Disclaimer: I own shit.
Author's note: A random, sporadic collection of Nicky/Lorna drabbles in no chronological order.
I Do
#1 Fuck Cookies
After 02x06 "You Also Have a Pizza"
"Fuck cookies, man."
The Valentine's celebration rages on as Nicky stumbles past all the bodies in beige and pushes her way into the bathroom. She steadies herself with a hand against the ugly ass tile wall when she feels the sickness rise up. Nicky holds her breath and breathes a sigh as the wave of nausea passes. She's about to return to the festivities when she hears someone really throw up and has to brace herself when it triggers a second wave.
"Boo, if that's you literally tossing your cookies, that is clearly means of disqualification!" Nicky shouts. Her only reply is more hideous vomiting sounds. "Jesus Christ!"
"Sorry!"
Nicky blinks a couple times because she knows that voice. She's made that voice pant out her name between "fuck" and "Oh God."
"Morello?"
She's answered with a sob. Yup, that's gotta be Lorna. Nicky takes a breath and a moment to gather herself before she stumbles over to the bathroom stalls, just to pause yet again.
"Kid," Nicky calls out. "I'm gonna come in there, but you gotta flush first."
The sound of the toilet immediately follows and Nicky pushes past the stall door to find Lorna crumbled on the bathroom floor, paler than usual and with tear tracks down her cheeks. Nicky's right about to ask if she's okay, but her stomach turns at the deep red of Lorna's lipstick, a dead ringer for the icing on some of the cookies Nicky thoughtlessly devoured. Seriously, fuck cookies.
After the feeling subsides yet again, Nicky bends over to feel Lorna's forehead, thinking that maybe it's a bug going around, but the dark-haired inmate just shakes her head and wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of the gray sweater tied around her waist.
"No, no, no, I'm fine," Lorna says. "Just got a little carried away with the…mac and cheese. Then I always cry during and after I puke."
Lorna leans back against the stall partition and squeezes her eyes tight, taking one of those supposedly cleansing yoga breaths Jones always goes on and on about. If Nicky were less on the verge of puking herself, she'd probably make some kind of joke or tease her. Soft eyes, Morello. Soft eyes. But alas, so much of her energy is going into not barfing. So much so that Nicky disregards how absolutely filthy the floor is and slides down next to Lorna.
"You don't look so hot neither," Lorna observes.
Nicky goes for a dramatic groan and even that's weak at best. "You know, I'm always telling you how hot you are. Would it kill you to return the favor? Jesus Christ, lie to me even."
Lorna smiles despite how miserable she looks and tilts her head towards her fellow inmate. "You don't need me to tell you how hot you are, Nichols. You got a whole book of that."
She groans again. "Don't remind me. That's the whole reason I ended up here, nauseous and nearly dead on this filthy ass floor."
"Sick of sex?"
Nicky laughs at the very idea. Sure. As if that's even possible.
"Things ended in a tie and somehow went from a sex competition to a cookie eating contest in like a blurry five seconds."
"That's what that was? An eating contest with Boo?"
Lorna, the sweetheart, is sure to annunciate every syllable of the last few words just to drive the message home that it was an insanely dumb idea. Nicky nods her head hard and the sounds she makes are ones of pure regret.
"Fuck cookies," Nicky spits. It's becoming something of a mantra. "While we're at it, fuck Valentine's too."
"Yeah," Lorna agrees quietly. "Fuck Valentine's Day."
Nicky sits up and lets her narrowed eyes scan over her former friend with benefits, who's more of just a friend, like a real friend these days. She thinks back to last February and recalls a certain driver who was over the moon with her romantic notions and wedding plans. Now that Nicky really takes a moment to think about it, she's barely heard a word out of Lorna all day, which is scary rare alone.
Even when Chapman asked her about love, Lorna just had that teary look in her eyes and that too wide, forced smile and laughed that everyone knows she's got a lot to say about love. Instead of going into detail like she normally would, Lorna made some excuse to get away. It didn't seemed strange at the time, but Nicky was also preoccupied, searching for the next set of points in her little sex game. Stupid.
"Christopher and I aren't together."
Lorna doesn't look at Nicky as she lets the confession roll off her red lips, just stares off into space, and so Nicky lets herself roll her eyes. Jesus Christ, they really can't go one conversation without mentioning the prick. Nicky kinda figured they weren't together anymore when she found Lorna sobbing over the guy and his wedding announcement with his slutty new bride in the newspaper and—
Fuck.
The announcement had said February 14. That's today.
"Shit, kid, I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" Nicky doesn't hesitate as she extends her arm and rubs her hand over Lorna's shoulder and up and down her arm. Comforting the girl even in the least sexual of ways has become second nature.
"No, Nicky, don't feel sorry for me please. Fuck him for ruinin' today for me." Lorna sniffles and swipes at her eyes. "We aren't together and now I can admit it to myself and out loud…well, at least out loud to you." Lorna takes another deep breath and nods, suddenly looking so determined. "Believe it or not, Crazy Eyes helped me see all this."
"Ah, so that explains why I saw you two getting cozy."
Nicky lifts her eyebrows suggestively and Lorna snorts, something resembling laughter, and playfully nudges Nicky with her elbow. "She's not all bad… Her sniffin' my hair was a little odd, but that's when the mac and cheese came back to bite me in the ass."
"See, karma," Nicky says teasingly. "Stop saying shit about the Spanish girls, who, y'know, cook the food. Quit comparing them to West Side Story and shit."
Lorna sighs wistfully. "I used to think love was a lot like West Side Story, y'know…" Nicky doesn't really know and expects Lorna to continue, but instead, she looks over at Nicky with curious eyes. "What about you? Did Chapman interview you on what love's like?"
"I told her," Nicky lies. Before Chapman could even get the question out, Nicky told her to fuck off and emptied that entire bag of Skittles from Red into her mouth. "Fiona Apple in the Criminal video."
Lorna blinks a few times. "Yeah, I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"Well, I guess that makes us even then."
Fucking straight girls. And of course this fucking straight girl makes Nicky Nichols smile.
Lorna leans back and just looks at Nicky in a way that feels inviting and so familiar like before when they'd sneak off to the chapel for hours on end. Nicky's eyes trail down and back up Lorna's ever-enticing body, knowing what's hidden beneath the cotton and khaki. The flicker of her eyes has become something of a bad habit Nicky never wants to break.
Before Nicky can calculate her next move or even debate if there is a next move to make, she's hit with the worst wave of nausea yet and this time, she's lurching towards the toilet and there it is. Retched sounds follow. Then, when Nicky sees the contents of her stomach emptied into the metal bowl, what was at one time colorfully frosted cookies, she gags and the regurgitation party continues.
"There, there, Nichols," Lorna says soothingly. She's there by Nicky's side, holding back her wild hair and rubbing comforting patterns over her back. "Let it all out. I always feel better after the puking and the crying. You feel better, don't ya?"
"Fuck cookies!" Nicky moans into the toilet.
When she finally thinks it's over and she has nothing left to give, Nicky flushes the toilet and sits back against the stall door. She wipes at her mouth with her sleeve and makes a valiant attempt to breathe normally.
Lorna sits next to her, closer this time, and laughs. "We're disgusting."
"Yeah. Yeah, we are." Nicky chuckles and pushes her fingers through her hair. "Hey, Happy Fucking Valentine's Day, Morello."
"Happy Fucking Valentine's Day to you too."
Lorna leans just a little more and her head meets Nicky's shoulder. And they just stay like that. All they smell and all they taste and all they touch is fucking gross, but neither can bring themselves to move. They're missing what might be the last Litchfield sponsored and approved function the inmates might be allowed for the next few months, but pin the penis on the man and food that easily exceeds their daily calorie count couldn't be further from their minds.
That's when Nicky's dumbstruck by a particularly alarming thought.
Maybe love is like sitting on a foul fucking bathroom floor and throwing up a little, but smiling and laughing because you aren't alone and not only that, but the person you're with makes you feel less lonely.
Maybe or maybe not. Either way, Nicky finds herself leaning back towards Morello.
Author's note (again): I'm open to prompts either here or on my Tumblr, but like with Red's menu when she ran shit, I make no promises.
Fun fact: My boy friend and I wrote this on cocktail napkins at a terribly unromantic, loveless wedding we attended. Then we went home and I drunk tweeted a picture of Natasha Lyonne (circa American Pie) to Yael Stone…then I deleted it.
