A/N: Hey, apologies this part took so long - real life got in the way for a little bit there, especially with the holidays and everything.

I also realised I was trying to shoehorn in some more of the inmates, when I really needing to be moving a different part of the story along right now, so more Litchfield regulars - including some who have yet to make an appearance - will be featuring, but hopefully you won't mind finding out a little more about the new counsellor along the way. She's a dark horse, that one ... ;)

Thanks to everyone reading, and especially to those leaving feedback - I love hearing from you!

13. Judge As A Sober

"You're nice. You think you're not, but you are. Thanks for being nice to me …"

Luschek looked over at his newest co-worker bemused. Despite her recent trauma and subsequent injuries, they'd actually managed – by his reckoning at least, and he hoped she wouldn't contradict him – to have a decent time, just shooting the shit in the bar over burgers and a few beers. Low-key. Nothing to get carried away over. Definitely not a date. No, sir. Although more's the pity, he had to admit, to himself if no one else.

"Okay, were you sneaking shots behind my back? How are you this hammered?"

"Am not!" Dallas protested, tripping over the edge of the pavement in the dark and grabbing his arm to steady herself with a giggle that was as good as an admission, despite her protest.

"Sure," he drawled wryly. "Judge as a sober."

"'Sactly," she nodded, making him laugh.

"Okay, Little Miss Lightweight, home time …" Luschek said, a little caught off-guard – although definitely not objecting - when she wrapped both arms around one of his and snuggled up to him. Even in sweatpants and with a bandage on her face, she'd still had no trouble drawing admiring glances and he knew he'd definitely had some disgruntled looks thrown his way as a by-product of the assumptions made. Not that Dallas seemed to notice any of it.

"Jooooel … I might have maybe … done a bad thing," she said, her words slurring just a little as she shot him a guilty look.

"Oh yeah? Sounds promising," he grinned.

"I kinda maybe … took more painkillers … with my beers …"

Ah. Now it was all falling into place. And for all his faults, of which there were many, no way was he pulling a dick move like taking advantage of that. Not with her.

"Jesus …" he sighed, realising that, for once in his life, he was pretty much going to have to play the responsible adult – and to a very cute, very wasted, and surprisingly touchy-feely drunk, no less. An experience he was already starting to see had all the potential to prove torturous. "Okay, it's definitely home time."

Fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel and narrowed eyes checked the dashboard clock against a Rolex watch. Again.

Nearly midnight. On a fucking Monday.

That she'd stood him up, that much was crystal clear, but staying away until all hours … That was just childish. But, Christ, if he wasn't tempted to let her play that game. To be right there on the doorstep whatever time she finally got home. Because she had to come home sometime … Right?

She had a new job, he knew that much. What else might be new in her life?

The insidious little thought that she might not return home after all, that she might spend the night in someone else's bed, threatened to take hold and his hands tightened on the wheel. No. That wouldn't … She couldn't … No, just … no.

"Where the fuck are you, Dallas?" he seethed to himself, raking a hand through slicked back dark hair and forcing himself to swallow a growl of pent-up frustration.

If he wasn't careful, someone was going to call the cops. A strange car parked up outside the nice little house in a quiet area … The neighbours probably hadn't reported him already solely because the Lexus screamed class over potential house breaker. He'd already driven away and returned twice though …

The clock was ticking.

And, with every second that passed, the more likely it seemed that his worst fear might be true. His fiancée was making good on her threat – and moving on without him.

Not for the first time, in her many years at Litchfield, Red cast her eyes to the ceiling and heaved a sigh. This time, she really did feel too old for this shit. Pacing the halls in the dark in her nightshirt and flipflops, her makeshift headscarf knotted sloppily over her still patchy hair, dodging the not-so watchful eye of the guards.

At least she found the missing Morello exactly where and as she expected – huddled up in the corner of a store cupboard, on a pile of old blankets that smelled vaguely of mildew and something less easily defined. Her knees were drawn up to her chest in a way that certainly wasn't going to be possible a few months down the line, her arms wrapped around them, and her eyes were swollen from crying.

"Lorna … Is it just possible you might be overreacting?" she half-scolded, half-sympathised.

The Russian matriarch may have been feeling her years, but she could well remember the emotional turmoil that came with carrying a child. And she had been fortunate enough that those particular experiences had not coincided with her long-standing, but more recent – relatively speaking - experiences of incarceration.

"I … I don't know!" Lorna sniffled, seeming to lack the energy for further histrionics, even if pride or stubbornness wouldn't quite let her back down. "Maybe. Does it even really matter? She's supposed to be on my side. My side!"

"And wanting the best for you, that is not being on your side?" Red demanded, arms folded across her chest. "Did it not occur to you that Nicky herself is talking to this woman? Do you think badly of her for it?"

But Lorna wasn't going to be won over as easily as that, pooh-poohing the very notion that Nicky could be taking her counselling seriously. "Nicky's not interested in letting that broad in her head – just between her legs," she sneered, through her tears.

"Oh, come on, Lorna. Surely you can see through her little fronts by now. I'm not going to deny Nicky has an eye for a pretty face, but do you really think she would care whether you gave this Ford a chance or not if that was all she was interested in? Maybe, just maybe, she was telling you the truth. Maybe she realised this woman is actually capable of doing some good around here. She wants to help you. Is that so wrong?"

"I don't need fixing!"

Red levelled a knowing look at the younger woman. "She said as she sits crying in a closet …"

"What if … What if I talk to her and she tells everyone I'm crazy too. Then when they … When they take my b-baby away … Oh god, Red, they'll never let me get her back!"

It would take a colder heart than even Red's not to break at the young mother-to-be's scared little sobs and she closed her eyes for a moment, realising there might be a lot of truth in Lorna's words, no matter what. It was hard enough to be away from her boys, knowing they were grown men. She couldn't imagine having them raised by another as mere babies.

"Lorna, listen to me," she tried finally. "None of us can tell you the future, not for certain. But it seems to me that refusing help when it is offered, that cannot help your case. Accepting it … At least that gives you a fighting chance – and for your child, you fight. Even when all hope seems lost, you fight."

Oblivious to the steely gaze from across the shadowy deserted street, Luschek couldn't help laughing as Dallas stumbled out of the cab and, thankfully managing to avoid face-planting in the gutter, into his arms.

"You're gonna have your hands full with that one, buddy," the cab driver grinned from his open window, drinking in another eyeful before pulling away with a little salute. "Enjoy!"

"Whoops!" Dallas giggled, pushing a stray lock of her ponytail out of her eyes as she tried to steady herself. "That was fun. You're fun, Joel. Did I tell y'that already?"

"Several times," he said wryly, trying to guide her out of the middle of the road – not that there was too much danger of getting run over after midnight in the quiet neighbourhood where she was currently the loudest thing in sight. He doubted she'd want the neighbours witnessing her coming home off her face though. He could imagine a pretty young professional being welcomed with open arms. A drunken party girl, not so much.

"It's still early, reeeeal early," Dallas managed, her words still slurring more than a little. "Where we goin' next, huh, Joel?"

"Bed," he said firmly, aiming for his sternest correctional officer glare - only to realise exactly how that might sound as her face shifted from exaggerated pseudo-shock to impish glee.

"But I'm not sleepy …"

Christ, she might be a mess, but she was definitely a hot mess and, at this rate, she was almost certainly gonna be the death of him.

Those fingers were now gripping the steering wheel so tight the knuckles had turned white, much like the white-hot anger that felt like it was going to simply burn him up from the outside in.

He slammed a palm against the dark leather, choking back what could have been a howl of frustration if only he'd let it out instead of trying to wrestle his emotions back down like some kind of wild beast.

Weeks they'd been apart. Fucking weeks.

Okay, maybe months, maybe. But only just. And yet there she was, throwing herself at some deadbeat loser right under his nose. Clearly drunk, giggling at nothing like some fucking airhead. After all her tears and her bullshit broken-heart guilt trips, the way she'd made him cow down and feel like shit, she was the one fucking around with someone else like he didn't even exist!

No wonder she kept throwing his attempts to apologise back in his face, he realised through the fog of his growing fury. All this time, making him out to be the bad guy, and how long had it taken her to drop her panties for the first guy who looked her way?

It was all he could do not to throw open the car door, storm over there and knock that scruffy bastard's teeth down his fucking throat. Then they'd see what Little Miss Perfect had to say for herself. Oh yes, they would …

If she thought he was giving up without a fight, she had another think coming.

His spidey-sense tingling, Luschek had paused on the porch step, not quite able to shake the feeling of eyes on his back and yet assuming it was just paranoia at the thought of disturbing the most likely well-to-do neighbours. Then he'd had to take the keys from Dallas to get them in the lock, or they'd still have been stood there come morning, and his attention had fully returned to his charge.

He couldn't just leave her to fend for herself, or that's what he was trying to tell himself anyway. What if she'd fallen down the stairs and broken her damn neck on top of everything else?

But having coaxed her into leaving the stereo off, not trying to make popcorn, and not going out into her tiny backyard, he'd finally helped her to her room and was just trying to figure out his next move as she sang to herself. At least she seemed to be a largely happy drunk. He'd had a roommate once who insisted on watching The Crow on a loop and quoting half the script in between bouts of crying, so there was that …

Before Luschek had time to realise what was happening, Dallas kicked off her sneakers, peeled her hoodie and t-shirt over her head and shimmied out of her sweatpants, looking like she was dancing to music only she could hear and leaving him trying not to stare at the sight of infinitely more lightly tanned skin than he'd banked on seeing.

"Uh …"

Fuck, it was a damn fine view, but this could not end well if he didn't – god help him – shut this down.

"Right," he said briskly, trying to ignore the reality of her in nothing but tiny scraps of lace as he whipped a blanket off her bed and wrapped her up in it before she could get any comfier. "Sleepy time for you."

"Jooooel," she giggled in protest. "I'm not cold, silly!"

"Oh, sure you are. You just stay all snug as a bug, atta girl …"

"Are you gonna stay with me?" she asked coyly, pouting when he shook his head hard.

"No! Nooooo … You're gonna stay right here and I'm gonna … go …" he said, hoping he sounded more insistent than he felt and idly wondering firstly if she might have any iced water in her fridge, and secondly, if throwing it over his head would do any good.

"Thank you for looking after me," Dallas murmured, dragging him into a hug even as she plopped herself down on the bed. Then, just when he thought she was going to literally fall asleep on him, like they were in some bad comedy movie, she leaned in and kissed him.

Christ, he was trying so hard not to be a dog, but … Well, he wasn't fucking dead.

He couldn't resist kissing her back, as soft lips parted willingly under his and her tongue tangled with his - before he forced himself to pull away and her face fell again.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, touching a hand to her injured cheek without even seeming to realise she was doing it, the confidence suddenly stripped away. "Don't you like me?"

"Dallas," Luschek sighed, as she curled up on the bed in her cocoon of blankets and he sat on its edge, deciding he might as well take the plunge, especially as there was a pretty good chance she might not even remember it by morning. "You're gorgeous, you're fun – shit, you're half naked under there – and this is taking more fucking self-restraint than I ever thought I had! But, even if there's a pretty good chance this'll never happen again, I don't want it to happen now just because you're off your tits on pain meds. And I definitely don't want you to wake up regretting it. Because of course I like you. I really like you. So you should get some rest, 'cause tomorrow's probably gonna be pretty rough. Dallas?"

She was already asleep.

He never thought he'd say it, but thank fuck for that.

To be continued ...