Vera thought back to the events of today and repressed a shudder, just when she thought she'd seen seen everything in this job the women seemed to take it upon themselves to prove her unequivocally wrong. Remembers numbly standing alone in the courtyard after Joan's lynching, breathing heavily the makeshift noose discarded at her feet, trying to reason with herself, trying to understand her jumbled thoughts, but it had been pointless. She had no real understanding of her own feelings, was unable to explain her actions even to herself. She could scarcely believe that she'd been happy yesterday morning, had been about to tell Channing he could shove his job where the sun didn't shine. Even Joan's comments about her losing the Governorship had barely scratched the surface, she was leaving, and Joan fucking Ferguson couldn't touch her. She was free to live out the rest of her miserable existence in this hell hole, whilst Vera got on with the rest of her life.
For the first time in her life she had been happy, truly happy, screw the Governorship, her mother's deathlike grip on her life was finally gone and her brief stint as Governor had been worth something; she'd hired the very person wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but it had all come crashing around her ears, as everything good in her life did, she thought bitterly. This time though it hadn't been through her mother's rasping scorning voice, but rather Joan's honeyed mocking tones letting her know she'd orchestrated everything had played Vera for a fool yet again. And she'd been so angry, angry at Joan for refusing to leave her alone, furious at Jake for stringing her along and laughing at her behind her back, but mostly angry at herself for letting her guard down, for believing for a moment that she had something she knew truly she'd never have, she didn't deserve, and it had taken all the strength she possessed to walk away from Ferguson without saying anything, without punching her in her smug face, without breaking down completely in front of her. She wasn't stupid though and knew her facial expressions had told Ferguson exactly what she needed to know... that she'd well and truly broken her, that she'd won yet again. Ferguson's smirk as the elevator door had shut had been testament to that.
And in less than twenty-four hours she could have washed her hands of Ferg- of Joan, of the woman who had ruined her both professionally and personally, completely. She wasn't Governor anymore, Joan had signed a legal document saying that her well-being was of no concern to the prison, it's Governor or the guards. She would have felt no professional repercussions; no professional guilt, but personal guilt was another story, even now it clawed at her. The fact she'd made her sign that document, the fact she'd waited so long to act, the fact that a part of her, a large part of her, had told herself, that this was what Ferguson deserved, had told her to just let the prisoners get on with it... an eye for an eye and all of that. That part of her had remembered the day she'd been taken hostage herself wondered if the fear on Joan's face had been the same as hers, as the needle had been pushed into her neck, but she hadn't dwelt on it, that look on Joan's face, as the prisoners had forced the rope round her neck had terrified her, and she'd quickly been back on the radio screaming at Channing to order the guards into the yard, because this... this would never be right.
At Channing's refusal she'd been motionless for a moment staring in horror as Joan was lifted into the air. She'd taken another second before opening to the gate, shrugging Jake and his feeble protests about Linda's safety off and running into the yard. The choice of Linda's attackers had been the biggest clue that the prisoners were bluffing; a prisoner with two months left of their sentence was never going to shiv a screw in front of about fifty witnesses. Vera's fear had grown as she looked over at Ferguson, her eyes bloodshot, face red, and most worrying of all, no longer struggling. She'd whipped back round screaming in desperation; almost falling over in relief as the shiv had been removed from Linda's neck and dropped on the floor. She'd quickly picked it up and run Ferguson, barely noticing the other officers finally entering the courtyard as she'd cut Joan down. Her brain had briefly short-circuited as she'd turned Joan around and removed the noose, before her training had kicked in and she'd urgently searched for a pulse, a split moment of gut wrenching terror as she hadn't found one before she began to administer mouth to mouth, counting desperately as she started chest compressions. She'd fallen backwards partly out of utter shock and partly out of sheer relief, as Joan had taken a desperate lungful of air and her eyes had shot open.
The clearing of the prisoners from the yard along with Joan's removal to medical had passed Vera in a complete blur, she remembers Jake trying to speak to her pushing him away to instead stare at the makeshift gallows her mind completely numb, as she considered the mob mentality, the absolute animalistic brutality these women, the women Vera saw every single day, possessed and it chilled her to the bone. Joan had betrayed her, had manipulated her, had moulded her into the perfect puppet, effectively blinding her to the horrific deeds she had done, in and outside of the prison walls, and she hadn't stopped there, she'd made it her goal to ruin Vera both professionally and personally, but what those women had done, what Channing had allowed them to do, under the guise of Linda's safety, wasn't and would never be right. In the end it had been the eerie silence which had enveloped the yard, that less than ten minutes ago, had served as court and execution site, that had forced Vera to leave.
The looks she had received from her fellow officers as she'd trudged back into the prison... she'd saved a human's life, and they had looked at her in utter disgust. Linda's words at Will had echoed directly in her head "you should have let her burn" 'and I should have let her hang' Vera thought wearily before shaking her head. How can they begin to consider themselves better than Joan whilst harbouring these thoughts; that she should have been left to be burnt alive, left to be hanged... lynched. Channing's utter refusal to listen to reason, his excuses to Vera's protests about wanting Joan to be immediately moved to protection, had proven beyond doubt that he wanted Joan dead before the day was out, and Vera had cursed the document she'd made Ferguson sign once more.
She'd strode into medical after her disastrous argument with Channing trying to kid herself into believing that she definitely wasn't here to catch a glimpse of Joan, to check she was still safe. At the light tapping on the window Vera had tried, she'd really tried, to just glance at Joan and move on, but as she'd stopped and turned her head her heart had constricted painfully, because the woman she was looking at couldn't be Joan. Vera's mind had gone back to the days after Bea's death after Joan had been released back into the general prison population and had been attacked, she'd thought she'd looked bad then, but this was worse, so much worse. Joan looked, for the first time since Vera had visited her at the psychiatric hospital, defeated. The last few hours seemed to have aged her considerably and there was no sign of the arrogance, the control, the confidence she usually possessed.
Loath as she was to continue taking orders from Joan, she had been unable refuse, when she'd motioned for her to join her in the bay. She'd been shocked when Joan had thanked her, but even more so by the stutter in her voice as she said it. Vera had never once heard her stutter before, 'just another example of how she's losing control' she'd thought sadly observing as Joan had perched on the end of her bed. Before asking the question, Vera couldn't even answer to herself let alone Joan "why did you do it?". She'd chosen silence glaring contemptuously at Joan in lieu of a response and Joan had scoffed a slight reminder of the woman behind the fear coming to the forefront "whatever happens your humanity always wins out. Is that it?" she'd sneered. Still unable to formulate a response Vera had turned to leave before being stopped by Joan once more "if I go to General, your good deed will have been in vain". Vera had turned back clenching her jaw slightly "there's nothing I can do" she'd shot back "you could speak to the board on my behalf. Get me moved to protection". "That would take days. Channing's moving you to H Block this afternoon" Vera had responded the obvious words unsaid left hanging in the air. At these words Joan had cast her eyes downwards her fear coming to the forefront once more "you know what will happen to me there". Vera's heart had constricted once more at these words, as her own words the last time they were in medical came back to haunt her 'I hope you do die', she'd briefly closed her eyes guilt and regret washing over her. Words she'd said in anger, and had never really meant seemingly coming to fruition. The phrase 'be careful what you wish for, because it might just come true' had momentarily come to the forefront of her mind. After collecting herself she'd responded "it's not my decision. I am powerless now" she'd been unable to leave Joan's responsibility for this to remain unnoticed as she added "you did too good a job on me" before she'd turned and left.
Now sat in the, mercifully empty, staffroom Vera absent-mindedly touched her neck, her fingers running over where Lucy had placed the needle had contaminated her, as she'd waited for the Governor, for Joan, to rescue her. Remembers trying to reason with herself as she was locked in the cell, as she'd felt the now infected blood trickle slowly down her neck. Yes she may have taken her time she remembers thinking, but surely she'd just been trying every option, every possible avenue, she was nothing if meticulous after all, but she'd opened the gates told the officers to retreat so Vera was as safe as could possibly be under the circumstances. She'd conceded. Vera had held onto this as she waited; Joan Ferguson, the Fixer, had conceded to prisoners to keep her safe, that had to mean something, didn't it? Then Miles had thrown the truth at her, Joan had removed her hand at her admission of her hepatitis C, had refused to accept any culpability for what had happened. The phrase 'I don't negotiate with prisoners' rang in Vera's head. Vera scoffed to think she'd ever believed that Joan cared about her in the slightest. She knows if the roles had been reversed she wouldn't have even waited, have attempted another strategy. Joan's safety would have been her only priority at that time. The SESG would have been called, regardless of the effect it would have had on her Governorship, her reputation. Vera sighed she hadn't even been worth a dint to Joan's persona, to her control, to her standing with the prisoners.
This she thinks venomously was the difference. The answer to why she'd saved Joan. Joan, despite everything, had refused to help her, and Vera despite everything had made the decision to save her. She remembers the words she'd spoken to Joan months, a lifetime, ago her vehement belief that she would never do what Joan had done to her to anyone, that she and Joan were nothing alike and grimaced at least she'd proven herself correct on that count, if Joan was going to scorn her for the retention of her humanity, right at the moment she thought she might have lost it forever, thanks to that very woman's ministrations, she would more than gladly take it. Despite all of her attempts Joan hadn't broken her completely, and Vera held onto this fact for all it was worth. She was still there. Although what good her actions would do in the long run, with Channing and the prisoners on the warpath, was another question. For all of Joan's extensive planning and scheming the truth was all she had to show for it were two broken women.