A/N: For iwoofjaneway. I'm not sure if it's a one shot or not.

The Mouse

"It wasn't me," Vera Bennett said the moment her imposing boss opened the door to her home that evening. She willed her voice to remain steady. "I would never be so cruel. And I think you know that."

Governor Joan Ferguson stared down at her, eyes dark and burning, anger making them glint in the low light. The mistrust on Joan's features hurt more than the throb of the red hand print on Vera's cheek or the false accusation. As if she would have spent hours on the previous night shift plastering pictures of some unknown prisoner all over her boss's office. Vera had better things to do with her time.

At least she liked to think she did.

"Why are you here?" The older woman's voice was low and dangerous. She stepped forward, leaning out her door, deliberately menacing Vera with her towering height.

"S-so you'd know the truth." Wide blue eyes looked up. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"Are you?" Joan asked, eyes raking her from tip to toe. "Mm." She turned. "Come. I will not discuss this matter on my doorstep."

Vera entered her home for only the second time since she'd known her. Last time had been a disastrous meal that ended in accusations of disloyalty and painful revelations. Nothing had ever been the same between them since.

The neatness of the stark furnishings was absent this time. A stack of unaligned papers filtered half from a chair and into a pile on the floor. Shoes were kicked off by the door. Joan wore only socks, black. They matched the black of her uniform pants which she still wore. Incongruously, a beautiful violin lay smashed in the corner behind the door, its back broken.

A gold fish bowl she'd noticed last time was absent.

Vera watched as Joan strode to the kitchen and retrieved a vodka bottle and two glasses from the freezer. She poured drinks for them both. She didn't ask whether Vera wanted one, too. Refusal apparently was not an option.

She took the proffered glass, hesitating as she swirled the liquid once around, watching the vortex. The acidic, clean bite of this Eastern European staple had never been her drink. Dark eyes were pinned on hers. Waiting. Watching.

Vera swallowed, the icy sharpness hitting the back of her throat and she forced herself not to gag.

Her struggle did not go unnoticed. Joan gave a slow, cat-like smirk. "I see you're more adaptable than I gave you credit for," she purred then led them to the couch.

Vera placed the shot glass on a lamp table by her elbow, curious as to what Joan would do when she ignored the glossy coaster. Joan stared at the condensation pooling on the timber surface beneath the glass.

"You wish to play games?" she asked roughly. "As if I haven't already had enough of them today?"

"Who is she?" Vera blurted. "The woman in the photos?"

Pain flashed across Joan's face, an agonising tear of anguish, but it was gone in an instant. Shuttered. Arctic coolness stared back at Vera.

"You really don't know?" she accused. "I find that difficult to believe."

Her deputy shook her head. "Someone close to you, obviously? Someone you cared for?"

Joan's lip curled. "Blackmail is such a tawdry weapon, Vera. I'd have expected something better from you."

Vera's eyes widened. "Blackmail? Governor, I'm just concerned about you."

"Unlikely." Her eyes flicked to the red streak garishly raised against Vera's pale cheek.

"You doubt my sincerity?" Vera's jaw worked. "After everything I've done to defend you with them. I'm such a fool." She rose. "I almost didn't come here tonight. I thought, 'What's the point? She's made up her mind'. But idiot that I am I thought I should let you know it wasn't me. That it would never be me. Don't you get that? Can't you see?"

Joan stared coolly at her, waiting for the words to cease flowing, for Vera to feel foolish. It didn't take long. She took a step back. And another. She glanced at the door.

"No." The word was stern, brooking no argument.

"Excuse me?" Vera said, hating how her voice squeaked.

"No. You will not leave. Not now, not like this. Is that plain enough for you?"

"Why? You clearly think I'm some ... 'pathetic mouse' who deserves to be hit!"

"Playing the victim doesn't suit you, Vera." She crossed her legs and studied her. "You know I admired you the most when you led from the front. When you attacked."

Vera's mouth dropped open. She never attacked. Never.

"Your mother," Joan added the missing clue with a small curl of her lip. "Such a tragedy, yes?"

Vera's cheeks flooded with colour. "That... that was an..."

"Accident?" Joan supplied. "Oh I'm quite certain that it wasn't." Her smile widened and the gleam became malicious. "And more power to you that it wasn't. So tell me little mouse, who are you really?"

"I-I am afraid I really don't understand the question."

"Sit back down."

Vera crossed the distance in three steps, sitting across from her. Cursing herself inwardly for being so compliant.

"I'm asking you to choose sides," Joan said, not taking her eyes off her. "Now, you will tell me - who did this outrage to my walls, my inner sanctum, if it wasn't you?"

Vera bit her lip. "I'll answer that if you tell me who she was, Governor. The woman in the photo."

Joan pursed her mouth. "I see. Well. You're learning, I'll give you that. More vodka?"

Both their eyes tracked to the still almost full glass now with a puddle of condensation under it.

"I'm fine."

Joan studied her deputy. "Her name was Jianna. She was a prisoner at the jail I worked in in Brisbane. Does that shock you?"

"Does what shock me?"

Joan sighed. "I know you are neither simple nor slow, Vera. I had an emotional response earlier today to a prisoner's photo plastered all over the walls to my office. Clearly a prisoner affected me. Profoundly. So - does that shock you."

Vera licked her lips anxiously, uncertain how to answer. "I'm not sure. What did you and the prisoner, ah, do together?"

At this Joan suddenly looked down at her hands, then abruptly placed her own glass on the table. For a moment she said nothing and Vera wasn't entirely sure she was going to speak again. Until she did.

"Jianna and I were in love." Her eyes snapped up, daring Vera to say ... what? That she was horrified? Revolted?

"Oh," she said instead. "I see."

Joan took a sip of vodka, eyes narrowing. "So now you will tell me - who did this to me?"

Vera frowned. "I'm not sure. It's someone who doesn't like me, someone who was happy for me to take the fall. So not Fletch. Uh ... Mr Fletcher."

"Ah yes, Mr Fletcher..." Her lip turned into a snarl. "Are you two still ... cosy together?"

"I really don't see how that is any of your business," Vera snapped primly.

"Everything in my prison is my business. Answer the question." Her fingers thrummed against the armrest impatiently.

"No Governor," Vera conceded. "And I ... regret we ever..." She petered out, her ears turning pink. "I have regrets."

"I'll bet you do." The voice was mocking.

Vera glared at her in outrage. "Y-you don't get to have the high moral ground here! You fucked a prisoner!"

The Governor was out of her seat with frightening speed, her frame engulfing Vera, leaning over her, hand raised, eyes wild with rage. "There was no 'FUCKING', as you crudely put it." Her hand trembled with the restraint of not slapping Vera again. Her fingers twitched.

Vera stared back at her, struck dumb by the coiled fury inches from her.

"It was love," Joan whispered, sagging.

Her hand dropped and unflexed. "Love. And she died."

Vera caught the hand about to inflict such violence on her and squeezed it.

"I see. I'm sorry, Joan," she said, whispering. She stroked her hand. "So, very sorry."

The first tear that splashed down Joan's face was shocking. The second one, Vera lifted her fingers up, dusting them away.

"Pathetic little mouse," Joan mumbled, slumping forward, until Vera caught her, stroking her back, soothing. "I'm sorry, too."