AN: I have not written in an incredibly long time—unless you count German essays. I kind of rushed this like crazy, so it seems a little forced to me. I gotta stretch my writing legs out again, I guess. However, this show hooked me in and I finished it in three days and I really just feel the need to explore what exactly is going on between Piper and Alex. This is looking like a one-shot for now, but if the spirit moves me, we may see some sequel action out of this bad boy
Also, MAJOR SPOILER ALERT. Do not read this story if you haven't finished the series. I'm doing you a favor, trust me.
Without further ado, I give you a piece of fiction that's based off of a television show that's based off a memoir the authenticity of which I cannot vouch for… I just don't want to be sued, all right?
Nicky finally takes the glasses away from you the fifth time you'd taken them off your face in a span of thirty seconds, with a sigh that fell somewhere between exasperation and empathy. You take to fiddling with the stray thread at the hem of your khaki shirt, rolling it back and forth between your thumb and forefinger.
"Why the hell do you do that, anyway?" she asks pointedly, spinning your glasses between her fingers. "I never saw you do that 'til Chap—"
"She makes me nervous," you snap, cutting her off, running your hands through your hair. "All right? And don't even ask because I have no fucking clue why. Move half a ton of heroin across the border between Portugal and Spain? No problem. Doctor up fake passports and go through customs? With ease. But the minute this stupid yuppy waltzes back in here I lose my shit," you lean your head against the cinderblocks, squinting at the ceiling. "How sick is it that I still wanted to help her just now?" you lean your head toward Nicky. "She fucking picked him, Nicky, and I still have to force myself not to bend to her every whim. It is so frustrating I could actually vomit," Nicky makes a face at this, squeezing your hand gently. She leans in.
"Listen," she says softly. "You think I don't get it? You see that fuckin' poster I made for Morelle?" her eyes dart over to it briefly. "I can play it off like it's some joke, but I'm still not totally cool with it," she sighs. "Fucking straight girls, am I right?" the corner of her mouth twitches, a smile that changed its mind at the last second.
"Fucking straight girls," you repeat. "Can I have my glasses back now? I wouldn't want to miss the pageant shit show for the world," a smile spreads across your face before the two of you burst into laughter, which is quickly interrupted by Fischer, who shouts something about no more than one inmate in a bunk, and it takes all of your self-control not to laugh even harder. Instead, as you regain control of yourself, you toss a knowing look over at Nicky, mouthing the words "thank you," taking your glasses back out of her hands and resting them comfortably on your face. She takes her poster with her, leaving you to stare at the drop ceiling. You try your hardest not to notice that one side of the pillow still smells like Piper.
Two hours later you meet Nicky outside of the chapel, who, through some strange miracle, managed to find a water bottle full of hooch for the occasion. You take a seat in the back corner, casually bumping Fischer's shoulder on the way to your seat. She's off-duty, and, honestly, like she would actually fuck with you. You look at her pointedly over the frames of your glasses just to make sure. She gulps and spins around so quickly she loses her footing and you can't help the smirk slowly budding on the right side of your face. You slide into your seat, hand reaching out for the bottle Nicky has already done some serious work on. Discretion isn't a serious issue; everyone is far more concerned about the crowd in the front of the room and whether or not Crazy Eyes will end up on another rampage reminiscent of the Christmas Pageant two years ago. It's not every day someone confuses the part of an ox with an opportunity to recite monologues from Henry VI. Nicky is in the middle of reenacting the part where Mendez vainly attempted to tackle Crazy Eyes off the stage when you see Piper slide in out of the corner of your eye. Nicky squeezes your knee and it would be easy enough to write it off as courtesy empathy after a good finger banging, but you know better. The way her eyes shine when Morelle steps out on stage, how she's the only one in the audience who isn't laughing hysterically at her ridiculously awful acting… you know exactly how many butterflies are floating around in Nicky's stomach right now, and she knows exactly how many times you picture Piper in your bunk next to you before you fall asleep at night.
Well, pictured. Fuck that bitch and all her issues. May her sex always be less than satisfactory. You take another swig from the bottle and try to hide the involuntary scrunching of your nose. It's not like you're a snob. It's just that nothing beats celebratory champagne after a job well done, especially if you're in a hot tub in Punta Cana, back when she-bitch was still manageable… you glance over to her seat to notice that it's empty. If you know Piper, which, you do, inside and out (literally) she was moved to tears by Norma's spontaneous solo and is too embarrassed to be seen by the rest of the inmates. Good riddance.
It takes everything in you not to get up and check on her. This is about self-respect, Alex. You remind yourself. And you have enough self-respect to not go back on your decision less than twelve hours after you made it. You're not a bitch. Steeling your somewhat buzzed concentration, you move your gaze back toward the stage, clenching your fists until you can feel your nails digging into your palms. But something's not right. Where did that meth head angel go? Suddenly, your chest tightens and your stomach drops. She followed Piper.
"She followed Piper!" you hiss at Nicky, eyes wild. She blinks back in confusion. "Pennsatucky is gone, Nicky!" She rolls her eyes, fingers pressed to her forehead.
"Vause, don't go soft on me already," she warned. "That girl can handle herself now. It's her own fault. How many chances you gonna give her, huh? What kinda lesson is she gonna learn if you are always there to save her ass. She made her choice, just like you said-" Healy looks at Nicky pointedly before leaving through the double doors. "Look, her butt buddy is on his way, Vause. Ain't nothin' gonna happen with Healy around. Enjoy the fucking show, dude. Finish the rest of this bottle if you have to," she offers the hooch over, but you decline.
"Still got a sensitive stomach from breakfast," you explain weakly. "And you're right. She can handle yourself," you turn and watch Crazy Eyes, who's finally summoned the courage to perform, sing a rousing rendition of "Deck the Halls" in a key you're not sure exists. As she's wrapping up, Healy comes back into the chapel, looking smugger than Mendez after a blowjob for some generic Oxycodone. It's unsettling. Something's up. Nicky's hand is on your arm before you're halfway out of your chair. She looks at you, mouth set in a firm line, eyebrows raised. You throw her a pleading look and she lets go of your arm. You're not sure if it's the eggs from this morning, but there's a weight in your stomach you can't define and it's getting harder and harder to swallow as you stride toward the yard. The hallway seems twice as long, and you sprint between guard posts, your shoes slapping against the linoleum erratically until you reach the door.
You hear Piper retching before you see it. Fucking figures. She probably had a little too much hooch before the pageant, you rationalize, and you're about to spin on your heel and eat your words when you hear a moan that can be defined, without a doubt, as not. Piper. The feeling in your stomach is back. You're barely aware of the snow crunching beneath your feet with your hesitant steps into the yard.
Who you can only assume to be Pennsatucky is lying motionless on the ground, blood surrounding her head in a halo of crimson, some kind of sick poetic justice, her body the focus of the fluorescent light emanating from overhead. At the boundary of the yard, Piper's fingers are laced in the fence, her form doubled over as she switches between retching and sobbing, a small pool of sick already at her feet. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a small puff of steam form above Pennsatucky's lips—she's still breathing. Without further thought, you run across the yard, hands on Piper's back, shushing her, gently prying her fingers from the fence and cleaning them off with snow. Getting rid of evidence is key. Covering your tracks is what you're good at. After a few moments, Piper's hyperventilation is under control, and you gently wipe the corner of her mouth off with your thumb, not even thinking twice when you smear it on your prison-issued khakis.
"You need to get out of here now, kid," you say gently, your hand on her lower back. She looks at you, confused. "Do you seriously want a C.O. to come by right now? Do you know when you'd get out if you got caught? Do you want to go down the hill? Hell, do you want to live, because if she dies, Piper—"
"No," she interrupts quietly, gaze fixed on the ground. "No I don't. She was right, Alex," she looks up, tears in her eyes, lower lip trembling. "She was right, and Suzanne was right, and Larry was right, and you were right and this whole fucking prison is just a giant mirror to show everyone all of the ugly that they have in them and I have so. Much. So much of it, Alex, do you understand?"
"What did she say to you, Piper?" you ask slowly, cautiously.
"Larry broke it off," she continues, completely ignoring your question. "And I refused to get baptized in the fucking sink in the laundry room so she's been trying to kill me for the past few days," a confused "what the fuck?!" escapes from your mouth before you can stop it. "There was a dead rat in my bunk, and a very threatening, grammatically incorrect death threat left on a Post-it note and the next thing I know, she's smearing her blood all over me in the shower," she breaks into tears again. "And I got so emotional when Norma was singing because she finally found her voice and it was beautiful and then she… she followed me out here… started stabbing at me with her cross, and I, I have this screwdriver, but I didn't want to use it, I was just trying to… just dodge her and then she said—"
Piper stops for a moment, steadying herself and sucking in air through her teeth. "She said that God didn't love me, that no one did and I wasn't deserving of it and she was fucking right, Alex!" Tears were streaming now, she slid down the fence and sat in the snow. "I am such a fucking… FUCK!" She looks back up at you again, eyes red and wild. "You know what Fischer said to me, Alex? She said that she and I were the same. That I was different than everyone else in here," she chuckled darkly to herself. "Oh, but she was fucking wrong, wasn't she? I'm the shittiest person in here."
"You might be," you admit, ignoring the shock on her face. "That's actually a strong possibility. But, right now, what we need to do is get you cleaned up—" you look down at her hand. "Jesus fuck, she got you?" You take her hand in your own, gently, turning her wrist and inspecting it. You look back up at her. "You're up to date on tetanus, right?" She nods. "This is good, Piper. We can get you off on self-defense," you slide down next to her. "Okay, so, this is how it went. You and I came out here to talk so you could give me some bullshit excuse—"
She shakes her head. "That won't work. Mr. Healy was out here. He saw us out here. Alone. And I told him that Tiffany was trying to kill me. I begged him, Alex, and he left. I am so. Fucked. She might be dead—"Pennsatucky interrupted with a soft moan.
"I don't understand," you hiss. "Is she fucking Rasputin?" She shrugs before giving you the look. The "don't even try to joke right now Alex Vause or so help me you will not have sex for three days" look. "Okay listen, you can still get off on self-defense. You have defensive wounds right there, on your hand. Did you actually use the screwdriver?" She shakes her head again.
"No, I just punched the shit out of her. She may finally get the new teeth that she wanted," you can't help but smile at this. You take your glasses off and push them into your hair. "What?"
"I think I might actually be proud of you right now, Piper," you admit. "Don't get me wrong, I am still mad as shit, but proud. Where's the screwdriver?" She hands it to you and you shove it unceremoniously into the waist of your pants. "I'll give it back to Boo. What you need to do is go find Bennett, wherever he is, and report this to him. How there aren't already five COs out here is a fucking miracle. Anyway, exaggerate the self-defense. Is your hand still bleeding?" She nods, unblinking. "Wipe it everywhere. Make it run down your coat sleeve, do some tribal war paint shit, just make sure it looks horrible. Does anyone else know about this?"
"Taystee does. She's the one who saw the rat first. And Black Cindy. Leanne, too, but I don't think she'd actually be any help," you nod, only noticing now that Piper's hand is still in yours.
You don't let go.
"No, definitely not," you concede. "But that's definitely a start. You have to understand, though, Piper. Even if you do get self-defense," you see the panic flash in her eyes and you rub your thumb against the back of her hand reassuringly. "Which I am sure you will. They're still going to add time to your sentence," she breaks eye contact with you. "You have to prepare yourself for that. If you're lucky, maybe another five—"
"Another FIVE?!" she screeches. You wince. "I can't… five years… the way things are going right now, I'll be dead before I'm in here for six years?"
"Well, you keep playing gladiator and pretty soon you'll be the only one left in here," you offer. She gives you the look again. "Kid, you gotta get in there. Find Bennett. I'll do what I can to make this look a little less… shitty." Piper nods slowly and gets up. She hasn't let go of your hand, either. You stand up and are the one to finally break contact. Her eyes immediately dart down to your hands. "Piper," you plead. "If you don't leave soon, it's only going to get worse. I'll do what I can to cover for you from here," she nods and makes her way back to the doors, pausing as her hands rest on the handle. Her eyes narrow.
"Why are you doing this for me, Alex?" she questions. "After everything that's happened? I thought you said you were done," She's not angry. She's confused. Probably almost as confused as you are.
"There's something about you that's inevitable to me, I guess," you shove your hands into your pockets and bite your lip, glancing down at the ground to steel yourself. You harden your gaze and look back up. She's running toward you, and before you know it her lips are on yours, and you don't know if it's the chill in the winter air but they have never felt so warm and soft and if you don't stop this right now the C.O.s are going to find the two of you fucking next to the corpse of a lifeless meth head. You sigh into her mouth before breaking the kiss, leaning your forehead against hers.
"But I am still fucking pissed, Piper," you admit. "You're gonna have to work for this," she nods. "Now go!" You smack her ass. She jogs back over toward the door and mouths 'I heart you' before heading back inside the building. All that's left outside is you, the steam from your breath, and the meth head that somehow managed to mend a bridge that you were more than ready to burn. You sigh, pushing your glasses back down to your nose, and look over at Pennsatucky.
This is going to be one hell of a mess to clean up.