AN: Because I refuse to let the story stop after that S2 finale.
Ten years is a long time. The world changes so fast in one that it's hard to imagine what you'd miss in ten of them. For the past four years all she'd heard from the outside world came via a radio or overhearing the guards talk when they thought no one was listening. The occasional visitor would drop by with gossipy tidbits and updates, but they were so few and far between to be counted upon.
Every day it was the same routine. Get up, stare at the walls, go outside for 'recreation time,' crave a cig, eat the slop they passed off as food, stare at the walls some more, listen to the nightly radio news, and sleep so she could do it over again the next day.
This was day 1522. She had no idea or any good reason why she was counting the days. Other than being something to mark the passing time, it served no purpose.
The prison life was good to Betty McRae. It was pretty similar to life at Vic Mu, minus the decided lack of freedom. Sure, it was mind-numbingly dull at times and it frustrated her to no end while the war was still on that she wasn't building bombs to help the boys overseas, but at least on the inside she didn't have to worry so much about hiding who she was. To say that the biggest open secret of an all-women's prison didn't give her a cheap thrill would be a lie.
Having been put away from murder, even if it was ruled accidental, earned her a certain amount of credibility in the eyes of the other women. No one really bothered her if she didn't want them to. But no matter how many dalliances she engaged in while the night guard was on duty, she always kept a photo of a certain redhead under her pillow.
Gladys had brought it to her on day 181, a gift that only her rich friend could get through security to her. Should the unfairness of the situation creep its way inside her head, she'd only have to look at that picture, taken just days after they'd met, and her resolve would reaffirm itself.
One of them had to have a chance to live a normal life, at least.
She had heard from Teresa, but only once. It was a postcard from somewhere in Europe, brought to her by Lorna on day 532, sent to the boarding house instead of the prison. There was nothing terribly personal about it. Just a regular old 'thinking of you' gesture between friends. Betty sincerely hoped that Teresa never tried to find her after the war; for her to find Betty in prison would embarrass her to no end.
But on that day Lorna brought other, more pressing news. Yes, the family was doing fine and yes, Eugene was getting some kind of help now. But oh by the way, Kate left the factory to 'pursue other things.' She never explained what and Lorna didn't exactly press, so Betty's guess was as good as anyone else's.
Even when Gladys came to visit in the following months she knew nothing more. Letters from Vera were full of details of her life as Mrs. Moretti but precious little else. While she tried not to dwell, it drove Betty crazy to not know where Kate was or what she was doing. Rumor had it (according to Gladys) that she and Leon had run off together to America, but Betty refused to believe that for a second. She knew those two and their relationship, and it was not—
—well, then again, a lot can change in five years. When news of the nuclear attacks on Japan came around she could hardly believe her ears. That a weapon so powerfully destructive could exist, let alone be used twice in three days with the U.S. having who knows how many others, baffled her. They were nothing like the twenty-five pounders she was used to dealing with.
The thought of it scared her, if she was to be perfectly honest.
Kate came to visit her, once, six years ago. Day 28, and she remembers it like yesterday.
They sat across from each other, the room full of chatter from the other visitors and prisoners. A guard stood in each corner of the room, watchful eyes catching everything.
Everything, that is, except for the pulse quickening in Betty's body as she looked at Kate looking at her look at Kate. Neither spoke for a while, both unsure where to begin. Or even if they should.
Finally, "I'm so sorry, I—"
"Don't be." A wry smile played on her lips. "I'm not."
"But Betty, I—"
"It's for the best," she interrupted a little more harshly than intended. She added softly, "Trust me, these women in here, you wouldn't last a day."
Kate leaned in, prompting Betty to do the same. The smell of her perfume—when did she start wearing that?—filled her nostrils and made it hard to her to think.
"I don't really think that's fair. After all, I'm the one who pushed him over the railway," she whispered.
"And I'm the one who took the fall."
"I didn't mean it like that," Kate insisted, eyes wide.
Betty softened. "I know." She made to reach for Kate's hands but the guard nearest to them cleared his throat audibly, and she stopped mid-motion.
"I'll make it up to you. Somehow."
"Kate—"
"It should be me in here, Betty, not you. We both know that. I'll find a way to make it right, I promise."
Betty leaned back in her chair, arms folded over her chest. She desperately wanted to believe Kate, but ten long years were staring her in the face, standing right behind a pair of dizzying green eyes. The same eyes that got her into this mess in the first place, the eyes that she would do anything for.
"You want to know how to make it up to me? Fine. Go and live your life, Kate. Forget about me and be happy. Find yourself a good man who's good to you, marry him, and don't worry about me."
Taken aback, Kate sat looking at her for a few moments until she quietly asked, "What if that isn't what I want?"
Betty shook her head. "I don't care what you do then. Pursue your dreams, Kate Andrews. Live and be happy. One of us needs to be and we both know that it was never meant to be me."
Before Kate could reply and weaken her resolve, Betty stood and nodded to the guard, who came over to take her back behind the inner walls of the prison.
She sat there motionless, watching Betty be led away and locked up without looking back at her. The abruptness of her departure riled Kate up to no end.
So she thinks she can just tell me what to do? Fine then. From now on I'm going after what I want and no one, not even Betty McRae, will stop me. She'll see.
It was hard to believe that seven years ago she had faced the trial that put her behind bars. With Gladys's help the sentence was drastically reduced; her quest for evidence that helped the case be ruled accidental was a great help to the lawyer she hired with her own money. It still made Betty cringe to think of all the trouble she made her friends go through for her sake. However, she never fully regretted her decision to turn herself in for Kate, largely because every time those feelings crept in she imagined Kate here in her place, and that took care of that.
And while she knew that he was wrong, the sound of pastor Rowley's words still echoed loudly in her ears: deviant freak. She knew deep down that the way she felt wasn't wrong but society said, loud and clear, that it was. So it made perfect sense for her to be there, and not Kate. Surely she could see that everything Betty did, she did for Kate. Kate, who had so much to live for, so much yet to discover.
The war had been a boon for Betty; it gave her a chance to get off the farm, to work and earn a living for herself without needing a man. But now that the war was over, what options did she have? The men left standing had returned home and taken back the workplace. There'd be nowhere left for women like her once she got out, nowhere left but the old farm with her brothers. She didn't want to go back.
Hell, she wasn't sure if she could.
Day 2425. Some of the girls were listening to the radio during their free time, but Betty wasn't really paying attention. With the war over nothing on the outside really mattered much, news-wise. She was walking towards one of the better-connected inmates, hoping to barter a cig off of her, when she heard it: the voice she hadn't heard in years. The voice she would recognize anywhere.
From then on she always listened to the radio, no matter when or what station was playing. On good days Kate would croon her latest hit out of the small speakers, and on bad days there would be no mention of her at all. Betty hated being at the mercy of radio disc jockeys, but what could she do?
"We're here today with one of the country's rising musical sensations, Toronto's very own Kate Andrews! Hello, Kate."
"Hello John. It's a pleasure to be here."
"I'm sure. We're not going to waste any time beating around the bush here, if you don't mind. So tell me, Ms. Andrews, about your songs. Do you write your own lyrics? They're so sincere."
"Well, yes and no.I do write some, but most of them are collaborations with my manager and band leader, Leon Buck. A lot of the love songs are my own, though."
"Oh? And is there a special someone out there for whom you're writing them? I'm sure our listeners are just dying to hear all about him."
A nervous laugh. "Yes, there usually is someone in mind when I write."
"Ah, I see. Can you share with us a little bit of why this lucky fella is so inspiring to you?"
"Well, John, a lady should never reveal things like that, but I suppose in this case I can make an exception for your listeners. The person I write for is kind, loving, one of the hardest working people I know…and right now they're doing something for me that I'm not quite sure yet how I'll repay them."
"Oh-ho, okay folks, it sounds like we're getting a bit personal here with the wonderful Kate Andrews. If you're just now tuning in we're…"
Aside from Vera, no one ever really sent Betty mail of any kind. Until day 3342, when a postcard picture of a new house in the suburbs came to her. There was no return address but on the back, '315 days—it's almost ours,' was written.
It stayed underneath her pillow, keeping the other picture there company. 315 days. She could do this.
On the day of her release she had no idea who, if anyone, would be there to see her. It wouldn't have surprised her if no one showed, to be honest. They were all probably too busy with the lives they'd been leading for the past ten years to think of her finally getting out of prison. Not that she could really blame them. So as the metal gate in front of her slide open and the guard solemnly nodded and told her to have a good day, she was a little bit surprised to see a fancy-looking car waiting there in the glaring morning light. Gladys?
The door opened and a splash of red hair got out of the car. Betty's heartbeat returned to normal when it wasn't Kate; but she was pretty, and she did smile at her real nice.
"Ms. McRae?" the woman asked, as if Betty weren't the only one standing there.
"Yeah? Who's asking?" Her guarded expression softened when she saw a familiar face get out of the car behind the redhead.
"Just an old friend. It's good to see you, Betty."
"Leon," she smiled, her heart feeling a weight lift off of it she didn't even know was there. "Long time no see."
"Too long, if you ask me." He stepped forward and wrapped her up in a big hug, then held her out at arm's length to look at her. "Come on, get in the car. I have orders to get you somewhere, and my boss won't be too happy if we take too long."
"Oh yeah?" she smirked. "Well seeing as how it's been ten years since I've really seen anybody, I don't think a few extra hours of separation are going to hurt." He released his grip on her and she bent down to grab her bag, following him to the car.
Since she had no idea where they were going, Betty didn't know how long the drive was going to take. The conversation flowed easily enough, but every turn they took made her nervous. Were they there yet? Leon was keeping quiet about the identity of his strange boss, although she was fairly certain she knew who it was. The other redhead was apparently this boss's assistant, sent to make sure nothing went wrong on the way. Should she have been nervous then? It took all of her will power to not bog them down with questions.
The car finally entered a small development in a Toronto suburb, and she recognized the building style as the one from the postcard she received. Cookie-cutter houses lined the street, and her anxiety grew with each structure they passed. Who would want to live here? They all looked the same.
At last the car slowed down and entered a driveway. As soon as the engine was off she was outside the car and looking at the house, "Is this what I—"
The front door opened, her head turning to the sound of it immediately. She felt herself smiling as the one person she waited ten years to see walked towards her.
"So? What do you think? I know it's not exactly what you had in mind, but I—"
"It's perfect." She reached out her hands, and Kate took them in hers. They stood there like they had in the prison, just looking at each other and not saying anything. There was some much to be said, but Betty had no idea where to start.
Behind them Leon cleared his throat. He had Betty's bag in his hand. "Ladies, perhaps you should move this inside? The sun's awful bright right now." He made to go inside but Betty and Kate continued to stand there, still too preoccupied to move. When he came back outside empty-handed they finally broke apart.
"Mary and I will be heading out now, Kate, unless you need anything else."
"No, I think we'll be fine here. Thank you, Leon. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes ma'am. Good day Kate. Welcome back, Betty."
She nodded to him, and he got in the car. Once it had driven off down the street Kate turned to Betty, grabbing her hand and leading her inside.
"Welcome home, Betty," she said as she closed the front door behind them.