11. A Stitch In Time

"No," Red said firmly.

"But …"

"I do not want to hear it, Mercy," the Russian insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her back on the younger woman.

"Red, she is kinda right," Alex chipped in from the corner of the cube back in the Suburbs. "Fuck knows what'll happen if that shiv gets into the wrong hands. You didn't see the blood back there. Someone needs to take care of this."

"Girls, girls, girls," Red said, her voice sounding wearier than they had ever heard it. "I have told you – I am done with all that. I am too old, too tired. Too broken. I just want to keep out of the way. Maybe if they let me back in my kitchen, fine, I'll go there. If not, you all just keep eating shit and learn to live with it. So what?"

Nursing her broken arm, her mind inadvertently drifting back to when they had been trapped and at Piscatella's mercy, Alex sympathised, she really did. But she also knew, all too well, the dangers of allowing a power vacuum to take hold. The women needed their mother figures, yes – Red for their own little dysfunctional family, Gloria for the Latinas, Taystee for her girls. But there also needed to be someone who kept them all in check. Someone who looked out for her own, but instilled respect – however grudgingly – in everyone else. Without that, things had a tendency to get real dangerous real fast.

For so many years, Red had revelled in that role and, right now, there was no one else. They all needed her. Even those who didn't know it yet.

"So you're okay with letting things slide again?" Alex tried, silencing Mercy with a glare. She didn't trust the younger girl to have the tact to get anywhere once Red dug her heels in, and screaming and pouting certainly wasn't going to get them anywhere against the older woman who could be as ice-cold as she could be fiery. "You're okay with having to sleep with one eye open every night, not knowing who's carrying a weapon? If you risk waking up with a blade at your throat for no reason? You're okay with someone maybe stepping up who won't give a shit if this place gets flooded with drugs again? If Nicky ends up strung out on heroin again? If-"

"So many ifs, Alex," Red sighed. "It is hard enough to get through everything this place throws at us without conjuring up fanciful what ifs. Besides, you really think anyone is going to listen to some foolish old woman? No, it is long past time for me to move aside."

"Because that's worked out so well in the past," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "Look, we don't need Maria going all gangland on us, or Piper accidentally rallying the Nazi contingent. We need you. Even when you're mad at us and ranting in Russian about how we're worse than children and you don't know why you bother when you didn't even give birth to any of us. Red, you're the closest thing to a mom most of us have got. And if this is about Piscatella … Only one of you fucking survived and it wasn't that monster. When it mattered most, you were strong. Stronger than that piece of shit."

"And then I went to Max," Red said finally. "And it made this place look like a piece of piss. I'm tired, Alex. So very tired. You ask too much of your so-called mother. Mothers, they are expected to be there for their children, for support, for comfort, for love. And I love you girls, I do. But most mothers are not expected to … to shut down heroin pushers, or search for lethal weapons, take on guards or gangs ... The monsters scaring their children are figments of their imagination lurking under their beds. Not flesh and blood, wrapped in Kevlar and carrying guns …"

"So you're turning your back on us," Mercy said, her voice surprisingly quiet as she finally spoke up from near the doorway of the cube, her arms wrapped around herself.

"No! Zvezda moya … I want to be there for my girls as much as I can. I just … cannot be the person you need to lead this place. I am not turning my back."

"Just as well," Mercy said, her gaze lifting from the floor to meet the older woman's briefly. "Because, when this place goes to hell again, gonna be plenty of bitches ready to stick a knife in it. I'm out."

"Mercy …"

"Let her go, Red," Alex said. "She'll be okay."

"You do understand, don't you?"

The raven-haired inmate considered for a moment and nodded. "I don't like it, but I get it. I mean, I dread to think what this place could become with crazy bitches like Ouija and Zirconia calling the shots. But I do get it."

"You don't think that girlfriend of yours will try to … organise things more to her liking?"

"Piper does have a knack for ending up in the middle of shit – we both know that. But … well, I guess after the whole thing with Piscatella, we're all a little gun-shy. No pun intended."

Red mused on that, an unreadable look on her face. "Taken out by one of your own. Hell of a way to go."

"Hell is where that asshole belongs."

"On that we can agree," Red sighed.


"Nicky … Nicky, we can't. I am with child!" Lorna protested, somehow both sounding scandalised and reluctant to fend off her friend's latest advances.

"Ah, come on, Morello," Nicky grinned, taking the opportunity to back her up against the nearest wall and slide her hand beneath the waistband of her pants. "You know you want to. You gonna tell me I can't get that knocked-up little motor running?"

"Nicky!" came the gasp, turning into a little breathless moan even as it left the brunette's lips, and drawing nothing but a smirk of triumph in return.

Stealing a sloppy kiss, Nicky pushed her tangled locks back from her face and let up on her ministrations just long enough to start heading them both closer to the destination she had originally intended until she had gotten distracted – namely the nearest bathroom, in the hope they would find it vacant. Any port in a storm and all that. Besides, she didn't want to give Lorna the chance to chicken out. Not when she now knew they both wanted the same thing. After one monumental fuck-up, she'd never try to force the issue. But she was absolutely certain that any protests this time were just Lorna being Lorna – torn between what was right in front of her, and everything that she wanted to be waiting for her when she eventually got out.

Nicky had no such considerations to trouble her. Even if there had been someone on the outside, she lived in the now. Probably a by-product of realising your life could be turned on its head in a heartbeat, so what the fuck was the point in worrying about the future? Nah, it was definitely easier her way. And, right now, she couldn't see past getting Lorna and her luscious curves naked and fucking her until she screamed her name …

Except she could. She could see right over her shoulder to the vivid smears of blood all over the floor.

"What the fuck?"

Lorna turned to see what had widened her companion's eyes and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. "Oh. My. God. Jesus, Nicky, what do you think happened?"

"I dunno, doll, but it don't look good," Nicky frowned, looking up at the sound of footsteps.

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, Mercy," Nicky said, eyebrows raised at the younger woman's flustered look. "You know something about this mess?"

"How long you been here? Did you see anyone else?" Mercy demanded, ignoring the question in favour of already starting to look around.

"No, now spill on what the fuck's going on. Whose blood's that?"

"Miss Ford's," Mercy sighed. "Don't just fucking stand there. Help me look for a shiv."

"God, Nicky, we shouldn't be here – if a guard comes …" Lorna warned, looking horrified, but the wild-haired inmate was too caught up in the details.

"Ford! The counsellor? Like the hot one? Holy shit. What the fuck did you do, Mercy?" Nicky demanded.

"It wasn't me," came the exasperated response. "Jesus. Look, that bitch Zirconia, she had a shiv. This was all her and that crew of hers. But the shiv, it got dropped. We have to find it – before someone else does."

Nicky raked a hand through her curls and shook her head in disbelief, finding it hard to take in what had apparently gone down, just when they had been hoping life at Litchfield might finally start to quieten down.

"What happened to Ford?"

"I … I dunno exactly. There was a lot of blood …"

"Yeah, we're fucking stood in it. She's alive though, right?"

"I think so. I hope so," Mercy said unsurely. "It looked bad. Her face …"

"Aw, fuck, man," Nicky sighed. "This shit right here? This is why we can't have nice things …"


Not for the first time in his life, or anything close to it, Luschek didn't have a clue what to do for the best.

He'd been thrown by O'Neill's news, realising he'd been more rattled than he liked to think by just about everything that had gone down at his place of work of late. Dead guards, dead inmates … And for a second, he'd actually thought Dallas was dead too. O'Neill and his goddamn histrionics.

And yeah, he realised that, whatever his first impressions might have been, he barely knew the girl – but somehow that almost made it fucking worse. Like she'd just breezed in, brightened the place up, and then been brutally cut down before she'd even really had a chance. He didn't usually give a shit, but she could be good for Litchfield. Even he could see that. She was a good person. He could see that too.

She didn't deserve a fucking knife in the face.

Fuck.

Part of him wanted to go and find out exactly what had happened, how she was. Make sure someone was taking care of her. She was new, still finding her feet, probably scared. She might be glad of a friendly face. The other part of him scoffed at the idea that she'd want or need him hovering around. She didn't know him, not really, and she'd just been fucking stabbed – what the fuck use did he think he was going to be?

So he was basically pacing the corridor outside the medical wing, unwilling to leave, but unable to talk himself into going in. Someone was going to wonder what the hell he was doing there …

"Oh my god, did you like see her face?"

Luschek glanced around, just in time to see those inseparable Spanish chicks hustling out of medical with an empty food cart. Presumably they'd been ordered to deliver food from the kitchen to those patients well enough to eat and, as usual, were now gossiping on the way back.

"I know, right?" the little one said, tutting to her herself sadly. "It's such a shame. She had such nice skin."

"That bone structure too," the taller one nodded. "Damn. Why do bitches gotta hate like that?"

"That's just how some girls roll. You've seen the comments on our YouTube channel. I know they're almost all about how awesome we are, but a couple of them … Like don't be hating on me because you jealous. It's not like I made me this cute, you know?"

Rolling his eyes, Luschek barked out at them to make them stop in their tracks. "Yo, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, get over here. Yeah, you two-"

"We're totally supposed to be here, Mr Luschek," Flaca chipped in before he could get another word in. "You can't give us a shot. We had to bring trays for-"

"Yeah, I don't give a shit," he waved her off. "Were you just talking about Dal—I mean, Miss Ford?"

The pair exchanged a look that was a little too knowing for his liking, but he just continued to glare at them until Maritza huffed a sigh.

"Yeah, so? We weren't being mean. I feel super sorry for her. She's so pretty and now … Well, we couldn't see, except for the bandages, but it can't be good. We heard she got stabbed right in the face. That's so fucked up."

"Totally fucked up," Flaca nodded solemnly. "Uh, can we go now? The kitchen's not exactly running like clockwork without Gloria or even Red in charge, but we still get in hella trouble if dinner's late …"

"Whatever. Go," Luschek growled, already pushing past them to head into the medical wing before he changed his mind. Even though he felt totally unprepared to deal with what he might find. For crying out loud, if it was that bad, why the hell hadn't they gotten her out of Litchfield and into a proper hospital?

He didn't need to think too long to realise the answer probably lay in yet another sweeping under the carpet of the extent of what they were all up against. At this point, the dirt had to be piled pretty fucking high …


Tilting her head back against the pillows, Dallas closed her eyes again against the too-bright lights and winced as the stitches in her cheek pulled at her skin. The whole left side of her face felt tender and swollen, the pain eclipsing even the throbbing of the wrist she had apparently staved when she fell.

Just my fucking luck, she thought to herself, tears welling up as it started to sink in that her whole ordeal had been a bit more than just a bad day at the office. She'd been lucky that blade had only sliced into her cheek, when it could so easily have slit her throat open. Although, touching a tentative hand to the bandage taped over her wound, she could only imagine the extent of the damage that lay beneath …

"Uh, hey."

She glanced up at the voice from the doorway, surprised to see one of her new colleagues hovering there awkwardly. "Joel," she managed. "Hey."

"Sorry, I wasn't sure you'd want visitors. I mean, look at the lengths some people will go to just to get out of going for lunch …"

Dallas smiled at his little joke and immediately regretted it, sparking fresh concern in the blue eyes staring at her and trying not to. "Ow, okay, no making me laugh."

"Sorry," he apologised again. "Fuck. Are you okay? Stupid question - of course you're not. But like, can I get someone or something? Why are you even still here? Shouldn't you be in a proper hospital?"

"I'm okay," Dallas said. "Mostly. It probably looks worse than it is."

"You got stabbed in the fucking face!"

"Less stabbed, more slashed …"

"Oh, that's much less serious," he declared, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Jesus. This place is getting worse. Are you sure I can't do anything?"

"Actually, there is something … I hate to ask, but would you mind going out to my car and getting my gym bag from the trunk?" she asked, seeing confusion etch itself across his face. "I can't go back to work covered in blood, but I think I've got sweat pants and a t-shirt in my bag."

"You can't go back to work today!" Luschek exclaimed. "You need to go home, recover …"

"And give Fig the satisfaction? No chance. Besides, what am I going to do at home?"

"Uh, kick back, watch TV, take a nap – try to forget about the crazy bitch who cut you open?"

"Yeah, I really don't want to think about that, so I'd rather just get back to work," Dallas said quietly, glancing down at her blood-stained shirt before looking back up at him. "Please, Joel."

He considered for a moment and then hung his head with a defeated sigh, hoping to God that she had no idea she could probably turn those hazy green eyes on him, ask him anything and make him cave in a second. "Fine. If you're sure and if the doc here says it's okay. You got your car keys?"

Dallas nodded, but he could tell there was something else on her mind, something she seemed to be psyching herself up for.

"What?" he prompted. "Hey, you don't have to do this, you know. Fig's a soulless automaton, but she ain't gonna want you working injured. If for no other reason than she doesn't want to risk getting sued … You could just go home. I'll drive you – if you trust me with your car. Don't think you'd fancy taking my bike right now."

"I want to stay," Dallas said, although she didn't exactly sound certain. "I just … I want to see how bad it is. Do you know? Did anyone say anything?"

Luschek shook his head. "Nah, I just got here and there wasn't anyone around. Think the doc got called to another case. I guess I could go look for him and-"

"I'm scared to look," Dallas blurted out. "Is that really stupid? Like really vain and stupid? You can say."

He shook his head again. "Nah, I get it. You just don't want the reminder, especially if you might have to see it all the time. My sister, she fell in a scalding bath as a kid. Burned her legs. She wouldn't wear shorts for years."

The counsellor leaned back against the pillows again, heaving a sigh. "My first full day here. I can't believe this is happening. I think I might be fucking cursed."

"You, nah. This place? Maybe," Luschek shrugged, wishing he could do more to help her feel better, although he was quickly alarmed when she sat up and reached for the tape holding the gauze in place over her cheek. "Whoa, careful, what are you doing?"

"I have to know," she insisted, but her hands were shaking and, worried she was only going to end up making things worse, he reached to stop her. "Will you look for me? Please, Joel, just tell me how bad it is and then … At least I'll know. Because, right now, I'm imagining all sorts."

There it was again. Please, Joel. And those big green eyes. Fuck, she was gonna end up getting him in all kinds of trouble. Although, when he'd realised he wanted to spend time getting to know her, he hadn't factored in that time being spent in the goddamn medical wing.

He'd still take what he could get though.

"Be honest with me," she told him, before closing her eyes and leaving him trying his best not to fumble as he started to ease back the tape holding the gauze in place. "I mean it."

Luschek didn't think his fingers had ever seemed so big and clumsy. "Sorry, sorry," he said hastily, when the tape pulled at Dallas' skin and made her flinch. "Nearly done … There. That's … That's not so bad."

"Joel …" she sighed, a warning tone clear in her quiet voice and making him all too aware there would be no bullshitting her on this one.

He took a deep breath, trying not to ramble and failing despite that. "Okay. Okay, it's not great. She sliced you good and, yeah, it could maybe scar. But the stitches are super neat. Clearly done by someone with a much steadier hand than me, that's for sure. Hey, it's kinda badass. You're still hot. And I actually just said that, didn't I?"

Dallas, an eyebrow raised in surprise, couldn't help the little lopsided smile that quirked the corner of her mouth at that. "You think I'm hot?"

"I have literally no idea what the right answer is here," Luschek said finally, obviously uncomfortable and kicking himself for having overplayed his hand. "Uh, I'm gonna go get your bag. Um … yeah."

"Hey, Joel?" she called, stopping him in his tracks as he headed for the door, inwardly kicking himself every step of the way. "You want the keys or you just gonna take a rock to the window?"

Fuck.

He mentally kicked himself some more as he shuffled back to take the proffered car keys, and then kept it up for good measure as he retraced his steps back to the door. He barely knew the chick. He really needed to get back to his usual no-fucks-to-give self.

"Hey, Joel?"

Fuck. What dumbass thing had he done this time?

"Thank you," Dallas said softly.

Oh.

Holy fuck, he was so screwed.


To be continued ...