Author's Note: I worked on this story over the holidays, and it has sat mostly unattended for two months. I picked it back up today, though I must admit I've lost the motivation that I once had to complete it. It's 95% done, but I really need encouragement to wrap it up. Also, I don't like the title, but it's all I could come up with before posting. As the end of OITNB becomes real, so is my writing of fanfiction. This might be it folks.

Warning: There is a character death (not Alex or Piper) in this story, and it comes in the first chapter.

Making my way downtown every day is a lesson in patience. After being considerably late to work four days in a row, I learned my lesson the hard way and decided to board the Subway 30 minutes earlier. Before moving to the Upper West Side, my commute was a cool ten minutes, now I'm lucky if I get to the financial district in less than an hour. I've tried taxis, Ubers and driving my own car, but no matter which route I take, the public transit always wins.

"Mommy, I can see the shape of Hilda's baby!"

The nanny rubs her tummy and ruffles Harper's hair.

I shove a sandwich into her lunch sack and turn to Hilda with an apologetic expression. "I don't think that's something you say out loud, kiddo."

"It's fine," Hilda replies in her faint Norwegian accent. "And it's true, look."

I glance at her bulging belly, and my daughter is right: you can almost see the shape of a baby in her womb.

"Two more weeks of getting around like this," she sighs. "If the baby doesn't come out on its own, they'll induce on the 25th."

"I think you look beautiful."

"That's what my husband tells me," she lets out a soft chuckle. "But I find it hard to believe when I feel like a whale."

I smile at her. "I better get going." I tuck my laptop into my bag. "Harper, what kind of day will it be today?"

"A great day," she shouts.

"A great day indeed." I kiss the top of her head. "I'll see you tonight. And remember no potato chips not even if your friends offer."

She pokes her hands in the air. "What am I going to eat with my sandwich?"

"Hilda will pack some orange wedges."

"I don't like oranges," she pouts.

I know she likes oranges—she ate one last night, but I'm not going to pick a fight with her this morning. "Then choose another fruit." I sling my bag over a shoulder. "We have grapes, apples and one banana left."

"I'll take it from here," Hilda says, pulling the red grapes out of the fridge.

"Thank you." I squeeze my daughter's arm before heading out, and I'm only five minutes behind schedule.

I don't know what I'd do without Hilda, but I'm about to find out since she's going to have a baby any day now. I called Morningside Nannies to get the paperwork started on a temp while Hilda is out, and now it's just a matter of them matching me with someone who can commit to the hours when I need coverage.

As I walk down the steps into the Subway station, I smile when I realize it's Tuesday. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the past couple of weeks I've ridden in the same Subway car as a woman whose head is buried in The New York Times. Her blonde hair and rosy cheeks make her look younger than I am but not too young.

I step into the eighth car, glance to my right and spot her. My lips tug up. Sure enough, she's reading the newspaper with earbuds in both ears and tapping her foot to the beat. Every few minutes, she fiddles with her iPod, presumably to change the song or adjust the volume. Her jean-clad legs are crossed, and she has on a blue, lace trimmed t-shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail today, making her look younger than she typically does. I wonder what she does for a living—works in a coffee shop? A restaurant? A florist? She's dressed too casually to work in a professional environment.

The Subway is crowded and there are other attractive passengers on board, but I can't tear my eyes away from this woman. I can't pinpoint what it is about her that's particularly intriguing besides the curve of her lips or the way she concentrates on the newspaper, but she's captured my attention without even trying.

As we approach the 23rd Street stop, she folds the newspaper, tucks it under her arm and stands, and for the first time since I've noticed her on this route, our eyes meet. I quickly look away as if I've been caught staring. She gets off the Subway and walks briskly to the stairwell, and I'm left with a pang of disappointment that I missed an opportunity to say hello.

"What would I do without you?" Nicky holds my hand from her position in an all-too-familiar bed. I think this might even be the same room she was in six months ago.

"Let's hope you never have to find out."

For the second time this year, I'm the one who convinced Nicky to return to the rehab facility in Castle Hill. She and I have been close friends since community college, and while she lasted only one semester, I got my associate's degree before enrolling at Wagner College to get a bachelor's degree.

"The unfortunate thing is I will have to find out some day," she says with a frown. "I'm not getting any better."

"That's because you don't follow the steps," I try.

"Yeah, well I'm not real good with instructions if you haven't noticed."

I squeeze her hand before releasing it. "If you don't get better for yourself, do it for Harper."

Nicky looks away, and I know this is the hardest part for her. "Sorry she has to stay with you again while I'm this joint."

"I love spending time with her," I reply. "Even though she doesn't really have a personality yet."

That makes her chuckle. "I'm still waiting for your personality to shine, too, Vause."

"Fuck off." I grin.

She's quiet for a moment, and the way her eyes move back and forth while her mouth is pursed, I know she's thinking of how to tell me something important. Finally, she spits it out. "The lawyer should have the paperwork ready by the end of the week."

"You're not going to die, Nicky." I try to laugh, but my attempt falls short and it comes out as more of a cough. "Besides, I don't know why you'd want me to be Harper's guardian when your mom is a fucking millionaire."

"No fucking way will my mother take care of my child. She doesn't even know Harper exists and it's going to stay that way," Nicky states firmly. "She wouldn't even believe I have a kid since I'm a loud and proud dyke."

"True."

At one of her lowest points, Nicky slept with her friend's brother in order to score Heroin. She didn't realize she was pregnant until six weeks later. Nicky went back and forth about whether to keep the baby, ultimately deciding it would be the one thing to keep her away from drugs. The doctor performed a series of tests throughout her pregnancy to ensure the baby wasn't affected by Nicky's drug use, and fortunately, they saw no signs of trauma or in-ureteral addiction. And she did it—Nicky was clean for the duration of her pregnancy. The only effect of her drug use was that Harper was born premature and considerably underweight. It wasn't until Harper was four months old when Nicky began using again. Because we lived together, I took care of the baby while Nicky tried to get clean on her own, but it was no use. Sadly, I'm convinced there's no out for her—this is the life Nicky has chosen for herself despite having a child to raise.

"Visiting hours are over. I'm sure they'll shoo me out of here in the next five minutes if I don't leave on my own." I stand. "I'll bring Harper next week."

"Why so long?"

I shrug. "Doctor's orders."

"Fucking doctors."

I kiss her forehead. "Get better soon."

"I'll try."

"Morning, Alex," the receptionist greets me.

"Hi, Kiera." I retrieve a stack of mail from a metal box on the corner of her desk. "How was your date last night?"

"It was ok." She shrugs. "The guy still lives with his parents. That's a deal breaker for me."

"Ugh, that sucks," I reply. "I'm just impressed you keep putting yourself out there."

"I'll never find Mr. Right if I don't put some effort into it," she says. "At least that's what my grandma tells me.

"Grandma's know best."

Kiera tilts her head. "What about you? I don't think you've been on a date since I started working here—at least not one you've shared with me."

"Imagine my dating profile," I chuckle. "Thirty-six year old single mom with a kid who happens to be under the age of five."

Kiera laughs. "I could help you with the wording if you want."

"I'm good for now." I tap my mail on the edge of her desk. "But I'll let you know if things change."

My company occupies the entire fourth floor of a small office building on Rector Place. It's an open concept office with no walls save for a conference room on the south side of the building. Although I'm one of the principle partners, my area/office is no bigger than our most junior staff member's.

I hear our CFO whistling one Beatles song or another as he reaches my office and perches on the corner of my desk. "Morning, Alex. How's the Newport property coming along?"

"Fine." I rifle through the mail, looking for anything important. "Speaking of..." I hand him an envelope. "This is for you."

He rips the envelope open and a check falls to the floor. He bends down to retrieve it and smiles. "Thanks. Have a good day."

"I'll have a great day," I say to myself.

On Thursday morning, I make my way to the Subway station with a bounce in my step. Sure enough, as I enter the eighth car the blonde is in her usual seat reading The New York Times. The seat next to her is unoccupied, so I decide to take my chance and sit next to her. When I'm about three steps away, an elderly woman who I hadn't noticed before sits next to the blonde, foiling my chances once again at making introductions. I hold on to the handrail as the train picks up speed, cursing myself for not moving quicker.

The elderly woman taps the younger one on the arm and she removes one of her earbuds. The Subway is too loud for me to hear their conversation, but the blonde smiles as she points to the map the older woman is holding. Her smile is spectacular, and as it turns out, contagious. She touches the elderly woman on the elbow before placing the earbud back in her ear and returning her attention to the newspaper.

As the train slows to the 23rd Street station, the woman shoves the paper into her bag and gets to her feet. This time when our eyes meet, I don't look away. I'm drawn to her deep blue eyes and try not to blink so as not to miss a second of this potentially one-sided connection. She gives me a soft, toothless smile as she exits the car. I let out the breath I'd been holding as I watch her walk away…again.

Another week goes by, but the Subway is too crowded for me reach the blonde. If she sat in the same seat each trip, this would be easier, but she's in a different spot every day, always with her head buried in the paper even while standing. The one time when it seems I have a chance to make my way towards her, a woman with a baby stroller shoves her way through the doors, parking the crying baby in front of me.

This week has been incredibly busy at work, but if I don't go to the grocery store today, my daughter will have nothing more to eat than peanut butter and Cheerios. We ran out of bread yesterday and the jelly has been gone since Monday. Harper ate the last apple this morning and I took the shriveled bunch of grapes and a granola bar to work.

As expected, Zabar's is crowded at seven on a Friday evening, but I made a grocery list ahead of time to be as efficient as possible. Usually Hilda does the grocery shopping for me, but with it being her third trimester, I want to make life as easy as possible for her. Besides, it's only temporary.

The last aisle I need to hit is the refrigerated section where I'll grab orange juice, yogurt and cream cheese before getting out of here.

"Do you know anything about cheeses?"

I look to my right astonished to see the attractive woman from the Subway, sniffing a wedge of cheese. I can feel my mouth hanging open at my surprise and my eyebrows shooting up like darts. I lick my lips and quickly recover. "I know it comes from cows…sometimes goats."

"I'm aware of that." She looks up with a casual smile, and then her expression shifts as if she seems to recognize me but can't quite place it. "How do I…"

"Know me?" I push my glasses higher on my nose. "We ride the same Subway line a couple times a week."

She nods slowly, eyes still latched on to mine. "Oh."

"I've been meaning to say hi, but…" I trail off.

"I'm Piper." She sticks her hand out.

"Alex." I shake it. "It's nice to finally put a name with a face."

She smiles. "It is."

I turn the conversation back to her original question. "Anyway, what I do know about cheese is that there are three kinds: soft, semi-soft and hard."

"Oh, right." She turns her attention back to the variety of cheeses in the case. "I'm supposed to bring some to this party I'm headed to, but I'm not sure what kind to buy. The choices are a little overwhelming."

"Maybe one of each." I shrug.

"Good idea." She picks up a Camembert, a Manchego and a smoked Gouda. "Thank you."

"No problem." I don't want our conversation to end but I'm too chicken shit to ask for her number. I'm definitely out of practice.

Piper places the cheeses into her basket. "I guess I'll see you on the Subway next week."

"Yeah." I smile and wave. "Have fun at the party. I hope they like the cheeses."

She returns my smile. "I'm sure they will."

With that, Piper walks away, and I'm left standing there with a silly grin on my face.

Instead of taking the Subway back home, I decide to walk the six blocks. The air is dry and warm, and I want to hold on to it for as long as it lasts. Winters can be brutal in New York, and I intend to take advantage of the warm evenings of late summer as much as possible.

My thoughts on the walk are mostly consumed with Piper and our chance meeting. If she shops at that Zabar's, she must live around here unless she chose that location because of its proximity to the party she was going to. She looked different than when she rides the Subway—instead of jeans and a t-shirt, she had on a dress and a yellow cardigan. Her hair was down and brushed thoroughly like she'd just gotten it professionally styled. When she's on the Subway, it looks like she rolls out of bed, puts minimal effort into her appearance, and then heads out the door. Not that I'm complaining—she's attractive either way. And her smile…

My phone vibrates, and when I see the number, I'm startled.

"Hi, Hilda? Is everything ok?"

"My water just broke." Her voice is laced with fear.

"Are you sure?" It's not that I don't believe her; I'm just in shock.

"Yes."

"I'll right there." I shove the phone into my pocket and run as fast as I can with three grocery bags in hand.

A few minutes later, I rush inside, eyes first landing on my daughter.

"Is she going to be ok?" Harper asks, biting her fingernails.

I run my hand down the back of her head. "She's going to be fine." I drop the groceries and kneel in front of Hilda. "Did you call 911?"

She shakes her head. "I called my husband. He should be here any minute."

"With all due respect," I put a hand on her knee. "I think you need immediate medical attention."

"We don't have emergency medical coverage," she says. "Erik can take me to the hospital. I'll be ok."

It makes me uncomfortable, but who am I to tell her what to do? I turn to my daughter. "Will you get Hilda a wet a washcloth?"

She nods, and then takes off upstairs

I give Hilda the best smile I can muster. "Everything is going to be fine."

There's a frantic knock on the door, and then Erik busts inside. "Hilda?"

"Over here," I call.

He sits next to her and they briefly converse in Norwegian. "Can you help me get her to the car?"

Harper runs downstairs. "Here you go." She hands the wet washcloth to Hilda.

"Thank you."

Erik and I stand on both sides of Hilda and help her walk to the front door.

"It hurts," she pants.

"I know, sweetie. The hospital is just around the corner," Erik states. "You can do this."

Harper looks up at me. "Why does it hurt to have a baby?"

I open the car door and assist Hilda to a horizontal position in the back seat.

"Because it has to come out of her tummy, and the baby is big."

"Babies are tiny," she reasons.

"Let's get Hilda settled, and then we can talk," I respond.

Erik jumps into the driver's seat.

"I'll be thinking of you." I squeeze Hilda's hand. "Good luck."

They speed off, and I place a hand on my daughter's shoulder. "You ok?"

Her forehead wrinkles. "It scared me when Hilda was crying."

"I know, kiddo." I bend to her eye level. "But she's going to have a baby, and then she'll be happier than ever."

"I want her to be happy." Harper issues a tiny smile. "How did she make a baby grow inside of her?"

I stand and sigh, figuring this question would come up eventually but certainly not before she's even five. "Let's go inside and I'll explain."

She jogs up the steps, and I follow her into the kitchen. I'd forgotten all about the groceries, so I quickly put the cold items in the fridge and let Harper help me store the dry goods in the pantry.

"Babies are made in different ways," I begin. "Usually, it's when a man and a woman love each other so much that they want to bring a child into the world."

She places a loaf of bread on the bottom shelf. "A man and a woman?"

"Yeah, like Hilda and her husband, Erik," I state. "They love each other and made a baby. When the baby is born, they'll be a mommy and a daddy."

She crinkles her forehead. "Why don't I have a daddy?"

I've dreaded this question since I became Harper's legal guardian. "Because you're special."

I'm woken from a deep sleep in the middle of the night by the shrill sound of my phone. At first, I wonder if I'm dreaming. I look to my left and see a slumbering Harper in her crib. Since Nicky's relapse, the baby has slept in my room instead of her mother's.

"Hello?"

"Hello, with whom am I speaking?"

I don't recognize the voice on the other end of the line. "Who is this?"

"My name is Susan, and I'm the admitting nurse at St. Clare's Hospital. I called the number listed on a patient's file. Will you please identify yourself?"

I sit up, feeling my pulse increase. "Alex Vause."

"You're listed as Nicole Nichols' emergency contact."

"Nicky?" I ask in a harsh whisper. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. "Is she ok?"

"I'm afraid not. Ms. Nichols has been admitted to our hospital, and we need to operate on her immediately."

I feel sweat forming on my brow. "What?"

"It's protocol for us to call her emergency contact."

"I'm on my way." I hurriedly get dressed in mis-matched clothes, and then bundle Harper up before running downstairs. I almost trip on one of her toys, but I catch myself before falling. The baby starts to cry and I'm about to cry with her. I tell myself to hold it together—at least until I get more information.

The cab drops us off at the Emergency Room, and Harper hasn't stopped crying. "Hello? Can someone please tell me where Nicky Nichols is?"

A male nurse greets me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Nicky Nichols." I pat Harper on the back to try to soothe her; she hasn't stopped crying since we left the house.

He rifles through a file. "I'll need to see a photo ID."

Thank God I put my wallet in the diaper bag before leaving.

"I'll let the doctor know you're here." He slowly saunters away as if this isn't a big fucking deal.

"Please just tell me where she is—how she's doing," I plead.

He just continues walking.

Another nurse who looks to be nearing the age of retirement walks over. "There, there little one. Don't cry." She reaches for Harper. "May I?"

I nod, handing the infant to her. I run my hands through my messy hair and check my phone to see if I missed a call while I was in the cab. Nothing. As I pace in the small waiting room, the nurse soothes Harper to the point of her falling back asleep.

Ten minutes later, a man in scrubs greets me. "Ms. Vause?"

"Yes." I take three long strides to meet him at the silver, swinging doors.

"I'm Dr. Ehrenreich. Please come with me."

"I…the baby…" I twist my neck around to look at her.

The nurse follows us with Harper still fast asleep.

We reach a sterile room with two chairs and a window overlooking the parking lot. There's a small lamp on the side table providing just enough light for me to see the doctor.

"Why is it so dark?"

He gestures to one of the chairs. "Please have a seat."

"I don't want to sit," I shout, failing at my attempt to remain calm. "What's going on with Nicky? When can I see her?"

"Nicole developed a condition called bacterial endocarditis," he begins, hands on his hips. "It's an infection on the inner lining of the heart. It generally occurs when bacteria or other germs from another part of the body spreads through the bloodstream and attaches to damaged areas in the heart." He pauses. "We suspect the cause of Ms. Nichols' bacterial endocarditis is from using a dirty needle."

I'm completely stunned. I shake my head in small bursts.

"We also found traces of cocaine in her body," he reports.

I bow my head and suck in my lips. "Is she going to be ok?"

"We tried to perform open-heart surgery, but we lost her," he says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"No." I collapse in one of the chairs, head in my hands, and feel tears prickling my eyes. "This can't be happening. I saw her this morning!"

I feel a hand on my back as tears begin to fall. How could this be? Why did Nicky do this to herself? The only thing that brings me back to the present is a crying baby…Harper. I take her from the nurse and rock her back and forth as we both cry.

My life changed forever that day.

The memory of Nicky's death catches me off guard. I think about that night often, but it's usually when all is quiet and I'm alone.

"Mommy?"

I snap back to reality. "Hmm?"

Harper's lips jut to the side like she's contemplating my answer. "Did my daddy die like Original Mommy?"

"No." I kneel in front of her. "Your daddy helped…create you, but he's not around, so you only had Original Mommy to take care of you for your first year, and then I came along to be your forever mom."

She scratches her head.

"I know it's confusing." I brush the reddish-brown hair off her forehead. "But you know I love you with my whole heart, right?"

She nods.

"What do you say we make dinner together? You can break the carrots."

"Ok."

I wrap my arms around her and sigh, hoping as I do every single day that I made the right decision to raise her. I know one thing for certain: I love Harper with every ounce of my being, and I can't imagine not having her in my life, though it doesn't make me miss Nicky any less.

As we prepare a later than usual dinner together, it hits me: I don't have another nanny lined up. Hilda was supposed to work for one more week before going on maternity leave, and the agency I used to hire her was going to find a temporary nanny who would meet Harper and I next Wednesday. The agency is surely not open at 8 pm on a Friday night, so I decide to place a call the next morning.