Anger & Hope
Bridget shut the door behind her, now finally home, the sky already dark. She stood still for a moment and sighed, feeling the weight of her day finally begin to settle. Working as a prison psychologist was never a walk in the park, but with Ferguson back in general, things were starting to get more tense than usual—both among the inmates and the staff. Today, Bridget was sure, was just the next step towards a much more deeply atrocious end. Today had been the day Bridget went to assess Ferguson. Her injuries were disturbing in and of themselves, but there was also something quite unsettling in the way in which she acted; some sort of self-satisfied quality towards what had happened. Bridget, of course, never found out how she really got the injuries, but she knew Ferguson wasn't telling the truth. Was it part of some much more elaborate, sinister plan? Bridget rubbed her eyes, moving forward towards the kitchen.
She placed her belongings down and leaned against the counter on one arm. Her gaze absently stared at the floor, her thoughts elsewhere. The silence of an empty house hung, and Bridget heard Ferguson's words ring in her head once more; how she somehow knew Franky wasn't around anymore. Her face remained expressionless, though she still felt the pang of her absence.
They were still together, but as far as living together—Franky had left. In many ways, Bridget was proud of her. She was living on her own and figuring out how to be independent. But she missed her. She missed waking up next to her, and she missed seeing her smile when she got home. In some ways, maybe it was better. Their relationship was unorthodox as it was; Franky moving out had actually brought some normalcy to it. Most couples date first and get to know each other, and then move in together and so on. Franky and Bridget had started out quite different. As the prison psychologist, it was her job to get to know Franky on a deeper level than the average acquaintance. Before they were ever even intimate, Bridget knew things about Franky on a personal level that wasn't afforded to others; despite Franky's continuously resilient attempts to hide behind a front. They began a relationship in secret, and then continued to hide it while living together. Now however, it was like they were dating, like they had taken a step back.
She sighed again, forcing herself to pull her thoughts away from Franky and back to Wentworth. She still had to finish her report—inmates who obtain those sorts of injuries hardly go ignored, especially when they're functionally psychotic ex-Governors. She rubbed her temple with her hands, still trying to come to a conclusion as to what to write. Given her position, she had to give her professional opinion on the matter. But with Ferguson, she never knew what to put down in file. She sighed, deciding she'd have to figure it out soon, before she went back in the morning.
Bridget glanced at the clock beside her bed seeing it was late into the night, then looked back at her work scattered across her bed. She sighed, rubbing her eyes to try and rid some of the fatigue. She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes closed. She breathed in slowly to at least try and relax enough to give herself a brief mental break.
When she opened her eyes again, she glanced once more at her work, but this time with more awareness of the empty bed it was lying on. She had told Franky earlier she wouldn't be free tonight; that unfortunate events at the prison had left her with the tedious, but necessary, paperwork. It was one thing she didn't like about her job; the constant and bureaucratic paperwork.
Bridget suddenly heard the ding on her phone that meant she got a text. She hesitated briefly before reaching across the bed to where it was lying. She then smiled, seeing who it was from.
Oi you up?
Bridget was about to respond, when a second ding went off.
Knock knock
Bridget laughed, feeling herself smiled for what felt like the first time that day. She got up and headed towards the front door. She opened it and then smiled with a tinge of disapproval, "Franky."
Franky was leaning against the door frame, her smile stretched across her face along with her signature dimples.
"What are you doing here, Franky? This is way past your curfew." Bridget still had a smile, despite her reprimanding words.
Franky's eyebrows shot up, her expressions always so characteristic. "Gee Gidge, I'm happy to see you too."
Bridget almost laughed, but continued, "It's not that. I'm just trying to at least not encourage you to violate your probation."
Franky's face puckered exaggeratingly, then she arched her eyebrows as she said, "Well, if you want me to leave, just say so." Franky smirked, knowing that's not what Bridget wanted.
Bridget scoffed a laugh, almost rolling her eyes, as she reached forward and pulled Franky in by the front of her shirt. Franky bit her lip, smiling as she gladly obliged. Bridget shut the door and looked at Franky, her reproving smile now defeated and replaced with a warm one.
"I'm glad you're here," Bridget admitted. She wrapped her arms around Franky's waist and pulled her close.
"Oh are ya?" Franky wrapped her arms around Bridget. "Good. Thought I was grounded for a second." She smirked, not being able to resist the jabbing comment.
Bridget laughed, shaking her head as she pulled away from Franky, moving back towards her bedroom. Her hands leniently pulled Franky with her, leading the way. The rest of the house was dark, the only light coming from the door left ajar in the bedroom. Franky followed, entering the room after Bridget and noticing the work spread across the bed.
Bridget shuffled some things around to clear room for Franky as she said, "I've been working on this report all night."
Franky cocked an eyebrow, "I had a feeling you would be."
Bridget sat on the bed, pulling a folder into her lap. "I'm just not sure what to do with this one. It's Ferguson," she sighed, "I'm trying to figure out what she's doing, and if I'm just playing into a trap by whatever I put into this report."
Franky sat on the bed, "Gidget, that's how she gets in your head—she knows you're trying to stay one step ahead of her."
Bridget groaned, "I know." She hid her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes.
Franky watched, her eyebrows furrowing into concern. "You sure are giving this a lot of thought."
Bridget lifted her face from her hands as she replied tiredly, "Well, I am the psych—I'm supposed to give this a lot of thought. No one else there has the credentials to evaluate a psychopath."
"Some people are just fucked in the head, Gidge. No use trying to figure that out," Franky reasoned.
Bridget sighed, staring blankly at the folder. Franky scooted closer, her eyes imploringly pulling Bridget's attention away from her work. "Come on, this is stressing you out."
"Yeah, but I need to finish it before morning."
"Or what?" Franky's grin was devious and blatantly rousing, as she slowly pulled the report from Bridget's hands and placed it to the side. She leaned in closer, her lips lingering near Bridget's neck, just tempting Bridget to forget the report all together.
Bridget softly laughed and reluctantly groaned, "Franky, I can't. I need to finish this report."
Franky paused, then pulled back, clicking her tongue before she continued, "You ever spend this much time thinking about me, when I was locked up?" Franky asked in a cheeky, almost antagonizing way. She knew Bridget wouldn't rather pay attention to a report than her, but she was playing with that fact. She was toying with her, and it wasn't like Bridget could really say that she wasn't enjoying it.
Bridget laughed, allowing herself to be drawn in. She stared for a moment before answering with a smile, "You know the answer to that," then continued, indulging Franky's diversion, "I thought about you, yeah."
"Oh yeah?" Franky's tone became luring once again. "Like what?"
Bridget laughed. She knew Franky was pulling her away from her report. She watched Franky for a moment, knowing she knew it too. Truth was, she really had thought about Franky during her time in prison, quite a lot. Bridget faintly pursed her lips, deciding to herself that she would play along; but if she was, she was going to give something Franky couldn't toy with.
"At first," Bridget's tone became unexpectedly sincere, "Your anger."
Franky's attention was suddenly captured as she realized the kind of genuine answer Bridget was giving her.
"It's something that drives you. But I also think it's kept you alive." Bridget spoke with understanding, as if it was simply an observation she knew to be true.
"After a while, I started thinking about other things. Your passion, your humor," Bridget listed off the more obvious attributes, "Your bravado." She grinned, remembering the many times Franky's brazen demeanor had landed her in trouble; as well as the many times she had shamelessly pursued Bridget with little regard to ethical boundaries. Franky momentarily returned the grin.
"I thought about how bored and restless you were; how you're far too smart to be locked in a cage," Bridget continued, "I thought about the walls you put up; and how to get through them; if I should try. I remember being impressed actually, by your skill of maneuvering a conversation; always seamlessly diverting the attention away from the things you build those walls around. And if that doesn't work, you fight."
Franky's face was quiet, her eyes serious. Bridget had caught her off-guard. She hadn't expected this sort of answer, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. It was rare anyone could read her with such clear insight, and even rarer that anyone was actually brave enough to say it aloud. Her remarks were simply just an honest perception; albeit an accurate one. It felt uneasy almost, to be this exposed. If it was anyone but Bridget saying these things, she was sure she would put an end to it. Bridget was different though. She didn't look for these things to extort or manipulate, as Franky was so often accustomed to when people gained this sort of information about her. Rather, Bridget just sought to understand Franky—get inside her mind for the sake of seeing it. She didn't have an ulterior motive; she was just a psychologist at heart, and a damn good one.
"And when I did get through a wall," Bridget continued, "I became worried I had pushed you too far. I thought a lot about how worried I was. That was when I realized I cared too much. I thought about you too much, and I was afraid my professional work with you had become clouded; that I wouldn't be able to objectively see if I was hurting you or helping you."
Franky stared, hardly blinking.
"Once I ended our sessions, I was still thinking about you. At that point I could see our professional relationship could no longer continue; it wouldn't have been right. But I still wasn't willing to let you go."
Franky didn't move. She kept her attention on Bridget, her mind reeling with the answer she just gave her. Franky had been provoking a flirtatious response, and instead got something of far deeper substance. She hated to admit it, but she didn't know what to say.
Bridget held her stare for a few seconds longer, her look sincere. Then she smiled as she leaned in close, as if to kiss her, but then slyly grabbed the folder Franky had put down earlier. "I'm going to finish this report," Bridget's voice was low and cunning. She pulled back, her smile still holding.
Franky's face remained transfixed for a moment longer, before her face slowly cracked into a crooked, open smile as she fully realized Bridget had cleverly outmaneuvered her. She licked her teeth as she raised her hands up in front of her, as if to surrender and back off. She moved beside Bridget, grabbing a pillow to lie back on. She lied down, leaning her pillow against the headboard so that her head was still slightly upright. She crossed her arms casually behind her head, her eyes never once breaking away from Bridget. Her smile was still luring, but she admitted defeat as she lied there patiently waiting.
Bridget watched as Franky settled in next to her, her smile amused. "I won't be long," Bridget spoke softly, holding her stare on the younger woman a moment longer before turning back to her report.
Bridget closed the folder holding her report and sighed. She decided finally that this would have to do. She turned, looking towards Franky. She had remained compliant and let Bridget work, occasionally running her fingers along Bridget's back. Now though, she was asleep, her arms still crossed behind her head.
She sighed one last time as she moved her work out of the way, clearing the bed. She looked once again at Franky, pausing as she stared at her quiet, sleeping face. She frowned slightly, knowing she had taken longer than she had expected on the report, and it was now too late to make it up to Franky.
She leaned over and turned off the light next to her bed. The room now dark, she moved back towards Franky. She slid both of them under a blanket as she wrapped her arm across Franky's front, cuddling into her side.
Franky then let out a drawn out breath, now waking up. She moved her arm around Bridget without thought, pulling her in closer. "About time, Gidge," she said half asleep, her eyes still closed.
Bridget moved closer into Franky, her hand delicately gliding up across her front and along her collarbone. "I know, I'm sorry." Her face was now nuzzled into Franky's neck.
Franky breathed in again, relaxing into Bridget's touch. She could feel her hand move across her softly, almost lulling her back into sleep. She felt her hand move along her chest, faintly tracing the outline of her tattoo there. She then felt Bridget's fingers carefully trail along the scar that it was hiding. Bridget had never asked about it, but Franky knew she was aware it was there; after all it wasn't the first time Bridget had run her touch along the markings. Franky opened her eyes, watching the movements of Bridget's hand. It was dark, but she could still make out the shape of it.
She had been thinking of what Bridget had said earlier. Indeed, she had had the time to, seeing as she had fallen asleep whilst waiting. Bridget, of course, was right. Franky had a lot of anger and charm, that much was obvious to anyone. But she also saw the walls Franky hid behind, and how she often skirted away from any topic hidden in those walls with quick misdirection. She had always done that. She had come to learn that most people will forget all about asking questions if the subject turns onto them, or something relevant to them. It was a tactic she had used for ages.
Bridget was never fooled though. Franky smiled a little, remembering their sessions at Wentworth. She had yet to encounter such a worthy adversary until Bridget. She was cool, calm, collected, and always saw when Franky was trying to divert attention away from herself. She would try and turn it onto Bridget, often unsuccessfully. And then Bridget—hardly phased— would always call Franky out on it and maintain focus. In a lot of ways, it just caused Franky to become even more attracted to her.
Then she thought about what Bridget had said when she had finally got through a wall; and Franky recalled one of her more vulnerable moments as she had broken down into her rawest form in front of the older woman. No one had ever succeeded in doing that without walking away with a few bruises—literally and metaphorically. Since then, Bridget had treaded carefully. She knew what topics were off-limits, and she seemed to respect that. Franky knew she wasn't oblivious; Bridget knew the scars of her past were there. But she never cornered Franky into confronting them like she had that day.
She could feel Bridget's fingers still drawing along her tattoo. She hadn't thought much of it until now; how Bridget actually did that occasionally with a lot of her tattoos. She would trace them idly with her fingers, but never really said anything about them. She realized that night that Bridget had been giving her the space to be open in her own time—if she even chose to at all. She hadn't realized until then the sort of respect and care Bridget had expressed just by saying nothing. Franky then felt an odd feeling of warmth, somehow falling for the woman even more.
Now that she could see Bridget wasn't going to push her, she also saw that she didn't want Bridget to be locked outside her walls. And the only way she was going to come in was if Franky let her. Franky took in another breath, as if mentally preparing herself.
"That's from Jacs," She spoke suddenly. Bridget paused her movements, not expecting Franky to be opening up. "She was top dog before me."
With Bridget cuddling into her right side, Franky then lifted up her left arm, recalling the time Bridget had noticed the new swirl tattoo Franky had given herself. "This one was when I sold my fucking dignity for protection, just to stay alive." She knew Bridget wouldn't really be able to see the tattoo in the dark, but she knew Bridget was aware of her tattoos and where. In fact, the darkness helped a little; it made it easier to be open, as if the dark allowed her to be less exposed.
Franky then gently grabbed hold of Bridget's hand that was still lying on her chest, and guided it down her front. She slid both their hands underneath her shirt, placing the woman's hand on her most private tattoo; the tree of flowers crawling up her side.
"This one," Franky continued, her voice now very quiet, her jaw tense, "Is for my mum." Bridget held still, knowing the topic of her mom was probably the most off-limits of all.
"I turned the cigarette burns into flowers," her voice seeming to carry a forced distance. "Flowers, and a fucking tree," she finished, her voice laced with bitter humor at the irony of turning something as heinous as flesh burns into something as pure as flower blossoms.
Bridget didn't move, partly because she was aware of the level of intimate disclosure Franky just gave her; but also because of the sharp pain she felt. She had known there was something different about that tattoo. Many times she had explored Franky's body, and had seen the morphed skin underneath the tattoo. She had always guessed it was related to some horrible endeavor. But hearing it came from cigarettes, from her mom, caused a stab in her heart on behalf of Franky. Of course, being a psychologist, she's heard many stories of some of the most awful things imaginable. Franky was so close to Bridget though, that it hurt to know her mom—who was supposed to be someone she could trust—had inflicted such gruesome and destructive pain. And knowing she would never be able to change that for Franky hurt even more.
Bridget carefully moved her hand that was still underneath Franky's. She caressed it along her side, along her tattoo, her touch soft. She lifted herself up, leaning on her elbow as she looked Franky in the eyes. It was still dark, but both their eyes had adjusted enough that they could still see each other. Bridget held her gaze, her eyes searching deeply into Franky's.
"Have you ever told anyone this before?" Bridget asked, her voice gentle.
Franky grimaced and shook her head, her expression characteristic of the unaffected, detached Franky; the one that gave the appearance of not being bothered at all.
Bridget held her stare, their eyes both locked on each other. Bridget could feel the tension of the moment, knowing that her next response was critical. Franky had let Bridget in in a way that was expressing a deep trust. Of course, she wanted to gain her trust, but with this sort of opportunity she had to be careful. This was Franky at her core; fully exposed and unguarded. She knew Franky absolutely despised pity. And with something as deep as this, to express any sort of sympathy or understanding would just be insulting—who could truly understand something like that without having gone through it?
Bridget continued running her hand along Franky's side, her touch tender. "You know," her voice was almost a whisper, "That's something about you I've thought a lot about."
Franky creased her eyebrows, inquiring as she replied "What? How fucked up I am?" Franky's defensive humor was returning.
"No," Bridget remained sincere. "You take the fucked up and turn it into something else; sometimes something beautiful even."
Franky was quiet.
"Do you know how many people I've seen come from something fucked up, and just get worse? Most people don't come back," She paused, her voice still quiet. "You're different, Franky. Like I've said, anger and hope—that's you." Bridget kept their eyes locked as she stopped moving her hand, letting it lie still in holding her.
Franky's face remained still, her eyes staying connected. Part of her wanted to instinctually resort to her defensive strategies of pushing away whatever made her feel threatened. But there was another part of her that knew she had no reason to feel threatened here; that it was just her learned fear trying to break through.
Franky moved her free arm and gently cupped Bridget's face in her hand. She held her hand still for a moment, then slowly trailed her fingers along her jawline and towards her chin, pulling her close as she leaned in. She softly captured her lips in hers and kissed her gently. It was a small kiss, but she hung close, their lips still almost touching. They stayed like that for a few moments longer, than Franky pulled back, lying back down.
Bridget wrapped her arm around Franky again, once more placing her head on her shoulder. She pulled the younger woman close, feeling Franky return the embrace. Bridget closed her eyes, her fingers returning to their idle caress along Franky's body.
AN: As you can see, I decided to continue the story. And I apologize for any confusion, I changed the title for the overall story; 'Breaking the Rules' now being the title of the first chapter.
To those who reviewed: Thank you :)