Chapter Text
The grey-haired guard stabs an accusatory index finger in the air towards you.
“I recognize your handsome and/or beautiful face! Didn’t you break out? I was so disappointed that you left without filing the paperwork!” he says, sounding genuinely upset with you for not leaving through official means, “What’s going on here?”
He pauses, eyes glancing back and forth between you and Yancy and then your interlocked hands.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Yancy locks eyes with you, a flush across his cheeks that you can see even with the low levels of light. You don’t know what surprises you more, the fact that the guard isn’t immediately sounding any alarms upon seeing you, a wanted criminal, breaking into prison grounds and canoodling with one of the inmates or his accusation. You could only imagine how bad it looks with the both of you in bed together and Yancy’s hair uncharacteristically messy and loose from you playing with it. You admit, the mildly disheveled appearance looks rather nice on him, but paired with the blush makes your favorite inmate look completely debauched (which also looks quite good on him, but he doesn’t need to know that).
The guard scratches the side of his head under his hat with the head of his flashlight.
“I don’t know what the protocol is here, I never heard of someone breaking into the penitentiary before. I’m sorry Yancy, I know how much you like Y/N here, but I really should go get the Warden-“
Panic grabs you in a chokehold as you look to Yancy with a wide-eyed stare. The prisoner squeezes your hand reassuringly, holding it against his chest before giving the guard the poutiest puppy dog face you have ever seen.
“Please, sir, don’t tell the Warden! Y/N and I, we’re two star-crossed lovers, youse see. I’s broke the rules to get them outta this joint and 'ey broke the rules just ta see me,” Yancy says like he’s letting the guard in on a secret, yet completely and utterly confident.
Words dry up in your mouth as your breath catches, thankful that Yancy wasn’t able to see your face. It was a smart idea; you didn’t remember the guard’s name, but from your past interactions with him, he seemed to be the nicest and most sympathetic staff member in the entire penitentiary. You hope Yancy’s plan will work, more for his sake than for yours. Especially after hearing about his time in solitary, you didn’t want him to have to go back ever again.
You see the guard’s mouth open in surprise, but his eyes seemed to twinkle with some sort of inexplicable pride. Yancy pauses and looks down bashfully as if embarrassed about his declaration of love, his warm hand still enveloping your own with his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles in your skin. It sends a warm feeling to your chest. Was that part of the act? He continues speaking, but quiet and bashful, clearly encouraged by the guard’s enraptured look, you think.
“They’re the only one I care ‘bout outside’a here, and they’re the only one that’d care enough ta visit, yanno? Y/N does all that heistin’ and being sneakylike and well… they stole my heart. I spent most of our first meetin’ tryn'ta fight them, really fallin’ for that right hook, eheh... Now I wanna spend it lovin' 'em, if I'm able.”
Yancy is a good actor.
It takes you aback even though you know it’s just to aid in your escape (again). If you didn’t know about Yancy’s acting skills, you might have believed it yourself (you wished you could believe it, no one has said anything that sappy to you before). The guard seems to agree as well with a hand over his open mouth at the prisoner’s heartfelt confession. You can’t see well with the dimness of the cell, but the guard’s eyes appear to shimmer with liquid.
The guard looks at you expectantly. Yancy shoots you an encouraging glance, squeezing your hand gently in his own again. He needs you to play along to really sell the act, you know. Still, it was strange how before you were the one holding Yancy up as he cried and now moments later you were the one holding his hand as if it were a lifeline through the ocean of your anxiety. He smiles, one side of his mouth tilted slightly higher than the other as he openly looks at you with adoration as if you are the center of his universe. The flutter of something soft in your chest was real even though your words were a far more exaggerated and dramatic version of the truth that you seemingly ripped out a Shakespeare play.
“Yancy, my love,” you say while forcing your eyes to his, internally curling in on yourself at the foreign feeling of the term of endearment coming out of your mouth. You worry whether it was too much and if you crossed a line with him even though it was pretend (but it wasn’t, not entirely). But his eyes widen and light up with something unreadable yet surprisingly and overwhelmingly positive, so you continue and grab his other hand so both of them were intertwined with your own.
“I missed you more than I could ever say. If I knew that it would be this painful to part from you, then I never would have left at all. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and it tears me apart from inside out. I needed to see you again, no matter what.”
You exhale a long breath, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. Absence makes the heart grow fonder as they say, but you never fully confronted exactly how fond you were until the situation forced you to say it out loud. The revelation sends you reeling a little bit, seeing that you technically didn’t know Yancy that long, although you thought about the sweet man often over the weeks of being unable to contact him.
There is a pause laden with thick tension as you glance down at your hands, still wrapped in Yancy’s wide palm and thick fingers. You don’t want him to see your honesty. He pulls one of his hands away from you and despite everything, every fiber of your being screams for him not to until he places his hand on the side of your cheek instead. Surprise forces your head up to see that Yancy smiles easily at you and that alone is grounding and steady. I’ve got you, he says without words, seeming to sense the waves of stress radiating off of you. He slightly cocks his head to where the guard is, breaking character to tell you that they should wrap the act up. You nod imperceptible to anyone except Yancy and that warm, comfortable feeling curls in your chest like a sleeping cat, even with the pressure of possible life imprisonment surrounding you.
The hand on your cheek gently rubs the pad of its thumb against your skin pulls you closer. Yancy’s eyes almost glow with an unreadable tenderness in the ambient light. He speaks in a low voice, yet loud enough for the guard to hear, whose face was practically pressed against the bars of the cell in anticipation.
“If only we’s could have this limited time together, doll, I’d be the happiest man on Earth. I know that youse hafta be free out t'ere and I’s gotta stay, for now anyway," the prisoner mutters adoringly as the pad of his thumb grazes the corner of your mouth and he briefly glances down at your lips before meeting your eyes. "But I’d die if I wasn’t able to say goodbye ta youse first.”
Scratch that, Yancy is a really good actor.
You swallow hopefully-not-audibly and pray that he doesn’t notice the hopefully-not-flustered expression on your face despite being merely inches away from him. You try to summon whatever inner cool, calm, and collectedness you acquired over your years of heisting to keep the act going and totally not think about Yancy kissing you or his voice dropping more than you've ever heard out of his mouth or whether anything he said had any bit of truth in them.
“Yes, if only we could spend these parting moments together and NOT get caught,” you finish, the both of you looking at the guard with the most convincing puppy eyes you can muster.
“Darn it, this is so tragic! I won’t say anything, I didn’t see anyone else in here: the tears in my eyes blocked it,” the guard cries profusely, dabbing at his face with a now-damp cloth. “I-I can’t stay here, I need another handkerchief. I just better not see you here tomorrow morning.”
The last bit was directed at you with a weak wave of the hand. You and Yancy don’t move until the guard walks away, his sobs echoing down the hallway.
The minute the guard was out of earshot, you fall into Yancy’s arms as if you had a thousand times before and then the two of you are laughing and hugging and complimenting each other’s acting skills.
“For a second there I thought you were actually going to kiss me.” You say this with a half-laugh to try and get rid of the strange fluttery feeling in your chest.
“Me too,” he mutters before clearing his throat. “Yanno, I always gotta lil’ thing for theatre, 'specially musicals. It was hard for me not ta start singin’ ‘bout youse.”
“You'd make a song about me?”
Yancy looks away, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that you've come notice was a nervous habit of his. “I's did actually… I's, uh, I had a lotta time in solitary.”
You temporarily lose the ability to breathe. You smile and your entire heart thrums and aches under the pressure.
"I love it (you) already, maybe you could show me once you get out of here."
Yancy breathes out slowly, seemingly relieved. He grins playfully with the corners of his eyes crinkling. "For youse, darlin'? Youse deserve nothin' less than a full performance."
"Only if you're starring in it."
The both of you knew you had to leave before morning, but every excuse was made to stretch the goodbye out as long as possible. You hug Yancy one last time and mourn having to leave, even though the logical part of your brain said that you put him at risk just by being there. There was never enough time.
"Want to show me out?"
Yancy raises an eyebrow with his head adorably cocked to the side. "Doncha gotta magic key or somethin'?"
You grin mischievously, "Where's the fun in that?"
Yancy smiles at that, pulling out a familiar black blindfold from his pocket "for old time's sake" (although he clarifies that "youse ain't gotta, a'course. I mean, youse know the way an' all.") You turn around for him to gently tie it around your head.
You're hit with a wave of déjà vu as he verbally guides your movements while all you see is black and intermittent flashes of color through the black cloth. His hand never leaves yours, and he occasionally carries you through "dangerous areas" that you can't recall from last time. You wonder if he sees you smiling the entire time or if he's too busy looking at where to go. You get the feeling that Yancy is going slower than you remember, but you don't mind it, wanting to make use of every second you had left with him. It all ends too soon when he lets your hand go.
You take the blindfold off, blinking a few times to somehow find yourself in the same place as before on the other side of the gate. The moonless night sky is pitch black and the outside air is crisp and cool compared to the warm, homey feel of Yancy's cell (or perhaps it was Yancy himself that made it feel that way). In front of you, the inmate grips the bars of the gate keeping the two of you apart. He smiles slightly, obviously trying not to look like he was on the verge of tears even though his eyes look like a lost puppy. Although Yance visibly wore a box of cigarettes on his sleeve, you also found that he wore his heart on there as well, and that honesty was something you would miss. You want to thank him or something, but the other words you want to say to him constrict your throat and prevent you from saying anything.
You move to give him the blindfold back, but he tells you to keep it. You grin, tying it around your forehead imagining that it would make you look grizzly and hardcore like the rest of Yancy's crew.
"Am I one of the boys now?" you say, crossing your arms with a "tough" expression similar to the one the inmate made when you first met. Yancy's smile spreads more genuinely this time, as you intended. He gazes at you as if you were the cutest, most handsome and/or beautiful, and most lovable person in the universe.
"Yeah. You's definitely one'a mine now. No one'll mess wit' ya, not if I's got anythin' to do with it."
You really don't know how to respond to that, or the way Yancy was looking at you. It fills you with nervous exhilaration and the warmth of pure bliss, and you wanted nothing more than to reach through the bars and pull him close for the rest of forever. You settle for putting your hand over one of his tattooed hands. Eventually, you manage to struggle actual words out.
"Thank you, Yance. For everything. I’ll come and visit you soon, don’t miss me too much."
"I'll try. G'bye, Y/N," the prisoner mutters, the entire goodbye being tense and awkward with the two of you not wanting to leave and words unspoken on both sides.
"Goodbye, Yancy," you reply, fighting against the tidal wave of butterflies in your stomach to quickly lean in and kiss him on the cheek between the bars. You sincerely hope that you weren't misreading him, carefully gauging his reaction.
Yancy completely freezes, staring blankly at you with wide eyes and his mouth open in a gasp. His entire face is adorably covered in a flushed red as he touches where you kissed him with the tips of his fingers while admiring the ground, but then you noticed that he literally stopped breathing.
"Youse missed," Yancy murmurs before you can apologize and snap him out of his trance.
"Wha-"
A strong hand fists the collar of your shirt, roughly yanking you flush against the gate. And then he kisses you. His lips feel rough against yours, and you can feel the indentations of scars and the roughness of his stubble on your face. Despite still being shocked Yancy's previous show of desperation, the kiss is tender and light and oh so sweet. Your face presses uncomfortably against the cold vertical bars, and he smells like cheap woodsy aftershave and faintly like cigarette smoke, but it was him, so it was perfect.
Yancy pulls away too soon, taking a step back with a dazed and worried expression. You're still breathless as he nervously rubs his arm close to his chest and avoids your gaze.
"Shit, I's shouldn't a done that without askin'. I'm so sorry, are youse okay? Did I-"
"Kiss me again."
Yancy's eyes shoot back up, but he doesn't hesitate. This time he kisses you harder with a warm hand caressing the side of your face and another pulling you in by the waist. And you kiss him back, grabbing whatever part of him you can reach through the bars to hold him as close as possible, knowing it may be a while until you will get another chance to.
When you finally pull away, you cradle Yancy's blushy face in your hands. "It's alright, Yancy. I wanted it, okay? I want you."
He beams at you, gently turning his head to kiss your wrist. “I want youse too, always, I..." Yancy pauses as if he was about to say something else and reconsidered, "I’ll see youse on the other side, Y/N, soon. Wait for me?”
“I will.”
Even after you both pull away and you force yourself to turn around and leave with your heisting ensemble blending into the blackest of skies in front of you, you're still thinking of him. This time you don't turn around to see if Yancy is there. You know you'll visit him some Sunday from now. One day he's gonna be free, and when that day comes, you're gonna be there to greet him.
With bated breath, the entire gang excitedly hovers over Yancy, who sat on an upside down paint bucket-turned-stool in the yard.
“…And then we kissed,” Yancy mutters from beneath his hands to hide the embarrassment on his face.
His entire audience cheers and shrieks in high pitched fangirling tones, some passing money and packs of cigarettes around from bets and others congratulating Yancy and giving him hugs and fist bumps. Amidst the chaos, Yancy sees Holt standing in the back giving him a thumbs up. He beams back.
Yancy stands on the paint bucket to get everyone’s attention again, this time with a blinding smile as he yells. “An' get this, Y/N said we’s could all crash at their place once we’s all make parole!”
Everyone cheers and celebrates again until someone said the Warden was coming and the prisoners quickly dispersed. But if Yancy looked spacey and absentmindedly touched the pads of his fingers to his lips sometimes, Mr. Murderslaughter didn’t say anything of it.
Mark, now fully healed from his many injuries, shuffles down the spiral staircase in pink bunny slippers and a red silk robe. He yawns and rubs his eyes at the late morning sun, surprised to hear the clatter of silverware and people talking downstairs it what was supposed to be a secret headquarters.
"Uh, Y/N?"
The entire living room and kitchen bustles with people in black and white prison uniforms like a noisy herd of zebras. They don’t seem to notice or care about Mark’s entrance. Somewhere in the monochrome crowd, your head peaks up over the wave of heads. You turn to greet Mark with an apologetic smile and lift up a plate of pancakes for him. Apology pancakes. Just like the ones you made for him after leaving him for dead at the penitentiary after he got punched through a concrete wall.
"Y/N, I swear to God."