1Disclaimer: This fic contains spoilers. I do not own any of the Oz characters or quotes used in this fic. I have merely borrowed from the master(i.e. Tom Fontana).
Gloria sighed as played with the gold shamrock in her hand, swinging it back and forth between her fingers. She couldn't sleep again tonight, the third night in a row. It seems like she's had a lot of sleepless nights in the last two years. This long running bout of insomnia could pretty easily be traced back to one man. She'll never forget the look on Sister Pete's face when she told her that she did in fact share Ryan's feelings. She almost smiled at the memory of the look of utter shock on the good sister's face. 'Believe me sister, she thought, no one could have been more shocked than me'. Wanting Ryan, feeling this unbearable and overwhelming passion for him, was something she never could have imagined experiencing. But she did, in fact almost immediately. The first day he came to see her, bleeding from his chest, she had felt it. His cool demeanor and cocky swagger were definitely appealing. Certainly different then the men she was used to. Seeing his vulnerability during the chemo treatments had softened her. But it was his ruthless determination to overcome that had excited her. That was before she knew the destruction that ruthless determination was capable of. The destruction of his brother, the destruction of Preston and the destruction of her. But if she was being honest with herself, which was becoming more and more difficult to do, she would have to admit that none of this had weakened her lust for him. How she hated him after what he did to Preston, what he did to her. But hating him didn't make it go away. If anything it made it stronger, deeper and infinitely darker. And then the rape. Maybe, deep down she had always known that he wasn't involved, but it didn't matter at the time. She wanted to blame him, so she did. She blamed him and he accepted her blame. He had hurt her, so she hurt him back. "When he was fucking you, did you think of me"? It was cruel, but it was accurate. Of course, such an accomplished schemer like Ryan could easily see behind her facade. Of course, the master of lies would easily be able to see the truth. She hadn't thought of him during the rape, she hadn't thought of anything during the rape, but she couldn't begin to count the number of other times she had thought of him. She knew it was wrong, knew it was sick, but she couldn't help it. She had been dreaming and fantasizing about Ryan O'Reily for over two years. Even after the murder, perhaps more shamefully, even after the rape. Fantasizing about his body, his hands, his mouth. Fantasizing about starring into those beautiful green eyes as he moved above her, inside of her. But it was never enough. The fantasies would ease her body for a night or two. But the next morning she would wake up and still ache for him, stronger than ever. She had never felt lust like this before. It was all consuming, so powerful that it seemed to over shadow everything else. She could barely control the excitement she felt whenever she saw him. She couldn't ignore the heat that rose within her whenever he looked at her. But even more than the lust she feels for him, if that is possible, is something else. How she came to love Ryan O'Reily, she may never know. All she knows is that she did and she does. She loves him so much that it's tearing her in two. She still hasn't quite forgiven him, but that hasn't stopped her feelings from developing. She loves him more than she has ever loved anything, more than her job, more than her family, more than Preston. Yes, she is in love with the man who murdered her husband. More than in love, she worships him, she adores him. She worships the man who killed for her, not once but twice, who would kill again if she but ask. And that is exactly what is ripping her apart. How can she love a man who does these things? How can she want him when she knows what he has done? There are no answers, there is only fact. She does and she always will. And now Ryan has made her a proposition. "I want you to help Cyril and me escape". Escape. It would solve all of her problems, be the answer to all of her prayers. She would finally have what she had spent the last two years wanting. She wouldn't have to try and satisfy her want with fantasies. She wouldn't have to wake up every morning aching for him more than the night before. She would finally have Ryan. She had already thought of how they would do it. They could cross the border into Mexico, Oz would be a distant memory, no one could reach them there. Images of the two of them flooded her head. Ryan and her spending the rest of their lives together. Laughing, talking, holding hands, making love. They could have a family. She had always wanted children. She smiled as she thought of how thrilled Cyril would be to be an uncle. But then reality hit hard. The images were lies. They would have to spend every day wondering when they were going to be found out. Wondering when their luck was going to run out. They would never be able to settle anywhere. After all, escaping requires running. Their lives would consist of hiding and lying. She would never bring a child into a life like that. So which is worse, living a life without Ryan, or living a life with Ryan that is really no life at all? She turned this question over and over in her mind. Either way she would never really have Ryan. Not the way she wanted. And she knew it would be worse to be with him and not really have him, than to not be with him at all. Besides, how could she live with herself if she helped him escape? It would be as if she was condoning all that he had done. That is the one thing she could never do, must never do. She would live with wanting him, she would live with loving him, but she would never be able to live with condoning him. Helping him escape was not an option. It never was. She cried then. She cried for Preston, for Cyril, for Ryan and herself. She cried because she knew that any dream she had been letting herself live in for the past few days was over. She cried because she wanted what she would never have. She cried because loving him was killing her, and at the same time she lived for it. It was all she had. She cried until she could cry no more, and then she slept.