AN: I'm being incredibly stupid and starting a new story when I have too many others to finish. But, I'm on summer vacation, so hopefully I can catch up. This one shouldn't be too long, possibly on five or six chapters, but then again, sometimes I get going more than I expected, so who knows. I've been watching Orange is the New Black and Wentworth, and this idea wouldn't stop bugging me, so I decided to go for it.

Regina's POV

"Mills. Keep up." The over starched uniform shifted on the petite frame of the unfamiliar guard as she gestured forward. Of course, all the guards were unfamiliar, as it was my first day in R. Freemen Penitentiary. Forcing myself to match pace with the small woman, I continued to scan my new residence. The walls seemed just white enough, the floors just shiny enough to pass as decent, and the smell only churned my stomach for the first few moments. The inmates, or rather, fellow inmates milled around me, some interested in me, some not. "You seem surprised by the other women." The guard commented knowingly, not really paying attention to my reaction, "They're not too bad. This place is pretty quiet. I mean, there's the normal drama that comes from a bunch of women being cooped up together for long periods of time, but not much violence or anything like that."

I rolled my eyes behind her back, and readjusted the bulky bundle in my arms. I may have been new to the prison, but I somehow sensed she had little to no clue what actually went on within the walls. She seemed nice enough, though, so I let it slide. I didn't care to know much about the others or the institution, I was there to serve my time and leave. I wasn't even particularly nervous or scared about being there. An astonishing and suffocating numbness had settled over me when the police showed up and read me my rights, and it never receded. All I could feel was empty.

"Ok, here we are." The guard knocked softly as I glanced at the silver plaque on the blue door.

Prison Director

Ms. Emma Swan

"Come in." The guard swiftly pushed open the door and waved me inside. As I listlessly shuffled into the room, the tiny brunette offered me a warm smile. Choosing not to return the sentiment, I looked toward the large desk to my left as voice greeted me, "Hi, you must be Regina Mills. I'm Emma Swan." The tall woman held out her hand. I slowly grasped the smooth palm as I took in the director. Her stark blonde hair sat high on her head in a tight bun, a few curls framing her face, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance as they gazed into mine. The dark grey blazer hugged her fit form, and the matching pencil skirt stopped above her knees, showcasing her toned legs. The button up, white collared shirt had one too many buttons undone, teasing just a breath of cleavage. I might have found her utterly and devastatingly attractive if she wasn't the face of my total loss of freedom. You win some, you lose some. Her eyes shifted back to the guard, "Thank you, Officer Blanchard." When the door shut behind her, leaving us alone, she flicked a hand to the worn chair, "Please, have a seat."

Sighing, I sunk down in the unfortunate chair, crossing my legs with a casual obstinance that tended to drive authority figures crazy. I may not have earned my reservation in a cell, but I wasn't about to play the innocent victim card, or cozy up to anyone. Studying my hands resting in my lap, I waited for her to say something. I needed a manicure. "So, I looked over your file...obviously." I quirked an eyebrow, she had better done more than just looked over it. I was her charge. Although, I didn't expect much from that fact. "Normally, I like to do a bit of small talk before delving into the boring stuff, but I get the distinct impression you won't be participating in that right now." When I only blinked in response, keeping my eyes down, she chuckled, "So, you're in for a ten month sentence for embezzling from the business you co-own with your sister, Zelena. It's a chain of restaurants in Massachusetts called Wicked Eats, right?" When I offered a barely perceptible nod, she cocked her head, "Yeah, I've been to the one in Boston. Fantastic Mac and Cheese." Again, I gave her nothing, but felt a slight sting of pride. That one was my recipe. "Anyway, the accountant figured out that funds were missing from the company and it came back on you. I don't know who this Locksley guy is, but he's one sorry ass lawyer if he couldn't get you off...Especially, when it was obviously your sister that set you up." At this, I snapped my gaze up to hers, narrowing my eyes. No one believed that it wasn't me. All the evidence pointed to me, despite my protests to the contrary. "I see that you also have a few prior convictions on your juvie record for shoplifting, which helped the prosecution quite a bit." When I only stared at her in mild wonder, she tilted her chin up, "Let me guess, those were her too, right?" My breath caught as I considered how the hell she could know that. "Alright, you're not going to answer. Here's what I think. I think she's your younger sister." She was right. "I think she shop lifted from that bookstore and MAC outlet, but you covered for her and took the blame." She was right. "I think she embezzled that money and made it look like you did it." She was right. "And, I think your biological urge as an older sister to protect her means you'd probably always take the heat off her, even when it means time in jail." She was, unfortunately, right. A pen loosely twirled between her long fingers as she studied me. "I like that." She offered me a smile that felt as if it reached something inside me. I hated that. "And, I like that you're not sitting here blubbering about your innocence, despite the fact that your in the five percent that actually are." Another invasive smile.

After watching me closely for almost a minute, she sighed, "Well, this has been a lovely talk, but I suppose it's probably best to cut it short and I'll show you to your bunk." She stood from behind her desk and walked around, striding to the door. And, lets just say, I wouldn't swear in a court of law that I didn't capitalize on the opportunity to appreciate her form. In the five minutes I had known the woman, I determined that she was intuitive, optimistic, considerate, and beautiful. She intrigued me. But, I didn't have time for intrigue, so I hoisted myself up and followed her out, ignoring how our fronts brushed together as I slid out the door.

"So, this here is A wing. It has the cafeteria, small gym, library, and counselor's offices. Your counselor is Mr. Neal Cassidy. He's good. But, I want you to know that I have also an open door policy. If you need something, come see me, and I'll help you any way that I can." She had stopped walking and stood in front of me, gazing directly in my eyes. When I offered nothing to acknowledge her peace offering, she spun on her ass-complementing heels and continued down the corridor. "Wings B through G are dorms. You're going to be in C Wing, room 27. You'll have one roommate. Meals, work, and bed times are mandatory. I'll be giving you your work assignment on Monday. Be present for all head counts." As she continued her tour guide routine through the bustling prison, I looked around. A sea of women flowed around me, all shapes and sizes and backgrounds, but all clad in puke-green uniforms. It seemed strange how one insignificant detail, such as a set of shirt and pants, could create the illusion of equality and eradicate individuality. Unconsciously, I tugged at my own new wardrobe. The shirt fit loosely, and presumably did nothing for my, admittedly, impressive curves. My normally impeccably done hair sat limply in a ponytail, depressed by its lack of originality. Unremarkable boots clunked heavily, weighting my steps with unnecessary burden.

"Okay. Here we are. Your room. They stay unlocked most of the time." The director pulled open the heavy door, which had a smallish square window at eye level. "Hey, Bell, how's life?" She greeted the other woman casually, and almost friendly.

"Oh, you know. Glamorous and extravagant, as always." The young blonde smirked.

"Really?" Ms. Swan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, today's Sloppy Joe's for lunch, so that's something." As they bantered in a way I found odd between prisoner and authority, I studied my new bunkmate. Her accent suggested roots in Australia or New Zealand. She stood a foot shorter than me, had dirty blonde hair pulled up in a messy pony tail, and bright blue eyes. She wore the standard green pants, but with a white tank top. Her arms were lean, and I could make out a tattoo on her right shoulder and bicep of something that appeared to be water and a ship, some sort of tribal tattoo around her left wrist, and a star behind her left ear. She seemed to nearly flutter around the room with distasteful energy, but somehow also held a stormy calm beneath the surface. Glancing toward me, she nodded her head, "So, who's the new meat?"

The director smiled at me, "This is your new roommate, Regina Mills. Mills this is Tanya Bell."

"Everyone calls me, Tink, though." The woman grinned and held out her hand.

I shook it briefly and couldn't hold in my necessary question, "As in Tinkerbell?"

Both blondes chuckled at my disbelieving candor, then the first blonde smirked, "So, you can speak."

"I'm frightened that you doubted that and still bunked her with me." Tink snarked to Ms. Swan, then turned to me, "Yeah, apparently I resemble a fairy and my last name is Bell. Not particularly imaginative, but it works. On that note, we all go by last names or nicknames, so until you're given a nickname, you will be Mills."

I nodded, then let my eyes roam the room, "Which one's mine?"

"That one there." Tink pointed to the bed on the right side of the room. "You get that small set of drawers/desk and that shelf. Bathroom's down the hall on the left."

"Tink's good people, she'll look out for you, show you around." The director said, leaning against the door frame.

"Ah, Swan, I'm touched. And, I assume you'll reward me for taking care of your girl." Tink winked.

"What makes you think she's my girl?" Ms. Swan easily tossed back. "She's new, she could as easily not be my girl."

"Because I've been in here for two years, I know your type. You've got a soft spot slash hard on for the dark, strong, silent types. That's why we can't work out, and she's your girl."

"I'm no one's girl. And, I don't like blondes." I murmured, tossing my bundle of sheets and bathroom necessities at the foot of the bed before dropping down to the wholly uncomfortable mattress.

"She's fun. I'll keep her. And, for that and my protection services, you owe me two Snickers, Coco Butter body wash, and a Red Bull." Tink stated.

"I owe you nothing, and bribing a staff member of RFP is a serious offense. I'm in charge, Bell, and you are required to do as I say." Her voice dropped to a low warning, but I sensed the sentiment wasn't sincere.

"Oh, I love it when you get rough with me. Say it again, slower." Tink sauntered up to the director, smirking suggestively.

Director Swan stared her down, then laughed, "Some other time, maybe. Mills, lunch is in an hour, relax and settle in until then. And, please remember, my door is open." With a smile to each of us, she clacked back the way she came.

Staring after her, deep in thought about the surprising woman, Tink's voice broke through my thoughts, "Hot, isn't she?"

Shaking my head, I turned on the bed and laid down, "I hadn't noticed." When she scoffed and rolled her eyes, I asked, "Is she always so..." I didn't know the words to fill in the rest of the sentence.

"Yeah, pretty much. She's cool. Don't mess with her, though. She's fair and supportive, and keeps us safe, which means allowing no funny business. If you step out of line, she'll take you down, no hesitation." When I nodded, taking in that information, she continued, "So, what're in for?"

I raised an eyebrow, but eventually shrugged, "Embezzling." I didn't feel the need to add that I didn't actually commit a crime, assuming it'd probably work more in my favor if I let everyone believe I belonged there.

"I figured something like that. How long?"

"Ten months." I found it easy to talk to the tiny woman. "You?"

"Three years, one left. Grand theft auto." Tink explained with indifference, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed. "So, have you got a bloke on the outside? Kids?"

I groaned, shutting my eyes, finished mapping the ceiling for the moment, "No."

"And, not interested in talking about it. Understood." I could hear her lay down, the stiff sheets rustling too loud. "I'm going to nap until lunch, then I'll introduce you to everyone. Will you be okay lying here in the quiet until then?" I could almost hear her smirk. "Good. Don't say anything hilarious while I'm sleeping."

AN: What do you guys think? Is it worth me finishing? I mean, I'll likely finish it anyway, but I still would like to know what you think.