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The library has always been her favourite place to hide, and it isn't necessarily because she spends so much time reading. Most inmates avoid the library, so it's usually quiet and isolated. When Alex returned to Lichfield prison, a two year sentence hanging above her head, they assigned her to the library, giving her chores such as rearranging and stamping books in and out, basically keeping everything in order. Easy stuff, and far more pleasant than doing laundry. Not to mention, the company isn't too bad either. Poussey Washington tends to keep to herself, and whenever they do talk, it's brief, it doesn't last.

Word has already spread around as to why Alex is back, and the facts soon distort into wild rumours. Apparently, Alex not only killed a man, but also sawed off his limbs. An even better one is where she used his dead body to snort heroine off of. The imaginations of her inmates have no limits. Yet no matter what scenario is developed, they know she murdered. They know she murdered a man. They skip over the detail that it was out of self defence. Most inmates just focus on the murder, how many times she shot him, and, disturbingly, if she enjoyed it.

Yet no one asks about Piper. At least, not to her face, which is just as well. With each day, Alex grows more concerned, more distracted, more antisocial. She hasn't seen Piper in nearly a fortnight. In order to avoid jumping to conclusions (Has Piper been transferred? Is she still alive?), Alex reads. She reads whatever book she can find, and loses herself in the words. Over the past couple of weeks, she's read so many novels her head is close to exploding, but stories –– to Alex –– are the equivalent of drugs. Addictive, and they ease the pain. Help erase the horrible memories that she has no desire to cling onto.

'Hey there, Harry Potter.'

Alex stops reading and glances up.

'Nice cuts on your face. I never asked how you got those.' Nicky sits down beside her, leans against the bookcase. 'Guess you and Chapman had a riot outside of this shit hole. You know what fucks me up? How Chapman left here, and then two days later you come back with a murder charge. Don't get me wrong: it's hot, but, seriously, what the fuck, Vause?'

'I'd tell you, but I don't think your fragile head can take it.'

'You don't know what my head can take, Tom Ripley.'

Ignoring the reference to Highsmith's The Talented Mister Ripley, Alex slips off her glasses and folds the frames. 'If you and that bird's nest ever get out of here, then I'd highly recommend not going into the drug business.'

Nicky raises her brows, smiling slowly. 'You were still selling that shit?'

'Yeah,' Alex averts her gaze to the book in her hands. 'Not anymore, though. I quit.'

'Lemme guess, did a certain blonde inspire you? Melt that cold, fucked up heart of yours? Jesus, Vause, you make me wanna throw up.' Nicky pushes her aside. 'If Chapman decides to bring her ass back in here finally, I don't want to see you two getting all mushy.'

However, she continues to smile, and if Alex isn't mistaken, Nicky seems content with the situation. Except–- 'If she comes back.'

Nicky hesitates before she speaks again, 'The least I can say is if you know someone is waiting for you, then that's a pretty damn good reason to go back to them. Chapman did get shot, plus she has that jackass of a lawyer her fucking fiancé keeps sending over. She'll be here eventually.'

'I know.'

'Oi, Vause –– there are plenty other objects with hips and tits to observe while you wait.' Nicky grimaces, scrunches her nose. 'Oh, fuck, wait. You're in love or whatever. Apparently you don't notice anyone else after that.'

'It takes one to know one.' A smirk.

Nicky offers a blunt look. The corner of her mouth twitches. 'Have fun with your reading, nerd.'

'And apparently your nicknames have softened since I've been away. You've lost your touch, Nichols.'

'Pft. Not where it matters.'

They smile at each other then. A sort of respect for one another, before Nicky returns to her duties as an electrician. Or a sorry attempt of one. Except for those she works with, Alex has the library to herself again.

Even though her lawyer defended her actions, claiming it was out of self defence, it wasn't enough to let her off the hook. Plus, the evidence was clear that she had returned to the drug business. Even if she called it quits, such evidence was still used against her. No one was surprised when she landed back in prison. However, Alex and Piper had earned themselves quite the reputation within the prison. The inmates either admire, hate or fear them. Sometimes it's a mix of all three. Over time, this image will start to fade; lose its impact.

For now, though, Alex enjoys it, and hopes Piper will return in time to enjoy it with her.

Yet Alex has never waited for anyone. Never. This promise she made is almost damaging, it slowly ruins her, but she foolishly clings to the idea that's it worth it. That waiting for Piper will be worth it, even if her return is taking so long. Sometimes, Alex has considered writing a letter, but she always refrains. With waiting comes patience, and with patience comes trust. She needs to trust her. She has to.

The blood never escapes her mind, she never forgets the bullet, the bang, how everything just froze when Piper fell back, a disgusting red liquid pouring from the wound. "I'm here." And she can't forget the terror, the nightmare of knowing she was slowly slipping away; that no matter how tightly she held her, Piper was slipping, and there was nothing Alex could do. She was helpless, useless and weak.

She can't forget.

Every night, Alex lies awake. She's too scared to fall asleep. She doesn't want to. Her mind won't shut down; there's always a thought, always a worry, there's always Piper.

The day passes. It simply passes. Uneventful. Another day of waiting.

She doesn't sleep. She repeatedly taps the side of her fist against the wall of her cube, back against the mattress, and waits. The clock ticks, the minutes pass, the hours are wasted.

And she never stops waiting.

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It's a cold morning. Freezing. The heating broke, and inmates scowl and mutter obscenities to themselves, wrapping themselves tightly in their coats, huddling together like penguins. Piper ironically comments what a warm welcome this is, but the CO doesn't find her joke very funny. The orange of her scrubs is darker than she remembers, and she's escorted to her block. Lorna is her guide again, and quickly steals a hug before directing the other new inmates to their rooms. Despite the neglect of this prison, despite how cruel and harsh it can be, Piper has never felt happier to come back.

She finds Alex in the chapel, leaning against the alter, reading. The library is packed with inmates because, apparently, it's the warmest place in the prison. Wisely, Alex has avoided it; she chooses the chapel, because despite the warm glow it possesses, the room is chilly. No one wants to be here. The privacy is nice, and the quiet almost a lullaby. Piper hovers in the doorway, and appreciates these last few seconds. She sees Alex unmasked, all to herself, doing what she does best, and waiting for her.

'Hi.'

Alex doesn't look up, but she smiles; it's a sad smile. 'Hi.'

'I'm sorry I took so long to get here.' Piper attempts to make the situation lighthearted; she's trying to joke again, but even she doesn't smile at her remark. 'The hospital was reluctant to let me go.'

'Hm.' Alex removes her glasses, and finally meets her gaze. 'I missed you, kid.'

'I missed you, too,' Piper replies softly.

Raising her hand, Alex gestures Piper to come closer. With each step, Piper slowly feels her nerves loosen, her muscles relax, and then her mind stops spinning. Suddenly, everything stills, nothing else exists except her and Alex. And when she reaches her, hesitantly sits down and lets Alex pull her close to lean against her side, Piper finally feels home. She feels okay.

In the silence, they read together, and Piper recognises the novel.

'Choose me, Alex.'

'What?'

'I want you to choose me.' Piper raises herself. Looks Alex in the eye. 'I'm stuck here for another two years because I shot someone. But, when I get out, I want to leave this place with you. I want you to choose me. I want us to make a life together, and I don't want drugs involved or anything like that. Just us two. And I might want a cat. Also, a toaster that works, and a washing machine that doesn't lock itself automatically. But, my point is that I want you to choose me when you leave.'

A pause. Piper hasn't realised she's been holding her breath, until she exhales sharply. Then, it occurs to her what she's just said; what nonsense she's blurted out, but all of this, everything, she has been bottling in for this day. Lying on that hospital bed was hell. Thinking again and again what she should say to Alex has been hell. Piper has gone over this dumb little speech constantly in her head.

Saying it now, it still barely makes sense, she's still babbling –– but she knows, at least, the only thing she wants is Alex. For Alex to not walk away, to not leave, but to stay. Just one more time.

'Put me out of my misery,' Piper shrugs, her eyes glowing in the dim light. 'Because I'm in. I'm all in. And if you're not, if you have the slightest doubt, please tell me. You exhaust me, Alex. Loving you and hating you is so fucking exhausting. So, just –– tell me.'

The book snaps shut. Alex's expression can't be read, she's illegible to Piper, impossible to fathom.
Alex kisses her, and her lips are slightly chapped, a little cold, but soft, gentle.

No words need to be said.

Piper has her answer.

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Winter.

Snow falls. Life resumes.

And when she sees her, free, waiting, dressed in white, a smile graces her lips. A smile which reflects the sun's shine, and timidness in the chilly season. Hesitant, steady footsteps. Then she knows, and then she is confident about her choice, her decision. About the woman beside her, who takes her hand, guides her through the flurry of snowflakes.

The touch of her fingertips against her cheek is like a fire; scolds her flesh.
She kisses her. But it's a kiss which is more than just the sake of being a kiss.
A promise. A promise to follow her to hell and back. A promise to follow her to the grave.

'––Come with me, Piper.'

And this time, she does. And this time, nothing is stopping her.


end.


author's note: It's been a heck of a ride. Any questions concerning this story, then approach me through a private message. In case someone doesn't catch on, the ending is set two years after, when they're out of prison. Thank you to everyone who has offered support throughout, especially to those who have stuck with me from the start. I, obviously, own nothing, except the plot. Here's to hoping season three of OITNB is packed full of Vauseman, otherwise I'm out of here.

In the meantime, I have Behind Closed Doors still in progress. Expect Vauseman angst shit happening over there, too, and a couple of freak out moments like you lot had with this story. ;)

I had Nicky call Alex "Tom Ripley" because of the murder and the glasses. And the "charm".
Whatever.

Just realised all the way through this I've been spelling Litchfield without the "t". Smooth.

Until next time!