah. She thinks we can get our old coach – Sue Sylvester, you know, Sue's World or whatever the fuck it's called now – as the bait."
Rose stood up straight, her eyes widening.
"You are shitting me."
Santana shook her head smugly, catching the ball effortlessly as Rose's teammate threw her hands up in frustration.
"For fuck's sake, Rose!"
Rose just waved her off, though, watching as Santana took a jump shot, sinking the ball easily.
"Listen, you tell her to get that shit live. Okay? This is – we can do this. You just need to work on a code word, or some shit."
Santana frowned slightly, then shrugged.
It was a ridiculous plan. There was so much margin for error she almost wanted to call the whole thing off. But she'd missed Brittany's eighteenth birthday, and Brittany had missed hers. Hell, they would miss every birthday from here on out.
That shit wasn't cool. So fuck it. If they died, they would die in each other's arms.
And if that wasn't the sappiest, most romantic shit she had ever thought, she didn't know what else was.
But she was certain of one thing, in this whole crazy shit. Sue Sylvester had ridden their asses to stardom, having the time of her life while they suffered. Yeah, she watched her stupid show every week, but lately it had become less about swearing at the television and more about figuring out a way to pay that bitch back.
And then some.
"So, what do you think?" Brittany dealt the women two cards a piece, and threw in a cigarette to the centre of the table.
They looked at their cards, and then each other.
"I'm in." Monique said easily, throwing in a cigarette.
"Me too." Geminique nodded, adding her own cigarette to the pile.
"You just give us the signal, girl, and we'll have your back." LaFresia smiled, throwing in a cigarette and then shaking her head in wonder.
All eyes turned to Dominique.
"How are you going to get the guns? Don't get me wrong, yo, this plan is tight. But how are you going to get guns? 'Cause without them, you ain't got nothing."
Brittany's brow furrowed, as she bit her lip.
"I don't know. But Q, and San will. They'll figure it out. I just have to bring the muscle."
Dominique shrugged, picking up a cigarette and holding it in front of Brittany's face.
"Well, I might just pay them a visit. And if they say what I want to hear?" She shrugged, tossing the smoke onto the table. "I'm in."
"I know, Janice, that the life you have found here is a pleasant one, so I understand if you feel any hesitation with what, I believe, will be happening in a month or so." Rachel wrung her hands together, as the women around her looked at each other.
"And how do you know none of us are going to snitch?" Janice eyed the nervous girl with an unreadable expression on her face.
"I don't." Rachel answered simply. "If we get caught, or it doesn't work, we'll face the consequences along with everyone else. I believe we will be the ones risking the most, and as such, there is no reason to snitch, as it were. Also, our target is a woman that, it's safe to say, every woman in this prison has some kind of issue with. We all watch her show, though more often than not I find I am not the only one yelling at the screen, nor am I the loudest."
A stocky woman with cropped blonde hair snickered.
"She's a cocky bitch, that's for sure."
"And you all have the prerogative to not join in on the riot when it occurs. And it will occur. I have been assured that our fellow level two's will be helping start the riot, a long with some level three's. Level four is out, automatically, as they'll be locked in their cells. So really, it's up to you ladies, some of whom I understand are among the level one's, and thus will be set free shortly."
Janice chewed on one of her fingernails.
"And if it works, and you get out, what about the rest of us?"
"That is up to you. Whether you remain on prison grounds to serve the rest of your sentence, or make a run for your lives, it is up to you. It's part of your freedom – the right to choose."
"I'm in." The stocky woman called out, and the women around her nodded.
Janice sighed, then smiled brightly.
"Fuck it all to hell!"
Rachel felt like crying, as the women around her began whooping. A few guards came running over and demanded the group break up, but Rachel still couldn't wipe the smile off her face.
"You just let me know, and we'll be ready." Janice whispered, offering her a wink before throwing her hands up at a guard. "We're moving already, calm your tits, Sally!"
The rest was up to Quinn.
"Q!" Sue smiled, leaning forward on her arms and clutching the telephone receiver to her cheek.
"Coach." Quinn murmured, watching through the glass as Sue Sylvester beamed at her.
"It's been a long time, Q, and I have to say, seeing you behind bars is both heartening and disappointing."
"I feel the same about being behind bars."
Sue chuckled.
"Now, a little birdy told me you've been thinking about my offer. Well, how about it? You, me, the entire nation hanging onto our every word?"
Quinn leant forward, pretending to deliberate.
"I would say, yes. But then I was thinking, Coach."
Sue's expression fell slightly.
"Do tell, Q."
"Well, I think if you interviewed me and put it on your show, it'd get some pretty good ratings. But what if you interviewed, oh I don't know, Santana as well? Brittany? Even Rachel?"
She watched as Sue's eyebrow raised in thought, hoping against anything that she could sell this.
"You know, Q, your attention to detail regarding my ratings is impressive. But I can't help but ask what you would get out of having your friends steal some of your spotlight."
"Well, you could interview us at the same time."
Sue just scoffed.
"You aren't allowed to be in the same room together, or have you forgotten that little byline in your sentence? You're losing your touch, Q, I have to say I'm leaning more toward disappointment right now."
But Quinn just smiled.
"Sue Sylvester? Unable to get around a little thing like a byline? I think you're the one losing her touch, Coach. It's a pity too – you'd be the envy of the journalism world if you managed to interview all four of us at once. Especially if you did it live."
Sue squinted her eyes, before laughing suddenly.
"There you are, Q! Still alive and thriving even behind bars. Even now, despite your incarceration and doomed future, you still remind me of a young Sue Sylvester."
Quinn laughed in return, batting her eyelashes. Sue had been saying that for so long now, all Quinn could really think in return, was:
Sue wished a younger version of her had been anything like Quinn.
O-O