A/N: Hi! *waves excitedly* Remember when I promised some complimentary one-shots to Bones? Ya know back way back when it was still summer... Anyway, I've been tweaking and rewriting this for months now and it's finally gotten to the point where I can literally recite the whole thing so there it is: Wentworth's story.

YOU NEED TO READ BONES TO UNDERSTAND THIS STORY. Otherwise you're shit out of luck, my friend.

Soundtrack: After the Storm - Mumford and Sons, Safer to Hate her - You Me At Six (someone's singing this at some point;), Fall At Your Feet - James Blunt, On the Radio - Regina Spektor, Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Disclaimer: lesbian Wentworth is mine, ok? Ok.

Epiphyseal

"In the long bones of many mammals (including humans), endochondral ossification spreads outward in both directions from the center of the bone. [...] As the ossification front nears the ends of the cartilage model, the chondrocytes near the ossification front proliferate prior to undergoing hypertrophy, pushing out the cartilaginous ends of the bone. These cartilaginous areas at the ends of the long bones are called epiphyseal growth plates. [...] As the inner cartilage hypertrophies and the ossification front extends farther outward, the remaining cartilage in the epiphyseal growth plate proliferates [...] [,] the bone continues to grow."

Gilbert SF. Developmental Biology. 6th edition. Sunderland (MA): Sinauer Associates; 2000. Osteogenesis: The Development of Bones.

#1. Betrayal

(London, September 2015)

The first time you see her again it's been ten years and there's a desert between you.

She's sitting on top of a brick wall next to the Humanities building and with the golden, autumnal light hitting her from behind you think for a second that your mind's playing tricks again. Her hair's still short and her knees poke out funnily when she bends them and she –

She's knitting. Of course she is.

You don't pay attention to whatever the redhead – Lou – is babbling on about. She and her sister have more or less kidnapped you from the political science class you attended as a guest lecturer and they're a bit like overexcited puppies, but that's fine. You're new here in London and you don't know many people aside from your neighbour's Persian cat and while she may be an excellent conversationalist, she doesn't really count as human contact.

She's still knitting.

You can't make out much more than the hair and the tip of her nose, but you know it's her. The knowledge is bone deep and drilled into your fingertips and sometimes you wonder if Israel's heat didn't burn it out but instead into you like branded cattle.

The blonde girl is chiming in now, babbling about sightseeing and a concert they want to see, but you're distracted because another girl – black clothes and ridiculous sunglasses – has just arrived before climbing up the low wall and putting her fucking head in Anne's lap.

Your mouth dries out and you feel the nails digging into the flesh of your palms. It's been ten years and she still gets to you like she did that first day – a terribly precise pain from right beneath your rib cage and upwards until the tip of the knife reaches your throat and cuts.

And cuts.

#2. Jealousy

(London, October 2015)

Dinner at the Groveland house is seven different hells of awkward.

You'd realized that it was a stupid idea the moment Lou and Hetty invited Sunglasses Girl to said dinner when they met her at the tube station, introduced her as a vital part of their family and the girl just smirked at you like she knew exactly what you were thinking and just how utterly fucked you are.

She probably did if the ensuing death and decapitation threats were any indication.

Anne is also there, sitting at the other end of the table between two wild things that start to give you a headache because they tend to do the simultaneous talking thing, and she laughs and smiles and talks while looking anywhere but at you. Which is fine. You lean back in your chair, surveying the open kitchen/dining/living space that's taking up most of the lower floor plan and you marvel at how much this looks like home. There are plants and light and windows everywhere and every surface seems to glow with a warmth that's seeping into bones and flesh and makes muscles pull a smile and you feel warmer than you ever have even with two bare feet in burning sand.

"Hey, Lou," you suddenly hear Sunglasses Girl chime in from where she and Seamus are playing chess in overly large, plushy armchairs by the oven and you know from the smirk on her face that this is going to go terribly. "Where did you pick up the new girl? Didn't know you were into taking in strays."

"Dragged her out of our PoliSci class," Lou answers casually, lounging on the chair next to Wentworth while alternately texting someone and throwing bread crumbs at her younger brothers. "She looked kinda lost, but also interesting, you know? Also, she made some pretty great points about the water problem in west Gaza, so there's that."

"I'm right here, you know?" You don't mean to snap, but it comes out like that anyway. Having Anne here in such close proximity after all that time is fraying your nerve ends and your hands jitter up and down the length of your thigh and it's frustrating, because you wanted to make a good impression and maybe make friends with the bubbly yet brilliant twin set and this is –

This is just not fair.

"Wow." Sunglasses Girl's eyebrows rise a fraction. "I'm sort of having a Déjà-Vu feeling here. Met any tall, broody men with a penchant for rudeness recently?"

"Lizzie…" That's Anne and your spine goes rigid at the sound of her voice. You've talked yourself into forgetting it – the sound, the tone, the soft lilt when she's amused and you thought you were successful at that part if nothing else, but fuck if hearing her talking again doesn't throw you right back to when it wasn't so utterly painful to hear her speak.

Well, the girl has always been brilliant at weaving her own special brand of magic.

"I'm not fixated on anything!" You've missed part of the conversation and now Sunglasses Girl actually does the whole pouting and arm crossing routine like a three-year-old with a tantrum and if she wasn't as bloody irritating as a whole bag of itching powder in a sleeping bag you'd think she looks kind of adorable with the freckles and the wild curls.

"If you say so, darling." That's Anne again and she's smiling with this fond air of resignation that you've seen on parents and older siblings and you remember Sunglasses Girl's barb about "friendship" and the way she pushes herself between every interaction you and Anne could possibly have with the determination of a bloodhound on hunt and you sigh. Of course.

You should have known they were family.

"I merely wanted to point out that you of all people shouldn't be making fun of strays." There's a bite in there somewhere and Sunglasses Girl has apparently understood it as well because she looks sheepishly at Anne for a second before the grin is quickly back in place.

"Right, love," she says, eyes flickering back to you and she's got the devil in them. "I just wanted to make sure she's properly vaccinated and all that. Wouldn't want anyone to catch any rabies now, would we?"

#3. Idolatry

(London, November 2015)

You notice that she's grown older. The differences are subtle, barely discernible and at first you think that time has forgotten about her, has left her forever seventeen and innocent, but the impression fades the more time you spend in her proximity and imagination turns to flesh.

The hair doesn't help though.

It still looks just the way it used to after her mother had chopped if off and you simultaneously applaud and curse her to hell and back for it, because it's like a throwback to that time ten years ago and it's jarring. You remember her taking off her dress and diving into that lake headfirst, not knowing who was prey and who predator in this game, remember losing yourself in her, whispered filthy words against slick skin and wanting it all, wanting all of her.

"She's cute." Phoebe Harville appears from behind you, peering over your shoulder at where you looked up Anne's university profile on your computer screen. She's sucking rather noisily at a red and white striped candy cane, lips stained candy floss pink. "She your girlfriend?"

"No."

"Pity." The cane plops out of the girl's mouth in a manner that's naively suggestive and you avert your gaze, focusing instead on the work you should be doing. You're at the office after all. "I'd fuck her."

"You'd fuck everything with legs, Phee."

"Not true," your co-worker protests with a grin. "You sure that she's not your girlfriend?"

"Positive," you scoff, closing the browser with Anne's photo from the Institute of Psychology's website where she's listed as a member of frigging faculty and doctoral candidate. "She's no one."

You're lying, you know you are. The girl has always been magical, has always seen more through golden eyes than she was supposed to and she's the closest you've ever been to anything approaching faith, but these days she's grown more into it. You find it in the way she smiles, the way she dryly uses sarcasm without looking like a deer caught in the headlights, you see it etched into the frown line on her forehead.

It almost makes you believe in her again.

Almost.

#4. Perjury

(Lyme Regis, December 2015)

Anne disappears over Christmas.

Not physically, no. She's a constant fixture wrapped in oversized scarves of frankly, terrifying colours and patterns and she's making cookies and decorating the tree, but still - It seems the moment she stepped into this house she withdrew into herself and you catch her staring off into the distance, out into the roaring, grey ocean with a burning look in her eyes and frozen features.

She looks like a ghost.

There's an underlying tension throughout the house and this family and it takes you half a day of observation and prying questions to understand that Sunglasses Girl is the missing part, the moving chasm and it's not just sadness, no – they're worried. And you're out of the loop, because you don't get why they're so agitated over a barely domesticated, rabid slip of a carnivore spending the holiday with her family in possibly the remotest corner Northern England has to offer, but seeing Anne so out of sorts is… disconcerting.

It feels like she's slowly taking herself out of the equation and it irks you. She flinches, though, every time she catches you looking and that bitter, hurt part of yourself that's still nineteen drinks in the satisfaction. Phoebe's only reaction is to keep singing cheesy You Me At Six songs whenever you call her and when she gets onto bellowing the chorus to "Safer to Hate her" with unprecedented glee you shut off your phone and kiss Lou Groveland behind the cliffs the day Hayter proposes to her sister and it's all the good and all the awful things and yet not enough. You regret it the second it happens – you've sworn off experimenting girls ten years ago and you still can't escape the last one you let in.

"Sometimes people have to do strange things to reach their goals." Anne's voice is soft but the walls are thin and the sound carries when you walk up the staircase later that night. You heard her cry more than one night and it's a special kind of hell that keeps you from comforting her.

"Like a maze?" It's one of the knee biting wild ones that tend to pepper you with endless questions about aeroplane engines and jelly beans of all things. "But what's the goal?"

"Us," you hear Anne whisper and you feel like someone's stitched up your throat. "We're the goal."

You sink to your knees very slowly, head tilting back until it rests against the banister and you feel like crying. She laughs that bell like laugh and hums something about golden tickets and Santa Clause and in some remote part of your brain you're wondering what children stories she's mixed up now, but –

You were never enough, the voice inside your head whispers and you remember standing in the airport hall, two tickets in hand despite knowing that she wouldn't turn up, knowing that you were not enough to persuade her, were simply not enough.

When the door creaks open you furiously wipe away any traces of tears and you jump up, something caustic or other already waiting on your lips, but when you come face to face with her, there in this grey twilight, all you do is stare.

And stare.

#5. Holy

(Lyme Regis, December 2015)

Lizzie Bennet reappears out of snow-filled, white-noised abyss on December 25th with an uncanny precision for interrupting the important moments in your life.

You're prepared to comment on her terrier-like qualities and her flair for dramatics when you notice the way she leans on the much smaller Anne, a sobbing, not quite human sound ripping apart the tranquillity that is this Christmas morning and you close the distance between you, wrapping one arm around Sunglasses Girl's waist before dragging her out of the snow-white desert and into the bustling warmth of the Groveland's holiday home.

There's some shouting – worry and delight all mixed together, before the wild ones descend upon her and Anne looks like she's half laughing, half crying, her head pressed against the crook of Sunglasses Girl's shoulder who –

You swallow. The girl looks almost half dead.

She's pale and thin, lips a dangerous shade of blue, eyes bloodshot and for the first time you're unable to feel any resentment towards her. Not when after who-knows-how-long the empty, glassy look in her eyes is replaced with something close to pure gratitude and she reaches for Anne and the twins with tears in her eyes.

You can't hate her when she looks like she's been walking through hell for days on end.

But the girl likes her death threats frequent and in gory detail and with her vindictive streak it doesn't surprise you when she corners you two days after her arrival, still frail looking but determined with a spat out "What the fuck do you think you're doing?".

You feel your jaw harden. "Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you unforgiving, venom-spitting daughter of a bitch." The insult would have sounded ridiculous on anyone else's tongue, but Sunglasses Girl was just the right amount of murderous to convey its sincerity. "Who the fuck do you think you are - walking around and fucking bullying Anne?"

"Bullying?" Incredulity colours your tone, pitching it higher than usual and you almost gape at her, because seriously – is the girl fucking nuts?

"She looks like she's been living in a haunted house for weeks! I mean, do you even give a fuck that your constant sniping and glaring at her is freaking her the bloody hell out, you lemon-faced, pencil biting, sociopathic sadist?"

"Pencil biting?" you gape. "That doesn't even make sense, what the fuck-"

But Sunglasses Girl apparently doesn't appreciate the art of deflection because she's stalking closer towards you and while she's barely an inch taller than Anne, she's also really fucking imposing, all five foot four and several inches of hair.

"If I hear you insulting her one more time-", she threatens, but you force yourself to roll your eyes and scoff, nails biting hard into the flesh of your palms.

"And why the hell should I care one inch about a girl that couldn't sell me to the devil fast enough when the tables were turned?" you spit out, not even daring to say her name in case your voice breaks.

Sunglasses Girl looks incredulous for a split second.

"She was seventeen", she retorts, pronouncing the words carefully. "Fuck's sake, Wentworth, she was seventeen years old and isolated and scared."

"That's no excuse-"

"What kind of excuse do you need for being scared?" There's something burning in her eyes, fiery and panicked. "You know how she grew up; you know what her harpy of a mother is like and you expected her to give it all up for a world she's only ever heard stories of before and then blame her for not jumping when you told her to?"

Your face feels like cracked marble and you don't move for fear of breaking. She doesn't relent though. "And I get it", she says. "I get that you're trying to stay mad at her, to blame her for what happened, because if you stopped for just a second you'd have to face the fact that you were just as much at fault as she was, that you made mistakes, too." Her gaze is almost pitying and you can't bear it.

"Don't you dare make assumptions about me," you hiss. "You have no idea what it was like to-"

"- to be betrayed by the one you love?" Sunglasses Girl's laugh is brittle. "No, I guess I don't."

"Then do me a favour and-"

"A favour?" The other girl's gaze sharpens, gunpoint violence at the tip of a finger. "And why would I do such a thing?"

You frown, not getting whatever game she's playing now, but she interrupts you before you can form a reply, a strange smile around her lips that turns to ice when she leans in closer.

"Because see", Sunglasses Girl elaborates. "You've been hurting Anne and if there's one cardinal rule in the entire sodding universe, it's that you don't harm the Amber Girl. You just don't do it. She's all that is good and pure and holy in this world and I do not believe in divinity, but I believe in her."

It's –

It's so close to your own feelings that you halt your breath for a second. You open your mouth as if to say something, to somehow acquiesce, because she's right, of course she is, but it suddenly feels like someone else's belief and uttering it would taste like blasphemy.

"We do, too", another voice suddenly chimes in and your heart sinks when you see the thunderous expressions on the twins' faces who are standing at the top of the stairwell, arms crossed in front of their chests.

You blink, blood rioting when you look at Sunglasses Girl's almost smug expression and you want to yell at her about fallen heroes and what losing faith feels like and the desert – you want to tell her about the desert, but the words get stuck in your throat.

"I'll take the next bus to Dorchester."

#6. Honour

(London, January 2016)

Back in London you try.

It's not easy because Anne is skittish and wary and freezes up every time you show her basic politeness or even manners as if she's waiting for the other shoe to drop and you –

It's the last sodding nail in the proverbial coffin, because this– this bitter and mean person, that's not who you are. You're twenty-eight years old, you have a job you love, a job with social responsibility and you're just… you're a fucking grown-up.

Well, as much as that's possible anyways.

With the twins being as mad as they are at you, it's rather difficult to establish any sort of regular contact with Anne, but then her friend goes missing and you almost stumble over your words like a fucking teenager when you try to offer your help.

"I'm not sure whether I envy or pity your situation," Phoebe muses from where she's sitting on your desk with her legs crossed and her skirt hiked up indecently high – you're pretty sure at this point, half the office thinks you're having some sort of sordid affair which - no.

"What situation, you cheap tart?" You hit her leg with a poorly researched report on low-level government embezzlement and vindictively enjoy her yelp.

"The whole pining thing you're doing." She sucks on the heart-shaped lollipop with a lewd grin – she's switched from Christmas to Valentines candy even though it's not even February yet. "Like a lovesick fool."

"I'm not a fool." You frown. "And not lovesick either. This is not one of your Shakespeare plays for fuck's sake."

"Really? So you research missing persons until the wee hours of the morning and harass police officers for just any one-night stand?"

"Anne's not a one-night stand."

Phoebe looks at you knowingly, twirling the tip of her pony-tail between her fingers. "Lovesick," she announces, "just like I said."

"I'm not-"

"You've been staring at her goddamn picture for weeks now and all I hear from you is a never ending rendition about how wonderful Anne is – gosh, she's so pretty and talented, did you know that she researches effects of gender identification on brain structure and she works for a non-profit medical organisation and she's just all around fucking perfect, because I really do." She sucks the lollipop deeper into her mouth, a frown on her face. "It's growing out of hand, because last night I even dreamed about going down on her and I've never even met the girl."

"And I really hope you never do."

Phoebe grins and leans forward to tip your nose with the sticky candy. "Sharing is caring, Wentworth."

You hit her with the report again.

Anne's still wary of you and you have your fair share of awkward phone conversations that end with a hasty "Okay, bye!" on her end, but like a wild animal slowly getting used to a human, she softens and warms up over the weeks and the first time she laughs in your presence, you sit there flustered for a whole minute, cheeks uncomfortably warm and heart beating wildly.

Because see, the world's a little bit cruel and you're a little bit fucked up, but that's what she does to you - strips you bare until you're raw and open and she's got her fingers beneath your veins. You dream of her pulling at them, dream of blood and burnt lungs and the false hope of a Fata Morgana that tugs you back into reality and the dimly lit kitchen in morning light with a cramped neck and cold fingers. Shadowy figures blur before your eyes and then form Sunglasses Girl's tired face, calmly looking at you before she places Anne's sleeping form on your lap and for the first time in ten years you feel her skin beneath yours –

Alive.

#7. Murder

(London, March 2016)

"Can you just stop for one bloody second, please?"

She's done it now. She's really fucking done it now. What with her pacing and fretting and bloody lip biting she's managed to drive you over that precarious edge bordering madness and you're ready to tear your hair out by the roots because the girl is fucking impossible and you've seen stubborn, hell, you've lived stubborn as your preferred armour for years, but Anne just went and killed any record on sheer bloody mindedness there ever existed, because why go the easy way when you can dance it difficult?

"No, leave me alone. I'm cooking."

"You're not-" You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "Anne, you've been chopping nothing but thin air for a solid five minutes now. You need to sleep."

"I need to cook."

"No, you absolutely do not." Frustration colours your tone and you force yourself to take a deep breath. The girl is working with bloody knives and you tried knocking her out with alcohol once when Sunglasses Girl disappeared for a day which is… not an experience you want to relieve. "There's a truly ridiculous amount of ready food in this house - Sophie's been cooking up a storm and your friend from the bar downstairs has been sending up chips and whatnot, so please, stop-"

"I won't stop." There's steel beneath her voice, but you see her hands tremble and you're not fooled.

"Fuck's sake, Anne. You're barely standing upright. For how long have you been awake now? Twenty hours? Twenty-eight? You need to fucking rest."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Because clearly you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions. Pardon me, I forgot." You didn't mean to resort to sarcasm and by the way her shoulders stiffen you know that she doesn't react well to being teased like that, it's just that you're desperate and she's got a knife in her hand –

"Lizzie needs me, I can't-"

"What that girl needs, is a fucking professional," you spit out. "Or do you really think it's healthy the way she acts? The silence? The way everyone rallies around her if she even so much as whines? She's being a manipulative, little brat and you just-"

"We're her family. Of course we care."

"In case you haven't noticed, Anne, her sister is here."

"So that means that I'm not needed?" She whirls around to face you, knife still in hand and an expression of acute hurt in her eyes that pierces you to the core, but you take a breath and steel yourself.

"As sleep-deprived as you are? No."

"Fuck you."

"With pleasure," you bite back. "As long as you go and fucking sleep!"

"Why do you even care?"

"Why I care?" The past few weeks of awkwardly trying to manoeuver the pitfalls of your shared past in an attempt at reconciliation and then the past couple of days, the funeral, the grieving people and all the while doing your best to keep Anne from exhausting herself – it all comes crashing down on you and you're just tired, you're just really fucking tired. "Are you really asking me why I care?"

Anne's gaze begins to flicker, her lower lip trembles and as exhausted as you feel, the girl looks dead on her feet.

"Anne, put the knife down."

She looks at you completely dumbfounded. "What?" Over her shoulder you see the twins in the hallway dressing the blonde primary school teacher that is apparently related to a carnivore which – what?

"Put the knife down. Please."

She looks at the almost weapon she's pointing directly at you as if she hasn't seen it before. "Oh," she whispers and places the knife awkwardly on the counter.

"You need sleep, Anne," you say quietly and quickly continue when she gears up to protest. "Lizzie will be fine for a few hours, okay? She'll be just fine." In all honesty, you can't fathom how Sunglasses Girl is supposed to get into trouble anyhow. All the girl does is brood and scribble notes into a worn old book. Talk about dramatic.

"I can't just-" Her hand movements get more erratic as her voice dissolves and you step closer, trying to somehow, to just somehow-

"She's not talking and it's been almost a week and I don't know what to do and I'm supposed to know what to do, but she won't take any professional help and I'm scared, I'm-" Her voice gets faster and faster and you feel helplessness written all over your face. "I'm so scared and Craig, he's – he's dead. W., my friend's dead and I should've known, should've seen the signs and done something, but I – I just…"

You catch her.

"You're just human, Anne", you whisper and she's rigid in your arms. She smells different now, more patchouli and mint and less roses, but she's the same size, has the same short hair and you know that ten years have never made a difference. "No one can fault you for that. You're just human," you say and it's like your own revelation. "Just human."

She lets out a sob, gut-wrenching and so incredibly sad that your stomach clenches tightly and then she relaxes into your arms and just cries.

"You know I care, right?" you whisper in her hair. "I will always care."

#8. Blasphemy

(Pemberley, June 2016)

"So I think congratulations are in order."

You hide a groan in the wide shadow of your sun hat and wonder if the metal pieces on your bikini are as sharp as they look and what plausible deniability might look like. "What you think and what's actually reality equals the distance travelled during the whole bloody Lord of the Rings trilogy. So thanks, but no thanks, I guess."

"Nerd," Sunglasses Girl calls out almost fondly, pushing her namesake up into loosely piled up curls as she sits down on the lounge chair next to you, feet tucked under her thighs, and a mocking smile on her face.

You scowl right back.

"Can't you go harassing your James Bond double over there?" You point at your host over by the pool who's trying to break up the water fight between Lou, Benwick and the loud, blond one. He's dripping wet and turning red in the face. "He looks like he might need help with the children."

"Nah." Sunglasses Girl pushes her tongue between her front teeth, a half grin pulling up the corners of her mouth. "Non-traditional gender roles are hot."

"So no chance of you quit harassing me?" You glance almost longingly at your book on direct democracy before you put it away with a groan. "Sometimes I really want a baseball bat."

"Any particular reason?"

"Just for entertainment value."

"I can recommend some good hockey sticks," the girl says cheerfully and you eye her warily, remembering broken noses and threats of murder that pale in Derbyshire's bright sunshine.

"I see."

"They're really quite efficient."

Your scowl turns into a glare, but the other girl just pushes up the collar of her loose baseball tee that's slipping over her shoulders and keeps smiling like there's something greatly amusing about you. It's unnerving.

"Jesus Christ on a cracker," you spit out. "Can we just get this over with so you can go back to your passive-aggressive flirting with dark, broody and emotionally constipated over there?"

The girl's lips twitch. "That's a new one. I just call him an alien most of the time. More efficient you see."

"I don't actually."

"You will."

You feel a headache coming up, because talking to this girl is like trying to juggle disco balls in stroboscope light – completely fucking impossible. "Sunglasses," you warn her, but she just grins impishly.

"Welcome to the family," she sings and you won't be held responsible for your actions if she also starts clapping her hands now – baseball bat or no baseball bat.

"What the actual-" you start. "We're not family."

The girl looks almost offended. "Of course we are."

"In what deranged clusterfuck of a reality are we-"

"Sisters-in-law?" The brat is enjoying this. "Anne is my sister. And you two are practically married." She points at the yelling tangle of limbs over by the pool. "Also, Richard, Darcy and Lou are Anne's cousins and I'm pretty sure Benwick and Richard are going to snap one of these days so there you go with the other family members."

"Not to mention you and dark, tall and handsome playing house since March."

Now she's the one glaring at you, a red flush staining her cheeks and you almost giggle at that. "Anyway," she says tightly, readjusting her glasses. "I just wanted to be nice and give you a welcome, but if you insist on being difficult…"

"You're never just nice."

"Try me."

You groan. "Glasses, Anne and I are not married-"

She gives you that deeply unimpressed look, that's part patronising and part pitying. "Are you kidding me?"

"The girl can barely stand to be in the same room as me. I think I'd remember exchanging vows, you know."

"You would if you weren't that thick."

You're both scowling at each other at this point before the other girl drops her hands with a sigh. "Wentworth, what do you think you're doing here?"

"I know what I'm doing here." You push the hat deeper in your face and open your book again. Even convoluted politics are better than emotional stripteases. "It's just pointless, is all."

"It's been ten years."

"Exactly."

"You two don't act like it's pointless after ten years." There's a quiet note in her voice and sincerity is rare for the girl with a thousand faces, so you look up. "You know. I've met my nightmare after half that time and it was just that. Shadows and overdrawn monsters and a bad taste in my mouth. Tell me," she says, something sad and quiet in her gaze. "Do you still see a picture?"

You see Anne fierce and you see her crying and you see the faults on her tongue and want to taste them.

"No," you whisper, barely managing a shake of the head.

Sunglasses Girl smiles.

"Welcome to the family," she says again with that mocking quality and enough truth to leave you breathless.

"You're still fucking annoying, Sunglasses," you yell after her when she's almost halfway down the way towards the swimming pool where they're all tackling Darcy in some kind of mutiny lead by Richard.

"Love you, too, Raven!"

You smile into the pages of your book. "Bloody carnivore."

#9. Theft

(London, June 2016)

When you get her out of the hospital she's quiet and pliant, face burrowed in your neck while you take the tube to your flat, leaving your car at the hospital because you're both dead on your feet.

The blueish twilight just before dawn is a strange time of day, heavy with unspoken words and body parts that don't seem to belong to you and you let your fingers slip beneath her shirt, let yourself soak up her warmth while the night's leftovers nip at you like morning dew. Your flat in Whitechapel is stark and cold from your absence when you finally stumble in, but the sheets are clean and you reckon you got some kind of deep frosted cinnamon rolls in your freezer that should suffice for a breakfast later.

Anne doesn't move even when you reach your bedroom. She just stands there, all five foot of magic and wisdom and she looks just lost and cold in her oversized leather jacket and high-waist shorts and something inside you melts at the sight.

"Hey, love," you whisper, pushing the jacket off her shoulders. She looks up, glassy golden eyes filled with sadness and you try to smile while you undress her first and then yourself, crawling into bed in just your underwear and tugging the blankets over both of you.

She doesn't hesitate and burrows herself into you, legs tangling with yours and wrapping your arms around her feels so natural that you almost forget to breathe. This is it, you think, no twelve hours after the confession in Pemberley's drawing room and she's here in your arms – she's here, she's here, she's finally here.

"I used to get so sad sometimes," she whispers into the blue of morning, fingers tangled in your hair. "When I thought of you and what happened – the sadness got so overwhelming..."

You swallow at the thought.

"And whenever that happened," Anne continues, "Lizzie would steal Craig's car with him and Charlotte in it and she'd pick me up and we'd drive out of the city to go looking for the sun." She sobs out a laugh. "Sometimes we'd drive for hours until we found even a spot of sunlight, but whenever we did, she'd take out blankets and the coffee she brought and we'd sit there for as long as we could, just soaking up the warmth."

Her voice wavers. "Craig would take photos all the time and he'd pin them to his walls, calling it the sunlight adventures."

"That sounds lovely," you try, fingers splayed over the small of her back and she lets out a shuddering sigh.

"I miss my friends," she finally whispers. "I just got Lizzie back, but Charlotte's been distant and Craig, he's… he's dead and I don't want to lose more people."

You close your eyes, breathe her in.

"I once walked through the desert," you say and the memory of the excruciating heat pales compared to her bare skin against yours. "When I was in Jerusalem, I lived with my father's family there and I was so, so cold when I arrived that my grandmother sent me on this trip through Nahal Prat with a group of tourists. She told me that in Jewish tradition the desert is ambivalent – punishment and spiritual awakening at the same time and that's exactly what it felt like. Every movement was a chore, but with every step my thoughts became clearer and I just-" You turn your head to face her, bright eyes and the small freckle beneath her right eye. She traces the black lines of the tattoo crawling up your arm – every one of your family members' names in Hebrew and their respective birth dates – and it anchors you to this moment. "Anne," you whisper. "Anne, the only thing I saw was you."

Her mouth falls open just a fraction and you feel the knife cutting again.

"So despite it all," you soldier on, because this is important, this is everything. "You never lost me."

Her fingers touch your lips, a feather's touch. "You never lost me, either," she whispers, lids fluttering and you hold her while she falls asleep in your arms.

The morning comes quietly.

#10. Desire

(Prague, November 2018)

You're in Prague on Hetty and Hayter's wedding tour across Europe together with Anne, Lou, the primary teacher, Sunglasses Girl and Darcy as well as Richard and Benwick. Charlotte and Collins have excused themselves with her six-month pregnancy, but other than that your circle of friends is complete.

Currently, they're performing all manners of walking ranging from slow to bouncing to cross the Charles' Tower Bridge in direction of the old city and you're trailing them, camera in hand to capture it all. Hetty and Hayter are taking selfies with the castle in the background, looking nauseatingly in love while Lou's talking to a couple of artists with their portrait stands, negotiating prices. Richard and Benwick got the primary teacher between them, arm in arm and whatever Richard's telling her must be rather scandalous, because the blonde woman is blushing bright red and Benwick's shoving his boyfriend into a group of Japanese tourists and their smartphones which has all three of them laughing and pouting in turn. Anne, Sunglasses Girl and Darcy are the furthest ahead, with the latter giving his girlfriend a piggy back ride while Anne dances around them and their laughter is drifting towards you even across the distance.

It's been over two years since Pemberley and sometimes you can't believe that this is your life now. It's not been easy – not by far. You and Anne have spent the majority of being in love separated and even though knowledge is bone deep, neither of you is particularly skilled in giving up hard-learned independence in exchange for turning imaginary conversations into flesh and so there's friction. But you haven't spent ten years with her ghost to give up now.

"Hey."

The camera picture gets blurry for a second before it refocuses on Anne's face, all flushed, pink cheeks and bright eyes, bundled up in a huge scarf and hat.

"You coming?" she asks, blinking from the camera to you and back again. "I think Richard's threatening to jump off the bridge to prove something stupid to Benwick and Lizzie's been cheering him on."

"Can't James Bond deal with that? He's her boyfriend, right?"

"I think he's busy keeping her from jumping herself and Benwick's been pretty unimpressed so far and is pointing out the different castle buildings to Jane."

"So you want me to do what exactly?"

Anne blinks innocently. "Do that thing where you yell at the both of them until they comply?"

"Your friends are a bloody menace," you groan, but put away the camera. "I can't believe they're not even drunk yet."

"Well, they will be soon," Anne grins. "And you love them, W."

You roll your eyes at her, but return the smile. "The things I do for you," you say and entwine her fingers with yours before you go break up the terrible duo.

And of course Anne's right, because you do end up in a bar and it's smoke-filled, loud and hot. Someone's playing Arctic Monkeys on repeat, Richard and Benwick are busy downing the most obscure shots at the counter with the bartender looking on amusedly and Lou's hitting on the primary teacher who's been refusing her advances with embarrassment, but good cheer while the redhead almost climbs into her lap.

You can see Sunglasses Girl and James Bond quietly arguing in one corner while the rest of your group is crowded around a rickety table beneath the window, beer and shot glasses assembled in the middle. There's been something brewing between those two ever since you left Paris, because their banter and cuddle thing is even more obnoxious than usual.

"I bet I could make you scream," Lou grins lewdly at Jane, the primary teacher, who starts giggling uncontrollably at that.

"I bet you could," she says, still gasping for air and pats the redhead's cheek who smiles smugly at you.

"See, Wentworth? She likes me!"

You almost snort into your beer glass at that, but you cover it up as a cough even though the liquid bites in your nose. Lou glares at you, one arm draped around a smiling Jane. "What," she snaps. "Am I not likeable enough?"

"You're very likeable," Jane interrupts whatever ill-advised answer you'd planned on.

"And you're gorgeous!" Lou slurs the last word a bit, tugging on Jane's blonde locks. "Why are you so pretty?"

"You're very pretty, too," the primary teacher tries the diplomatic approach. "But I do have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, one you have very bad sex with," Lou pouts, almost choking everyone assembled and Hetty even spits out half her drink. Jane, meanwhile, has turned an interesting shade of crimson or even burnt sienna.

"What, the-"

"Benwick told me," Lou says conversationally while the rest of the table tries to regain their breath. You look out for Anne who disappeared an eon ago for more drinks, because surely she can look at Lou long enough with her 'I'm so disappointed in you' face until the redhead would just stop talking.

"Thaddeus!" Jane yells in mock enragement, causing Benwick to turn around, looking innocent while Lou sniggers at the name. "How could you!?"

"Sorry!" he shrugs, not even bothering to ask for clarification. "She's got too much blackmail material on me."

"Oh you're not sorry at all," the primary teacher mutters. Lou's nuzzling her neck, apparently content with cuddling for now. "And you're not either."

"No," the redhead smiles. "I'm shameless. So can I have your phone now, please?"

"Why do you want my phone?"

"So I can call your boyfriend," Lou slurs it with drunken derision. "To tell him how much better sex we'd have if he'd just fuck off." She blinks up at the blonde woman. "I'd make you scream, you know?"

You laugh quietly, watching the primary teacher fumble for an answer when Richard's outcry of joy interrupts Lou's drunken confessions. All heads turn to see him spin Sunglasses Girl around first and then do the manly hug thing with Darcy before smacking a kiss to his cousin's cheek. Benwick's reaction is much quieter and you're all waiting expectantly for an explanation when they return to the table.

Sunglasses Girl rolls her eyes. "So you know," she says, fiddling a bit with her hands. "Darcy and I will be working for Doctors Without Borders next year and to ensure that we'd end up in the same place we…" She trailed off, looking flustered and unsure.

"We got engaged," Darcy simply says and just smiles when Sunglasses Girl turns to mock glare at him. Hetty and Jane start squealing almost instantly, Hayter covers his ears, but is smiling brightly and while the primary teacher envelopes her sister in a hug, you reach up to congratulate Darcy. The man feels like a live wire when you embrace him despite his stoic demeanour and you can't help but smile when you wish him all the best. Sunglasses Girl acts like it's not a big deal, but her eyes are impossibly bright, her hands trembling and you feel a wave of affection well up inside you for the prickly girl.

"Did you tell Anne already?" you question her over the noise and the girl's smile turns soft.

"She was the first to know," she nods and points towards the bar. The crowd is impossibly tight, but it lifts up for just a second to allow you a glance at Anne. She is standing next to the counter, stripped down to a tank-top and jeans because it's so warm in here, skin glowing and the expanse of her neck bare. You stand up and push through the crowd before you even consciously decide to and her smile is brilliant when you stand in front of her.

"Hey," she says and without answering, you crowd her against the counter, hands reaching for her hips and slipping beneath fabric and you kiss her, open mouthed and hungry, because she's here and you're here and it's all you ever wanted. She responds in kind, tongue slipping in your mouth, catching soft moans as her fingers thread through your hair and when you finally break apart, you figure you must look as dazed as she does.

"Hello," you whisper and when you look back, it's been over ten years and there's a desert behind you.

A/N: sht.. i love wentworth/lizzie brotp - just let me have that ok? also, there's a hint to lou's future girlfriend in here if you crosscheck with the epilogue tho i was awfully tempted to make her and jane a rare pair but alas...

Also, for anyone interested: I'm planning a Richard centric fic that spans the events past the last chapter and a bit beyond the epilogue and will probably cover all those WEDDINGS cause honestly there are a lot? anyway, i hope to see u all soon! love, teddy