"Yo, Duarte, mind if I come in?"
Nicky half heartedly knocks against the doorway, already knowing what the answer will be.
The ginger is, after all, the Latina's favorite former customer. Even though she would never admit it out loud.
Daddy doesn't look up from the magazine she's leafing through, and instead chooses to beckon Nicky forward with a single finger.
"Don't wanna know where that finger's been," Nicky jokes, clasping her hands in front of her stomach as she slowly walks into the cell.
The Latina greets Nicky's sarcasm with a teeth sucking and a reproachful glare, as per the norm. She gets up from her chair, slamming the magazine back down on the table.
"What do you want, Nichols?" Daddy says, closing some of the distance between herself and the ginger.
That's when the gravity of the situation weighs in.
For fuck's sake, Nicky's just walked into the cell of arguably one of the most powerful people in this prison, Barbara Denning's right hand gal. Daddy's dangerous, that much Nicky knows, and if there's anything she's learned from her time in this place, you do not walk into the cell of a drug kingpin (queenpin?) with empty hands and a broken heart needing to be put back together again.
"I...I don't know, man, I…"
Nicky's voice trails off under Daddy's probing gaze.
The redhead isn't usually like this. Usually brash and vulgar and teetering on the edge of unlikable with all her quick words and sarcastic quips.
She's so quiet this time.
Pathetic.
Daddy must notice this too, because her gaze softens as she takes a few more slow steps towards Nicky.
"You good?"
"Listen, I, I don't know what the fuck I came here for, man," Nicky stammers out, rubbing a hand over her forehead and furrowing her brow.
"Hey, you better not be back on that shit," Daddy snarls, those deep brown eyes darkening even further as she takes Nicky by the arm and squeezes hard enough to bruise.
"Told you I'd never sell to you again, Nichols, and I meant that. You think I want your scary Russian mommy up my ass crack? Hell nah," Daddy says with an incredulous scoff and a furrow of her brow.
"Well, Duarte, I figured you might be into that. Besides, you certainly didn't have a problem with selling to me when my tongue was getting acquainted with your clit," Nicky shoots back, venom rolling off her tongue with every syllable.
And just like that, she's back.
"Yo, that was one time, gringita," Daddy says in defense, shooting a look behind Nicky to ensure that no one heard. Couldn't have another crack baby revolution, after all.
"Well, more like three times, if you catch my drift. Or was it four? Shit, I'm gettin' old," Nicky drawls, feigning confusion as she scratches her head through a mass of reddish blonde curls.
Daddy glares at her yet again, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Nicky pauses for a moment, embarrassment burning hot in her chest before running her tongue over her bottom lip. She's gone too far yet again, that much she knows.
"Right, right, too far, my bad," the redhead says before shaking her head vehemently.
"But that's not what I'm here for. I know, I know, quelle surprise and all that shit, but, uh…"
Nicky pauses, swallowing the words clawing their way up her throat. She has to be careful this time, needs to be careful. She doubts Daddy will stick a shiv between her ribs for not choosing her words carefully, but...
"I guess I just need a little human contact," the redhead finally chokes out, gaze fixated on the dirty, possibly blood stained tiles beneath her feet.
Daddy's upper lip curls into a smirk as she reaches forward, clicking her tongue as her hand slips into the waistband of Nicky's pants.
"Now I know what you want," the Latina whispers, her mouth dangerously close to Nicky's.
The ginger's heart skips a beat, then two, then three as she grabs Daddy's wrist. "No, I- I don't mean like that," Nicky stammers out, and Daddy's hand is out of her pants before she can say another word.
"Yo, I'm sorry, Nichols, I didn't mean-"
Nicky raises a finger, silencing the Latina.
"Don't be sorry. Hey, I'd think the same thing, too, if some bitch walked up to me lookin' for some human contact," Nicky mutters, a melancholy sort of grin dragging itself across her face.
Daddy's frame instantly relaxed. She ran a hand through her hair before tucking her lower lip between her teeth and giving Nicky an expectant look.
"What do you want, then? A hug?" Daddy says, and even though Nicky knows she's being sarcastic, it takes everything in her not to take the Latina in her arms right now.
Fuck, she's so desperate. And not for heroin, and not for sex, and not for Lorna (okay, well, yeah, she's desperate for all those things, who is she kidding?)
But… God, is she desperate to be touched right now. To be held, for fuck's sake. To rest her chin on someone's head and to be told everything is going to be alright, even if it's a lie.
"Yeah," Nicky responds, her words thick and heavy like she's just swallowed a spoonful of molasses. But like, really bitter molasses that makes her want to be sick right then and there. Nasty-ass expired molasses, more like it.
Daddy's eyes widen.
"Yeah, I do, kinda," Nicky sheepishly admits, rubbing the back of her neck like a child who's just been caught stealing a cookie, or a middle aged man who's just been caught with his dick in a hooker's mouth.
Daddy rolls her eyes, but there isn't any malice behind the gesture. Instead, she holds out her arms and gives Nicky another one of those expectant looks that sends a jolt up her spine.
Nicky sighs before returning the Latina's embrace, resting her cheek against the top of Daddy's head.
Dayanara Diaz is one lucky bitch, Nicky thinks, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"You know how it is, right?" Nicky asks, a shaky exhale passing through her lips.
"How what is?" Daddy deadpans, her grip on Nicky unconsciously tightening.
"Well, y'know. Touch. Lack thereof, specifically. You don't get a lot of that in here," Nicky murmurs, absentmindedly running a hand through Daddy's blonde locks.
So soft, she thinks. Softer than Nicky expected, really.
"Speak for yourself, bitches be on me like white on rice," Daddy drawls, rubbing small, soothing circles on Nicky's back.
"I'm assuming they're all blind, yeah?"
Daddy laughs, a real, genuine laugh instead of those seemingly relentless smarmy chuckles that Nicky can't help but love.
"You got attitude, Nichols. Can't say I don't like it," Daddy murmurs into her chest, cleaving Nicky even closer.
"Yeah, well, you're one of the few who doesn't."
Nicky can't really believe herself. She must be high again, or maybe she's somehow gone insane from being here. Surely, a logical and/or sober person wouldn't ask a drug dealing pimp for a hug, but then again, Nicky hadn't ever really possessed both those features.
But she needs this. She needs this so bad. She hasn't been touched in months apart from Red's chin grabs and Hellman's merciless body slams, and other than Lorna, Daddy is the closest thing to a friend she has in here.
Lorna.
Nicky hasn't talked to Lorna in a while, come to think of it. She's either guessing her baby's gender with that Adeola chick, or on the phone with her fucking cocksucker bitch-face jerkoff asshole husband who hasn't done a thing wrong other than be Lorna's husband.
Wasn't like Nicky could go to her anymore.
Daddy pulls away after what must have been a good ten minutes of them hugging, smoothing Nicky's mane of red hair back as best she can.
"Anything more that I can do for you that doesn't involve sex or drugs or ten minute hugging sessions?" the Latina asks, hands firmly placed on her own hips.
Nicky stays silent, her heart pounding within her chest so loudly that it's a wonder Daddy can't hear shit.
"Uh, well, no, unless you can get me outta here and into Mariska Hargitay's deliciously toned arms," the ginger deadpans, clicking her tongue as she heads toward the door, her movements stiff and awkward and nearly robotic.
"Can't do that for you," Daddy murmurs, propping herself up against the side of the bunk. "Sure there's nothing else I can, though?"
Yes, Nicky thinks, there is something more you can do for me. You can kiss me.
But her mouth won't work, and neither will her brain, and her courage meter is extraordinarily low that day, so Nicky Nichols continues to stare in silence.
With that, Daddy plops down on her mattress and pats the empty space next to her, gesturing for Nicky to come closer.
The redhead obliges, knowing she can expect a shot for being in the Latina's cell.
Eh, fuck it. What's another shot on that long, long list of hers?
Daddy wraps an arm around Nicky's khaki clad shoulders, pulling her close. "What's going on with you, Nichols?"
Nicky arches an eyebrow. "What, can't a girl hug her favorite drug-dealing pimp?"
Daddy purses her lips, a crease forming in the midst of her forehead.
Nicky sighs in defeat, her hands clamping down on her knees. "Alright, can't win 'em all, I guess," the ginger mutters.
"This ain't about me, this is about you. What's going on? Having trouble with Preggo again?"
There's a brief burst of anger that flares in Nicky's chest at Lorna being referred to as 'Preggo', but it's gone just as quickly as it arrives.
"Well, yeah, kinda," the redhead stammers out, averting her gaze from Daddy's so the Latina doesn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.
Daddy's far more perceptive than Nicky had thought, apparently, because she turns Nicky's face back to hers and cups her chin with her hands.
"Hey. Tell me, it's okay," Daddy drawls, and Nicky's heart melts when the Latina tucks a red curl behind her ear.
That's when she decides- so help her God, Nicky Nichols is gonna kiss this bitch today.
"I've never been much for words, Duarte," Nicky says, moistening her bottom lip as her heart begins to race again.
Daddy arches an eyebrow inquisitively.
"I tend to express my feelings better with, uh, touching," the redhead mumbles, so quietly that she's not so sure what she's said in the first place.
And with that, Nicky Nichols leans forward and kisses Daddy square on the mouth.
Daddy doesn't pull away, or slap her, or scream at her, or do any of the things Nicky thought she would.
No, instead, Daddy kisses her back, hands tangling in her hair and tongue slipping urgently into her mouth.
Nicky's eyes shoot open with shock, with the sudden lightning bolt of realization that this is actually happening.
Oh, sweet fucking mother. Nicky hasn't felt like this since she laid eyes on a certain doe eyed Italian that she tries not to think about anymore, or since she slipped her hand into the pants of a girl with long dark hair and secretary glasses.
So, always one for tradition, Nicky pushes Daddy away.
"Yo, what the fuck?" Daddy snaps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She's surprised, taken aback, maybe even a little offended, and Nicky doesn't really blame her.
A shaky exhale passes through Nicky's kiss bruised lips as she heads for the door, her heart resuming an erratic, panicked rhythm. What was she thinking? What the hell was she thinking, walking into Daddy's cell like she fuckin' owned the place, begging for a hug like some goddamn five year old with no sense of boundaries?
This was stupid. She was stupid.
Nicky mumbles an apology, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tries to scramble away.
"Wait, wait, hold up, Nichols," Daddy calls, grabbing the ginger by the sleeve and pulling her back before she can make her grand exit.
Nicky gives the Latina an exasperated look, wrenching away from her grip. "That didn't mean anything, man, you of all people should know that," the ginger says, her throat and mouth painfully dry from her lies.
"Bullshit. I saw that look," Daddy drawls, her words suave and smooth and warm enough to send chills up Nicky's spine.
"What look?" Nicky chokes out, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. Her heart is racing and her palms are sweaty and she feels like she's going to throw up, and this is the best and worst thing she's ever fucking done in her life.
"The look you gave me before you kissed me," Daddy whispers, twirling a single red curl around her finger. A smirk plays across her lips. "The look you're givin' me right now."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Duarte," Nicky says, and the lie feels like a stripe of fire unfurling against her tongue.
"Hey, it's okay. Nobody's gotta know about your little crush on me," the Latina replies, and her hand moves from Nicky's hair to her neck.
Nicky swallows the spit that's accumulated in her mouth and averts her gaze, the knot of nerves in her chest growing tighter with each passing second.
Jesus. How's she gonna get herself out of this one?
"Daya doesn't have to know, Preggo doesn't have to know, none of these other bitches have to know that Nicky Nichols wants herself a daddy," the Latina says, and every word that rolls off her tongue sends a fresh jolt of… something into Nicky's chest.
"I...I don't want a daddy, I just want… someone," Nicky spits out, and at last, her eyes drift up to meet Daddy's.
"I want you," the redhead says, and her voice is throaty and raw and she thinks she can taste blood.
Fuck. Nicky can't believe this, she can't believe that she's been reduced to a shy, bumbling, awkward mess over some stupid schoolgirl crush that just might get her killed. Just like that, she's back in seventh grade, but Daddy isn't some cunty brunette straight girl making fun of Nicky for her lack of the newest Gucci sneakers.
Daddy kisses her again, so gently that Nicky doesn't even realize it's happening at first. And Nicky kisses her back, of course, because she is an idiot and so is Daddy if she's kissing her right where her little crack baby cult can see.
The Latina's hands softly cup Nicky's face, bringing her in even closer, deeper. Her hands slide down Nicky's waist and they stay there as her tongue slides into the redhead's mouth again.
God, she misses Lorna. She misses Lorna more than anything, misses her so much that it physically fucking hurts, an incurable ache, a bottomless void in her chest that will never be filled no matter who she sleeps with.
Tears spill past Nicky's eyes and roll down her cheeks, staining the khaki of her uniform and making the hollow space in her chest burn. She stops kissing Daddy, instead opting to collapse on the Latina's bunk and start sobbing uncontrollably, head buried in her hands and cheeks red.
The only word that runs through her mind, tattooing itself on her frontal lobe is fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-
And she's sobbing so hard, so fucking hard that she can't breathe, and-
Daddy takes her in her arms and rests her chin on the top of Nicky's head, whispering soft, soothing words that the ginger can barely register at all.
"Shit, shit, fuck, man, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doin' here-"
"Yo, shut up, Nichols. I got you," Daddy whispers, and Nicky goes limp and boneless in her arms despite the harshness in her words.
The ginger's shoulders heave with every violent sob that is wracked from her body, and her throat burns even harder with every fruitless gasp for breath. Daddy's grip tightens around her even as she smooths Nicky's hair back with her free hand, and the sheer feeling of comfort and safety is enough to elicit a fresh set of sobs.
"It's okay, Nichols," Daddy murmurs, soft and gentle and nothing like she usually is. She kisses the top of Nicky's head, her lips lingering a little longer than necessary as Nicky's hands clutch at her back.
Sooner or later, well, later, Nicky's red rimmed eyes that still shimmer with tears begin to close, for only the briefest of seconds at first, and then for almost a full minute. Shit, is she really beginning to fall asleep in here? Now, that takes the idiot cake, yes ma'am-
"It's okay," Daddy says. "The guards don't give a fuck what kind of company I keep."
It's okay.
Oh, fuck. Daddy is such an excellent liar.
And Nicky is willing to keep believing whatever lies Daddy feeds her for the foreseeable future.
Even if it fucking kills her.