(Bea's thoughts in the aftermath of the kiss in 4x07, followed by a conversation with Bridget Westfall and some much needed missing Ballie scenes. Timing/sequencing differs a bit from canon. Eventually becomes a post 4x12 fix-it fic).
Frozen and restless, all at once. Speechless yet overwhelmingly loud. Noisy, still abnormally quiet. Cold, yet blazing hot all over. Tingly and numb. Spellbound but so painfully, acutely aware of her surroundings. A war between heart and mind, with no end in sight.
She was good in combat, judging by her flawless track record, but this was one battle she knew she couldn't win.
Bea was pretty sure she hadn't made a single movement for the past five minutes. She was still glued to that same spot, staring far ahead, her gaze unconsciously searching for the light blonde locks and impossibly blue eyes that were occupying her line of sight just moments before.
Or was it eternity?
Fuck, she couldn't remember how long she's actually stood there.
We should get back for the count.
She should, she knew she should, the cheeky blonde had already left after completely turning her world upside down, but, for the life of her, she couldn't move a single inch. Her muscles had never been so unresponsive in her entire life, in spite of not skipping a single workout since landing in this shit hole. After all, she was a lifer, she had nothing going on, nothing to look forward to or fight for anymore. Right?
I got you to protect me.
Everyone I care about ends up dead.
It was the truth. She'd do just about anything for that not to be her reality but Franky was right when she called her the grim reaper in an uncontrolled fit of rage – everyone who got close to her or got involved with her in any way either got hurt or died. Jacs, Debbie, Harry, Brayden Holt, everyone.
So when she completely changed Bea's, up until that point, carefully designed and envisioned rest of her life in prison, she took her completely by storm because she wasn't ready for it. And judging by the way her heart was still beating wildly, threatening to break free from her chest and the way the two sensitive spots on her waist and neck were still tingling like crazy, caressed by a pair of impossibly soft hands just moments before was enough of an indicator that she'd never be ready.
She not only completely messed up her plan, she completely messed up her heart.
Nothing's going to happen between us.
Except, it just did.
And aside from Debbie's death, nothing had scared her half to death quite like this. And she had seen her fair share of terrifying, she had seen the worst of humanity, both inside and outside. She had been the best and worst of humanity herself.
But no matter what, all she could focus on now was the best of humanity. That flicker of hope and light. A touch of clarity, maybe even longing. For what, she didn't know.
What have you done to me, Allie?
She asked no one in particular, as she wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her teal pants, her breathing nowhere close to returning to normal. By now she knew she had to go back or they'd send some screw to get her. She hoped it would at least be Mr. Jackson or even Smiles, she could bribe her into not saying a word about her tardiness.
But she still couldn't drive herself an inch further or force her numb muscles towards her cell. Yet, she had also made some progress.
She was pacing back and forth in that same space, running a hand through her hair while the other lightly touched her chest, urging her heart to stop hammering so loudly, to go back to its quiet, composed, numb state from before. It was so loud she could hear it in her ears and every beat spelled Allie.
No answer.
No one ever kissed her like that. And there wasn't one inch of her body or mind that wasn't reacting right now.
In fact, she was pretty sure she never had a first kiss. Harry's rough lips awkwardly and slightly forcefully claiming hers at a loud high school party didn't count. It wasn't memorable. It wasn't even all that pleasant but she had started to convince herself, by his third kiss, that intimacy just wasn't her thing, that it was the way it was supposed to feel. Just..nice. And forgettable.
All of that all but flew out the window in the past 10 minutes when a different set of lips lightly touched hers, when a different set of hands touched her body. Feather-light. So soft and careful it almost broke her.
This time, the reasons why were vastly different. No broken ribs for once, just the sound of a seal breaking that's been keeping her sane, but emotionless in this joint, that's been keeping her ability to feel at bay.
Allie came like a tornado and tore it to the ground.
You're shaking.
It's cold-
It's not cold.
Maybe it took her aback because it was so foreign, so unfamiliar. All she knew before was hard, cruel, forceful, painful. She had no idea the fireworks cliché was even real, or the need to come up for air because someone just took yours was even possible, or that she could even feel her own skin burning where hers had been.
Allie had kissed her out of nowhere.
Allie caught her arm.
Allie didn't let her go.
No one bothered as much before for a fucking grim reaper.
Doyle, you poetic jackass.
No, she didn't just kiss her, she brought her back to life. It felt like she wasn't just trying to regain her breath for the past 10 minutes, it actually felt like she was rather just learning how to breathe, like Allie had done CPR on her.
Her lips barely grazed her own, once, maybe twice, she wasn't even sure. She was too busy memorizing Allie's every feature as she closed in on her – everything went blank afterwards. But she knew, she felt her hands barely touching her body, like she was giving her all the room in the world to pull away, if she wanted, all the room in the world to push her the hell away, if she wanted.
She bashed her in the showers, she had no problem doing it again.
But she didn't. She couldn't. She was too shocked to do much of anything else but barely lean into her, back.
She had told Allie to back away every single chance she had. She wanted Allie to piss off since the first moment she saw her. Get as far away from her as possible. It didn't help that Bea bashed her and Allie still tried to go down on her, with a messed up eyebrow and a wild smirk on her face. Not exactly the meet-cute of the century, but it certainly left her…how do the kids call it? Hot and bothered? Not that she'd admit that to anyone.
It made a hell of a lot more sense to just tell Maxine the blonde was weird. Maybe she was. But the weirder part was how she felt getting out of that shower.
No one ever looked at her that hungrily before, like they wanted her right then and there, like they were ready to fully submit themselves to her even without the imminent threat of danger if they didn't. Come to think of it, she's never felt attractive to anyone before. That was why she couldn't believe that was what the blonde wanted from her – not attack her, not steal information, not shiv her, none of those.
It was almost harder to believe that someone wanted her, in any way, shape or form, than anything else in this crazy place called Wentworth. She could deal with everything else perfectly fine. The thought of being needed or wanted? Not so much.
Looking back, she wanted to laugh at everything, at all the snarky remarks between her and the blonde, all the times they helped or warned each other when they didn't have to, all the times Allie flirted with her openly and she unknowingly flirted back, if giving hair tips and haircuts counted as such attempts. But she couldn't. She was too lost in her own cluttered feelings and memories to even appreciate fine irony at this point.
She had seen the blonde naked and so had Allie. Yet, she felt more unraveled and exposed to everything Allie now than even on that fateful day in the showers.
Because now?
Now she couldn't get her out of her head.
And she was rapidly taking up residence in every forgotten space of her heart too.
Now all she wanted was to feel that again, to chase after her, call her back, ask her why in the world she did that and help her understand why she wanted it again so goddamn much.
I'm not a fucking teenager, for crying out loud.
With that thought, she slowly and reluctantly made her way back to her cell, smirking at Smiles every step of the way. She knew she was late but thankfully the screw stayed quiet. Perks of being Top Dog and all – fashionably late.
The rest of her cellmates all sent her a look she couldn't quite decipher on her way back before each retreated to their cell for the night and she suddenly felt exposed like never before.
Do I look like I've just been kissed?
Fuck, that was so ridiculous. It was all in her head. Yet it was simultaneously all she could think about as she barely drifted to sleep and that moment materialized in her dreams too.
When she woke up the next morning, a little sweatier, more restless, jittery and anxious than usual, she knew she had to do something, aside from making it her life's purpose to avoid the blonde who must not be named.
She had to speak to Bridget Westfall.