"I know what I heard. She tried covering it up but it was a piss-poor effort. Who would've thought. Kaz's 2iC falling in with the top dog's crew. Ha!"

As the line in the cafeteria inched forward, Joan Ferguson moved her tray along the counter, her lip curling at the conversation she'd overheard. Well well, Juice. This is most enlightening.

"Smith. You're out." Linda Miles held the door wide open for just a second longer than necessary after the prisoner emerged from the bare cell. She had to admit, Bea Smith commanded a certain grudging respect, even compared to the parade of other top dogs who came before her. She had neither Jacs' viciousness nor Franky's flash. But there was a quiet strength in Bea that drew people to her, whether out of fear or respect—or love, perhaps. She wondered if any of the prisoners actually loved this top dog.

"What about her?" Bea jerked her head nonchalantly in the direction of the adjacent cell.

"Novak? She's got another day." The guard's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why d'you care?" She's not even in your crew. Bea raised an eyebrow and scoffed, almost as if mocking the question. This conversation was over. Turning briskly, red hair tossing behind her, the prisoner led the guard out.

As the footsteps faded, Allie sighed, leaning her head back against the door. Guess I'll have to spit those new verses for her another night. In spite of the disappointment of a Bea-less night in the slot, a small smile lifted her lips. Her mind was still on stories of snail hotels and bad prison raps. If she could be slotted next to Bea every time there was a bust, Joanie could plant all the gear in the world in her cell. Letting her mind wander back to the first time she saw Bea in the showers, her hand slipped unconsciously under the waistband of her pants.

Seeing Bea's body through the half-drawn curtain.

Bea's delicious anger.

The feeling of the wet tiles against her face and Bea's body against her back.

Turning around and realizing that Bea hadn't bothered to pick up her towel.

Sliding downward, reaching for Bea's hips… so close. She was so close.

"The Queen is baaaaaack, bitches!" Boomer's voice reverberated against the walls of H1, but was soon drowned out by a flurry of activity as Liz and Maxine opened packets of crisps and a bottle of wine they'd been saving for special occasions. Doreen pulled up a few chairs around the table, gently nudging a young girl forward. Tall, but apprehensive. So young. Can't take care of herself yet. Bea sized her up quickly.

"Bea, this is Tasha. She's new here."

Bea nodded. "I've heard. It doesn't matter what they say, alright? Here you do what it takes to survive." Relief spread across the young girl's face. Not that Bea had any intention of further punishing Tasha. She had far more pressing matters preoccupying her. Blue eyes and blonde locks. That mischievous grin and spirit that made her laugh—really laugh—for what felt like the first time in years.

"Oy! Let's have some music eh," shouted Boomer. "What kind of music d'you want, Bea?"

Without missing a beat, Bea knew the answer. "Do we have any rap?" She had some practicing to do.