A/N:

I very nearly abandoned this story. I had started "Love Makes a Family" just as Season 4 was winding down, and by the third chapter, I was suffering the same devastation over Bea's death and the senseless tragedy of the Ballie story line as every other Wentworth fan.

I waited like many others for news of a Season 5, and unrealistically hoped that somehow, despite the odds and my own intellect, Bea would survive. When it became clear that was not going to be the case, I quite frankly mourned for a bit.

4 episodes into Season 5 now, I can still see the gaping hole in the cast where Bea used to be, but I am going with the flow and trying to enjoy the other plotlines for what they are. That I do so without the same level of investment I had in Season 4 is sad, but true.

What I realize now is that the 'Ballie' story line was an extraordinary gift, and I am happy I had the chance to witness it at all. I am no longer going to mourn a portrayal of love that clearly ended with two seahorse clouds in the sky; I am instead going to celebrate that it happened at all. And I am going to extend the highest kudos I can possibly offer to Danielle Cormack and Kate Jenkinson for making us feel every step of their journey as 'Ballie', and to their rare and tender love story that always felt so much more fully and realistically imagined than any other lesbian screen romance I have yet to witness.

As much as I adore Franky and Bridget, and as much as I am rooting for them in Season 5, I have never felt quite the same level of investment as I did for Bea and Allie, and I still don't. Not all stories about women loving women are created equal – Ballie was – and still is – untouchably special. And so, I choose now to keep them alive in an Alternate Universe, and to allow them some of the real life chances and experiences the walls of Wentworth snuffed out too soon.

Thanks for listening.

Ps…I'm a little rusty, so please hang in there while I get my bearings on this story again.

Pulling up behind Bridget's car, Bea noticed Franky's bright red Lancer a little further up the street. For a few moments she sat idling, trying to decide whether she was up to dealing with Franky tonight. Mostly she adored the woman with her infectious charm and her knack for well-timed, one-off zingers that would shame the Pope and get her arrested in a long list of less progressive countries. But keeping up with Franky required energy she just wasn't feeling tonight. She really wanted to see Bridget, but more and more, that meant seeing Franky too; Bea felt herself waxing nostalgic for the days before Bridget had completely lost her mind and fallen arse over elbow for one of Melbourne's most notorious, lesbian bad girls.

Nah, can't do it. Not tonight. Sighing, Bea shifted her clutch into reverse when Murphy's Law promptly intervened and Bridget's porch light switched on. Fuck me. Can't catch a godamned break. Resigned, she shifted the car into park as her best friend waved to her from the porch. Bridget's warm, sincere smile and expressive eyes had always touched Bea and made her feel cared for, and despite her reticence, tonight was no different. Swinging the car door shut behind her, Bea climbed the porch stairs and headed straight into the waiting arms of her smiling friend. Bea relished the hug, and relaxed into Bridget's embrace.

"How'd it go, kiddo?" Bridget finally asked, without letting go.

"Fucking disaster," Bea mumbled. Bridget stepped back, hands still on Bea's shoulders, and took a good look.

"That bad?" She asked. Bea looked quickly away, then back at Bridget, and shyly muttered "yeah. That bad."

"Come on," Bridget grabbed Bea's hand and led her into the house. "Franky," she shouted from the entrance, "Bea's here! Pour her a nice, big glass of red would ya, babe?"

"Sure Gidge! Anything for my favourite hairdresser…where is she?" Still holding onto Bea's hand, Bridget led her into the kitchen where Franky was busy pouring wine. "Here she is," Bridget announced, when Franky turned to Bea, large glass of Shiraz in hand, and a full on dazzling smile aimed straight at her guest.

"Hey Red, looking good!" Franky appraised, handing her the wine, and offering a warm, one armed, hug. Bea couldn't help chuckling a little. "What is it with you women?" She muttered; "I'm a bloody mess, and this is when the ladies think it's a good time to pour on the charm!?" Bea philosophically floated the question, to no one in particular.

"Chicks hitting on ya again at the shop, yeah?" Franky wiggled her eyebrows, hands on hips, still smiling her full on Franky-smile.

"Nah," Bea smiled, embarrassed. "The Grief Centre, of all bloody places."

"Shit Red, that takes some balls! Looked just like me, did she? Totes irresistible?" Franky batted her eyelashes, Bridget rolled her eyes, and Bea let out a small laugh.

"No. Sorry Franky, nothing like you. First of all, she's blonde." Bea shook her head, what the fuck was she talking about this for?

"Well, damn Red, I'd like to tell ya Blondes are boring, but ya know I can't do that with Gidge standing right here." Franky winked at her girlfriend. "Cute, was she?"

"Shit Franky, I don't know. Yeah, I guess. But that's not the point. I mean, who does that? Hit on someone at a grief group?"

"Someone with some real big cajones, Red, that's for sure. Or one of those weirdo, psycho stalker type chicks?"

Bea did laugh at this. "That's what she said. Stalker. I'm a magnet for the whack jobs. Nutters know no gender."

Franky just looked at her for a few seconds, then raised her eyebrows – "shit Red, you like her don't ya?! You do, I can see it in your eyes. They're smiling! Look Gidge! Red's got smiling eyes! Damn! I knew you had it in ya!"

"Stop Franky," Bea squirmed. "She was nice, sweet really. Kind of funny even. But she's a stalker, and I'm not gay. So," Bea pleaded, "can we please just let's just forget about it?"

Franky considered her options for a second. "Ok, listen up Bea, I'm gonna cut you some slack here before Gidge cuffs me one. But this isn't over yet." She wagged her finger at Bea, and then turned back toward her stool at the Island and sat back down with her glass of wine, solemnly, the absolute portrait of piety.

Bea breathed a sigh of relief and looked to Bridget to lead the conversation in a more constructive direction, which she did, patting an empty stool, encouraging Bea to have a seat. As she settled on the stool, she felt Bridget's hand cover hers; taking a small sip of wine, she finally looked up to meet the caring eyes of her friend, and a surprisingly compassionate Franky.

"I bailed, Bridge." She breathed deeply and continued. "I tried to keep my head in the game like you said, ground myself, listen and engage; but the whole time I was on the verge of bolting, and it took so much thinking and so much strength to stay as long as I did. There was this couple; they were so lovely and so sad, and then for some reason the counsellor said 'daughter'...I can't even remember why...but that was it for me. Had a full blown panic attack I did, felt like screaming, and then I just ran...I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, just had to get out."

Bea wasn't crying, but she was definitely tearing up. Franky handed her a Kleenex box and Bridget squeezed her hand. "I can't do this Bridge'" Bea quietly admitted. "I don't even fully understand how I feel yet, let alone share it all with strangers." She looked at Bridget with pleading eyes, and saw her friend's love, empathy and struggle not to say the first comforting thing that came to mind.

Bea then took a long, slow swallow of wine, and the three of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Bea closed her eyes. Franky hated silence, that much she knew. She also knew her best friend was weighing different approaches and next steps in her head, carefully predicting Bea's response to each one. And so, Bea started a silent countdown in her head...8, 9, 10...and there it was! Franky...

Leaning back in her chair, Franky shot a side look at Bridget, still deep in thought. Turning her wineglass in circles by the stem, she went for it, eyes blazing with mirth, despite her promise, and Bea knew something wholly inappropriate was coming...

"So Red," Franky glanced sideways at her girlfriend again, quickly, to make sure she was still deep in thought, and then pounced - "trying to get this straight, no pun intended...ok, if I'm hearing you right, you were a quick in and out, and you self admittedly bailed; which leads me to ask Bea, how exactly did Blondie make her move on ya?" Exasperated, Bea rolled her eyes, Bridget shot Franky a dagger-death glare, and Franky reddened, but shot a wide eyed, fake innocent look back; then leaned forward rather than backing down. Franky didn't do the "backing down" thing..."yeah Red...?"

"When I bolted, she came after me. Ya know, to check on me. She asked me to come back in to the meeting. It was her first time too." Bea stopped there, and had no intentions of continuing. Bridget was still glaring at Franky, but the brunette looked satisfied. Taking another slug of wine, Franky delivered her final thought on the situation with a trademark smile.

"Damn Red! I need to meet this woman; brush up on my moves!" Franky declared heartily. With that, she tipped her head back and blatantly cackled. Bridget looked at Bea wearily, smiling but apologetic for her girlfriend's relentless teasing. Bea lowered her eyes to the table. God, she wished she could just crawl away and die.

"Bea," Bridget started tentatively, holding the atmosphere close to discourage Franky from talking, " I would imagine," she continued, "that tonight was very uncomfortable. And I'm sorry it didn't work out for you." She met Bea's eyes, downed a healthy swallow of wine, then declared, "I really think you need to try again." Bea looked at her friend with wide eyed shock and fear. Are you serious? A look that was well transmitted. The two had a long history. Reading between the lines is what they did best.

"Sweetie," Bridget continued, "you really need to let me go with you next time." She grabbed Bea's hand again, and tightened her grip. "I can help you manage the panic, try to help you stay grounded, keep you in your seat until people have spoken and the meeting is over. Do you trust me?" Bridget's perceptive, beautiful eyes bored straight through Bea's bravado and fear, and touched Bea as only Bridget could...straight to the heart. Grateful and a little choked, Bea just nodded.

"Well ok then, kiddo. We're going back next week. I'll be with you every step of the way. And whether you say anything or not, we're going to come back here and toast to bravery. First steps, yeah?" Bridget held her glass up to Bea while Franky observed the two friends.

Right now, Franky realized, was most definitely the time to shut up. Her Bridget had thoughtfully and sensitively reeled in her best friend, and Franky was feeling so much pride in both of them. Closing her eyes and tipping back the last remnants from her near empty glass, Franky smiled to herself; silently she held up the long stemmed goblet in cheers to them both.

With that, she got up and started cleaning away glasses and dishes from dinner. Bridget threw her an air-kiss. She would let the two friends be, and go to bed. "Yeah," she thought. "Sleep!" She felt excitement at the prospect, but refused to let the "getting old" whisper make it past her front temporal lobe. Franky didn't do getting older any better than she did backing down.

"Night Bea," she muttered, kissing the top of the woman's red head. "Love ya." Franky meant it, but knew Bea wouldn't respond in kind. "Night Franky," Bea countered with a weary smile. "Thanks for the wine."

"Anytime Red, you know it, yeah?" Bea just nodded as Franky winked and then headed upstairs to wait for Bridget.