Hey! :) So, here's another Nichorello one-shot. I'm so-so about this one. I like some parts more than others but if I stare at in any longer I'll probably just end up deleting it entirely. Ha. #writerstruggles, am I right? :)
So, as many people have been saying, and I agree with them, season 6 in with regards to Nichorello was a bit of a mess. Their scenes were too short to be satisfying and - I like Vauseman as much as the next person but they totally dominated screen time and Lorna's pregnancy arc. Ugh.
With that said, much like CoffeeWritingAddiction, I am hoping to write my takes things or what I wish were to have happened with Nichorello this season. :)
POOR BABY LORNA YOU DID NOT DESERVE THAT MY LITTLE ANGEL. This is basically a continuation of the end of 6X13. After Lorna, withering in pain, is escorted to medical by a guard and Nicky is out there playing a fun-in-the-sun game of kickball.
What happened? This is my wish. That's all it is though, wishful thinking because we all know how the writers love to keep our babies apart like they do.
So, here it goes: You Will Do Right By Her
I hope you like it (please review, they fuel my motivation to write! :) ) I want to know your thoughts! xx
Why wasn't she getting a shot? Why wasn't she getting a shot!? Why wasn't she getting a shot!? She was running. Running as fast as this fucking, shitty cotton polyester whatever- the- fuck jacket would let her.
It was weighing her down massively and if she'd had enough sense she would've chucked it off halfway, but she clearly did not. Not now, anyways. Not right fucking now, she didn't.
She was running, and she was hot and the blood in her veins would not stop circulating in the way that it did when she was gearing up for a high that would really fuck her up. And she was screaming. Bloody screaming, for Christ's sakes.
It was her name, so loud that its volume and her thick, bitter tears made her throat ache. Pretty fucking badly. Would somebody give her a god damn shot!? Any one of these entitled, fuckwit guards could do it – even Luscheck, the slovenly, unshaven, chiseling double-dealer.
Lorna was so angry, so vehement about who Luscheck really was after Nicky had told her what he'd done, why she was sent to Max, and the way those words hissed from her lips was frightening. Finally, she could see that wicked hot blood, the likes of which the name Morello promised, and it was kind of hot.
But he wouldn't. Course he wouldn't. He'd fucked her over once, and he wouldn't do it again. Surprisingly, his conscience was a deciding factor in the matter. Something she wouldn't have guessed.
A shot would establish normalcy. Getting sent back to her cell would establish normalcy. She'd passed Carol and Barb's now lifeless, bloody bodies lying there so pathetically on the floor, but she'd seen enough dead people during her time in this life that it never roused a reaction out of her.
The difference was that murder was more purposeful, deliberate even in the way of death; murder was an act of intent, what happens as a result is planned for. A drug overdose was not, is not. But neither one had room for regret. Had no moment afterwards to feel. Feel anger, feel sadness, feel disbelief. Feel shock. Feel another person's touch, the same one you'd only just felt hours before when everything was fine…you couldn't feel anything at all.
Nicky wasn't dead, she wasn't dying, but Lorna could be. For all she knew, it wasn't Nicky's touch that was her last, or the kicking of little Kitten Carmine but it was one of those guards who didn't know shit about babies and pregnant women or the female anatomy, one of those guards whose close colleague fucking suffocated that beautiful, sweetheart-faced, baby Washington – bless her soul.
She flashed back to Lorna's wildly connotative assumptions based on semantics and skin color alone. A black French. There was so much wonder in her voice, so much hope, the type a child carries with them when debating the existence of lonesome Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. 'Do people like her really exist? Or was she just a figment of our imagination this whole time?'
It hurt to think about that. It hurt to think about her at all when she could be dead. Jesus, this was what Taystee must have felt. Fuck me.
It took every ounce of self restraint not to have that mental picture in her head of Lorna, beautiful, 1950s Hollywood copycat Lorna, lying still on a bed in medical, the sheets unchanged, her skin even paler than usual, dry and cracking as mortality takes its toll, her physical body small and weak without the liveliness of muscle and tissue and vein; dead and gone before Nicky had even scored the winning run in that stupid, fucking war upending kickball game. And her girl would have been so proud.
She'd say slugger should be your nickname now. With a flirty little wink that would leave Nicky no choice but to grab her by the cheeks and kiss her, hard. Shots wouldn't concern her. Nothing would. Not with those cottony, sugared lips on her chapped ones. She really missed that lipstick. It reminded her a little bit of Harley Quinn. Or a brunette Sienna Miller. It really depended on the mood they were going for.
Her heart sank but continued to beat in a place within her that she had no idea existed before now. She hadn't accessed it when her mother died two years ago, or when she lodged that heroin inside her vein again for the first time in three years without the slightest bit of delicacy or thought. She'd wanted to feel the pain then, concentrate on that rush of it and nothing else, of the pain that came with allowing yourself to slip. It didn't allow a place for grief, though, but this newly-entranced cavern of herself did. And right now, she was drowning in it. Darkness was entrapping her, worst case scenarios made even worse.
They would never be 'going for' any sort of mood again. Not flirty, not slutty, not Fifty Shades of Grey (she'd read that one day per recommendations a plenty and damn).
Nicky chocked back a sob and fought the urge to scream again at the top of her lungs. Okay. She was almost there. She just had to turn the corner. She could do that.
"Lorna!" she screamed, but her voice was long gone now and so it was nothing like that. It was more of a gasp, breathy with disbelief, showing that she was frightened, scared out of her fucking mind, to face what she may.
The love of her sad, pathetic prison-ridden fucking life without breath in her lungs, without moisture on those lips or pheromones emanating from snowy flesh. Death. She had to be prepared to see death. And she wasn't fucking prepared. She would never be fucking prepared.
What she saw was Lorna's gaze trained on her, but not on her. Her skin was waxy, and her face was gaunt, mouth a thin, dry line that was quivering ever so softly. Fuck. Her lips were quivering. Which meant her mouth was moving and then holy shit she was talking.
"Nicky…oh god, Nicks I – "
She was alive. Fuckin A. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive
"Lorna, my sweet baby Lorna…" she cooed, gently pushing her hair back from her face and kissing her forehead, her lips barely making contact for fear of hurting her, somehow.
"You're in medical. Why the fuck – whatever, I'm just so glad you're okay. Is – "
The million-dollar question now – is the fetus okay? – died on her lips because once she looked down and saw the blood, most of it dry now, spreading out from her pelvic region there would be no winning answer. He was most definitely not okay. And that broke Nicky into a million other pieces, still not fully back together from the shock of Lorna, and now, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to put herself back together again.
The tears came without permission. And kept coming. And kept coming. Silent, mournful tears for the life that was lost, a life that hadn't even started, a life that Nicky loved, a person that Nicky loved, who didn't even get a chance.
A chance to show her that he could be more than them, that there was more for him than a mom in prison and a junky addict liar; that there was more for him than his deadbeat dad who, right now, was probably halfway across the country.
Nicky hadn't had the heart to tell his wife. His numbers weren't in service and he was probably fucking some blonde, skinny, low-rate whore. Stuff like that, like cheating and deceit from the male population, kept the world turning, but a baby dying – Lorna's baby, would stop it on its axis.
"Oh gosh, hon. Why are you crying? Hey, hey, Nicky, stop, stop, stop."
Lorna's voice was what made her get a grip. Lorna was here. Lorna hadn't left her.
"Christ, I'm sorry, kid. I shouldn't be snivelling like this."
Nicky let out a deep sigh, trailing her sweaty palm along Lorna's just as warm cheek.
"You're alive and you are the one who lost the baby, not me. I'm being a selfish bitch, I am a selfish bitch."
Lorna's eyebrows furrowed, her mouth puckered. It was confusion. She looked confused.
"What – lost the – oh, oh!"
Lorna giggled, it was faint, subdued, and there was a little bit of humor in it. Jesus, maybe she was a fucking psycho.
"Lorna," Nicky deadpanned. "What the fuck."
Lorna grabbed her hand in hers, kissed her knuckles three times over and laughed against her skin.
"I didn't lose the baby, hon. The doctors did a caesarian section and she survived. Kitten came out a little blue but with all four paws kicking."
Nicky didn't comprehend what she'd said at first.
She'd noticed the way that Lorna had said caesarian section was oddly verbatim, like it had come straight from the mouth of the doctor and into hers, her lips forming the word with a bit of struggle. Despite being a fake nurse for a few days, medical terms were never Lorna's speed.
Then, she'd heard Kitten and blue and her heart nearly stopped, but the smile on Lorna's face, was strung out but triumphant and did not match the feeling of grief. Of death.
Then, she'd caught one other thing.
"Did you say she? As in a girl?"
Lorna nodded. "That's right, kiddo. I did."
Then she grimaced, and Nicky wondered if she was experiencing any discomfort, suddenly hyper aware and watchful of every sensation in Lorna's body as if it were her own. She placed a hand softly onto hers, rubbing careful circles. "You okay, kid?"
Lorna groaned in response. "See? I knew it would only be cute when you said it."
Nicky wanted to laugh. And this time she did. It was actually kind of obnoxious. "Oh my god. That's why you made that face? Jesus, Lorn, I thought you were in massive pain or something."
"Oh," Lorna laughed too, quieter still. "No. Your ex best friends Mr. and Mrs. Opioid…yeah, they're treating me good. Very good, indeed."
"Holy hell, Lorn. You're high?"
Lorna giggled, shrugging her shoulders as best she could and with a coy little grin she placed a kiss onto Nicky's fingertips.
"I'd say yes. I'm pain-free and my honey's here and my baby girl is here and everyone I love except my husband is right here in this room. With me. Here."
Shit. The fact that she was high was more obvious now that it had been disclosed and talked about and suddenly, Nicky made a snap decision. She would handle this herself. Lorna would take it better right now than after the drugs wore off.
"Lorna…Lorn…I have to tell you something. Please, baby, don't freak out."
Lorna looked at her strangely. "Why would I?"
"I – uh – Vinny he – "
"He left me. High and dry. Hon, that's old news."
Nicky stared at her blankly, watching her blink, once, twice, three times in as many seconds, her eyes dry and void of tears.
"Excuse me?"
But Lorna pressed on, acting as though Nicky hadn't even spoken at all, past telling her some shocking revelation that she somehow already knew about.
"He couldn't do it. Said he couldn't deal with a cuckoo bird like me, called me a nutjob, a lunatic, every other word for crazy that's in the books. I wish Chapman were here. She could give you a list of those – uh – eh – syn-anemones. I miss that girl."
"Synonyms," Nicky pressed gently, because she couldn't help herself.
She was a bit of a pretentious dick when it came to knowledge, because as a former druggie, she'd prided herself very little on knowledge, past which connections were worth their time and which were a waste of it.
Still, Lorna continued to act like she hadn't spoken, and now Nicky couldn't help but hear a heavy, sleepy slur blanketing her words, but she was still as vivacious as ever, bubbly and sweet with a childlike inhibition that sometimes got her into trouble, all while it attains peoples' sympathy. Lorna Morello as the Comeback Kid.
Nicky smiled to herself, listening to Lorna babble on. Oh, kid, how I love you.
"And so, when Vinny was being dragged out by the guards and yelling some very bad things at me I – "
"Wait," Nicky zoned back into her drug-induced chatter at what was, very clearly, a moment in which she was suddenly lost. "What?"
She should have been paying more attention. But who could blame her? When there was talk about Vinny, Nicky was out of the picture. It's just how it was. And so, she'd learned to block it out. Just enough so Lorna wouldn't catch on to what she was doing. It didn't work this time.
"Nicky, were you even listening? Obviously not."
She clucked her tongue, a habit Nicky knew she'd picked up from her, and that made her smile even wider, despite the embarrassed blush that skittered in patches around her neck, those which Lorna was now staring at.
"Agh," she flicked the wrist which had the IV buried inside a vein.
"Are you kidding me, hon? I just blurted out my feelings towards you like I'm Alicia Silverstone – please tell me you've seen Clueless? – and all you can say is 'what?'"
Nicky couldn't help it, she rolled her eyes and trailed her tongue around her gums, sinking into each cheek and back.
"Babe, Clueless is a movie for the straightest, whitest chicks. Of course, I've seen it. My boyfriend Brock took me to a drive-in theatre and we drank soda from the same straw and shared popcorn from the same bag. Except, he did let me get my own pack of Skittles. What a gentleman, right?"
Lorna's eyes narrowed, and Nicky smirked.
"Fuck off," she very nearly spat, and she was so taken aback at Lorna's intense reaction to a ball-busting that she let out a sharp, inadvertent gasp and was suddenly on the defense.
"Well, fuck you too, then."
Now it was Lorna's turn to gasp. Her eyes filled with tears and Nicky was once again reminded how sensitive her little chick could really be.
"Oh, kid, no, it's – I'm sorry, I didn't mean – "
Nicky stopped abruptly, her hand paused on Lorna's cheek, her thumb wiping subtly still at the tears threatening to break the dam loose.
Lorna took a breath and bit her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving Nicky's. It was soulful and wide, but there was relief there, too. Acceptance.
"No. No, no. That was me. My bad. This is just something really huge for me to be saying to you and you were being such an ignoramus about it."
Just as Nicky opened her mouth to finish apologizing, Lorna stopped her.
"No. There will be more time for your shit later, Nichols.
All Nicky could do was nod.
Lorna looked calmer now, clearheaded and there was an expression of tranquil satisfaction on her face that could only be pinpointed to motherhood. Nicky thought that it just might be her favorite look. Even her O face couldn't beat this.
"I love you. I love you, and I always have. Vinny…Vinny was a placeholder. He was the husband I thought I was supposed to have, the man I thought I was supposed to adore. But the truth, hon, is that I adore a woman. I adore you and that has never changed, not even for a second."
Lorna reached out with both hands and put them on either side of her face. Meanwhile, Nicky could barely breathe. She couldn't look away, either. Couldn't stop hearing the words being said to her; all of it euphoric, like birds chirping, like trees whistling in the distant forest, like people whom once held grudges now being friendly and happy, Lorna being okay, alive and well, just like her baby girl. It was all so unbelievable.
And for a minute, Nicky thought it was just be a trick being played on her, that it would all fade to dust once she tries to grasp it in her palms. But it didn't.
When Nicky leaned in and pressed her mouth against Lorna's, she didn't pull away, didn't voice her qualms about being married, didn't shake her head and say 'no – no' just as Nicky deftly slipped in her tongue, and she didn't make her stop when Nicky said, 'let me take care of you.' None of it.
When they broke apart, Nicky lay her forehead against Lorna's. She could feel the crinkles of laughter indented in her flesh and had a strange feeling she had ones that matched. Her smile was so large it was like it was holding a promise to rip her face in two equal halves, and Lorna's was identical.
"Jesus Christ, I love you, Lorna Morello."
Lorna laughed, threading their fingers together. "You know, for a Jew, you sure take the Lord's name in vain quite a lot. I love you too, Nicole Nichols."
Nicky fought the urge to slap her upside the head but as soon as it appeared, the urge subsided.
She'd remembered telling Lorna that her name was really Nicole in a moment of pure, unadulterated weakness (like fucking Rizzo in the back of that beat-up Buick begging Kinicki to call her fucking Betty).
The girl was sucking on her neck like a vampire out for blood and it made her feel loved in this stupid, teenaged lustful sense of the word; not to mention that they were completely sloshed to smithereens, curtesy of Washington's hooch, which suspended everything, every limb, touch, breath, in a pool of some weird concoction these people were content to call alcohol.
Some actually liked it. Nicky was not one of those people, and neither was Lorna, as told by the fucking adorable face she makes that's close to a grimace but not quite. But Drunk Lorna was also Horny Lorna and who would she be if she were to deny herself of that little treat?
It was a moment of coitus drunkus she'd told Lorna afterwards, - "see, Lorn, pig-Latin isn't all that hard."
At this, Lorna had snorted her laughter in response and Nicky had buried her face in the crook of her damp shoulder, which was still vibrating from laughter, and nearly cried like a little weakling.
Nobody else knew that here. Not even Red. At least Lorna had been sort of nice about it, fucking Resnikov would've had a field day.
Nicole Nichols. Fuck, her parents really must have hated her. It must've not been an act after all.
"Okay," Lorna had said after her laughter finally stopped.
"I promise I'll never call you Nicole again. But in my defense, you told me to. You were pretty insistent actually, Miss Drunk-y Pants."
Nicky had grumbled. "Yeah, well that's 'cause you were on hot pursuit of my neck and I felt - "
She had wanted to say loved, cared for, safe, but none of that came out. "Drunk. I felt drunk."
"You can say that again, hon," Lorna had mumbled but Nicky felt the smile against her skin as Lorna returned to lavishing her neck like she had been before.
Now, when the name Nicole came from in between Lorna's lips, she felt as though she could finally tell her all of those words she'd wanted to use that day in the chapel. 'I feel loved and cared for by you, I feel safe because of you. You are my world.'
Suddenly, a cry pierced the silence and a nurse – a male nurse, notably, came rushing in from where he must have been - god knows where, come to think of it, what kind of maximum security facility is this shit show? Nicky thought, but was immediately thankful for his absence then and his presence now.
He went over to the bassinet that was in the corner of the room and with a start, Nicky remembered why they were here and what led them to this moment in the first place.
The nurse placed the baby on Lorna's chest and just like a natural born mother would, she took her gratefully, cooing sweet nothings at her all while pulling down the side of her hospital gown and exposing herself to this helpless man and Nicky, who was ogling just a little because come on, those nipples really were the size of helipads and suddenly, Nicky didn't trust herself to remain professional.
Lorna gave her a look, like she knew exactly what she was thinking, and shook her head with a subtle smirk.
"Hey there, eyeballs," she rasped, and Nicky began to think that maybe the thoughts going through her mind weren't so pure either. "I'm just feeding my baby. This peepshow is not for your viewing pleasure."
"Are you sure, kid? Cause I mean, it's just hanging right out."
Lorna didn't respond. She didn't need to. It wasn't her body she was enraptured by now, but the look on her face. It was filled with such an unsurmountable love and tenderness and suddenly, Nicky understood the definition of unconditional and finally, after thirty-one years, understood what that looked like. What that felt like.
"Her name's Anya."
"Oh?" Nicky was confused. What happened to Carmine? She hadn't minded that name.
Still smiling down at the baby, Lorna said "it means 'bringing goodness' in Russian. You know, for Red.
"She brought so much goodness into my life, the whole family – like you said, she made me cookies - and I think I forgot that when I came here, and I got caught up in all this C Block/ D Block stuff…And I just want to show her that I love her you know, in a way that I can, now. Besides, I would never, under no circumstance name a baby Red."
Nicky laughed. "I get it. I think it's beautiful. Red will flip when she hears about it, no doubt."
Lorna nodded. "Anya Carmine Morello. My little Kitten."
Nicky stared at the baby for a minute, marvelling just how much the little peanut looked like her mother, thankfully at that. She had sharp cheekbones, indented in soft, baby skin, with gorgeous dark eyes and a bald head that would all too soon be home for downy curls that match.
"She's beautiful, Lorn," Nicky murmured, kissing the side of her head. "I'm so proud of you, kid."
Her daughter came at a price though, and Nicky saw that just by looking at her. She had bruises under her eyes, her lips were colourless and bare, and her hair was unkempt, in matts that would only come out in the shower. Still though, Lorna Morello was the most beautiful woman she has ever seen, and always will be. No other person would ever come close. Except, maybe Anya.
"I love you," Lorna mouthed in response, her voice muted with exhaustion and spent adrenaline.
Nicky smiled and kissed her lips this time, then the baby's aromatic little head. Babies really did have that newborn baby smell. People weren't making that shit up.
"I love you, too."
"Nicks?" she said suddenly, and Nicky nodded at her.
"Yeah, babe? Wait, before you say anything else – uh – so you know, my dad, he – uh – he used to call me Nick. Still does, I guess and – uh –
Jesus, Nichols, she berated herself, stop stuttering!
"What?" Lorna asked her, picking up on her strained delivery. "You don't like it? I won't call you that anymore if – "
"No, no, Lorn. That's not it. Sorry, I – uh – god this is dumb. What I'm trying to say is I like it because it sounds feminine and uh – "
"Yeah? Well then I'll keep calling you that, then." Lorna smiled at her, sweet and patient.
"Good," Nicky breathed, breathless now. "It means that I'm your girl. Thank you. Thank you for letting me be your girl, kid."
Lorna's eyes softened, and it looked like she was going to start crying again. "And you know I'm your girl too, right?"
"Of course. You've always been my girl, Veda Sultenfuss."
"Oh geez," Lorna chuckled, and Nicky kissed her again. She couldn't help it.
There was a minute of silence in which they just enjoyed each other's company and the sound of the baby fussing slightly before Lorna interrupted it.
"Do you want to hold your baby, Momma?"
"What?" Nicky asked, but Lorna was already all but thrusting Anya into her arms.
Relaxing back onto the bed, Lorna smiled. "I want to do this with you, Nicks. If you're up for it."
"Is that really your way of asking me to raise a child with you? Way to get straight to the punch, Lorn."
She laughed, and Nicky grinned.
"I've done enough beating around the bushes lately as Red would say, don't you think?"
"Kid, I love this baby more than I love myself, or Red, or anyone but you. I was ready to raise this little peanut the second those tests lit up like Times Square on Christmas Eve. All you had to do was ask."
With a smile of her own, Lorna nodded tearfully. "Well, I'm asking."
"And I'm saying yes."
What separated the two of them from a searing kiss was Anya's cries – their daughter's cries.
"I've got her," Nicky whispered, taking the baby again from off of Lorna's chest, where she was placed after her vitals were taken, and began to sing, softly.
"When I'm stuck with a day that's grey, and lonely, I stick out my chin and grin and say oh!"
Nicky made a face at the baby, hoping Anya would laugh, but knowing full well that she wouldn't, that it was impossible at just hours old, although it was worth a shot. It did stop her cries though, dulling them to mere whimpers.
"The sun will come out tomorrow, so you gotta hang on till tomorrow…"
Then there was quiet and so she stopped singing, shooting a secret grin at Lorna like they were the greatest parenting team in the entire prison. And they probably were, given the lack of prisoners in that particular pool. But whatever.
"You're perfect," Lorna mumbled, and Nicky saw right then just how tired the poor girl really was. She was barely hanging on.
"Oh babe," Nicky cooed, "I'm the lucky one."
Lorna shook her head, but Nicky wasn't sure if it was to refute the statement or just a muscle twitch that her half-conscious brain couldn't make her body suppress.
"Remember when you said that you were afraid of not doing right by Red? With your case and all?"
"Mhm," Nicky hummed, straining to hear over the waves of descending sleep sluicing over Lorna's vocal cords.
"Well, you never have to be afraid of not doing right by your daughter. You will do right by her, just like you do right by me, every single day of your life. You got me, Nichols?"
"I hear you, Morello," Nicky told her, putting one arm around her shoulders and gently stroking underneath Anya's little knees. As she watched a grin settle on Lorna's face, she left a smack-inducing kiss on her cheek.
"And I love you so, so much."