What they don't show in movies or highlight in novels is the amount of waiting around one has to do when undercover. Last month, Kevin and I waited in the car for four hours for our target to leave her house. You get to know a lot about a person when you have nothing to do but wait.

"I hope we nail this bastard today," he says, running a thumb and forefinger over his fake mustache. "Mia and I are supposed to go to Fire Island tomorrow."

I can't hide my curious grin. "Fire Island?"

"Yeah." he chuckles. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, not at all. I love Fire Island." I return his smile, lifting an eyebrow. "People of my disposition love Fire Island."

"The gay disposition?" Our casual conversations have always been light and easy. "My brother-in-law and his husband own a house on the water. Six bedrooms, five and half baths, plus a casita for guests who want a little more privacy."

"So, more like a mansion than a house?" I tease.

"Yeah, you could say that."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I'm thankful for the man next to me. I never knew what to expect from a government official, but Kevin is alright. He's more than alright. I've met his wife, Mia, a couple of times, and she seems like a decent person, too. They aren't the type of people I would've been friends with before prison, but I like them now—their normalcy is good for me.

"You've never talked about anyone special." He rolls down the window, letting in some fresh air, and I realize in that moment how badly the car reeks of Doritos. "I don't mean to pry—"

"You're not prying," I reply, rolling down my window halfway. "If you would've mentioned that in our first couple of weeks together, it would've been prying."

He glances at me with a sincere smile.

"Piper Chapman," I sigh, leaving her name hang in the air as if everyone knows about our relationship and just the mention of her name would leave Kevin with an understanding.

"Am I supposed to assume she was your girlfriend?"

"Something like that." I roll up my sleeves and give him the short and sweet version of our story, leaving out the part about my naming her to the feds, but telling him we spent time together in prison.

"Ever think about contacting her?"

"All the time." I prop my elbow on the door frame, resting my head on my palm and staring out the window.

"What's stopping you?"

"I don't know if she's ready to hear from me…" Another sigh. "I also don't know if I'm ready to face her and the fuck ton of questions she'll have."

"That doesn't sound like you." He pops a couple Tic-Tacs in his mouth, then offers me some, shaking three green pellets into my hand. "Not wanting to face someone."

"It's complicated." I leave it at that. Kevin doesn't need to know the detailed history of Piper and me at this point. "When the time is right, I'll talk to her." I turn my head and see the woman we've been staking out jog down her steps. "Looks like we're going to need to cut this conversation short."

Three months pass, and I've successfully accomplished every mission I've been on, minus one. I'm not assigned on the Kubra Balik case, and I've been told that I'll never be part of it; it hits too close to home. The powers that be inform me every month or so about Kubra's whereabouts, which is mostly outside of the country, but they haven't nabbed him yet, and I'm to remain on guard.

My nightmares about him or his goons finding and attacking me have subsided, but I still worry he'll go after Piper. I keep an eye on her as best as I can through official and unofficial channels, but I won't rest easy until he goes down.

Several weeks go by before I'm assigned to a new case. I was getting bored working behind a desk and Kevin was equally restless. This new case is potentially the most dangerous one yet. The DEA frowns upon its agents doing anything illegal, but when push comes to shove, we have to do anything necessary to maintain the trust of the perpetrators. Kevin had to do drugs once during his years of service, and he still talks about how frightening it was. When that happens, a band of backup agents must be present to handle matters if the agent or agents running the case are incapacitated.

"We had to inform the owner of the club," my field supervisor informs us. "It's not what I'd prefer, but the space is too big, and this case is too important to fuck things up for the sake of pride."

Kevin gives me a look. He hates when we can't go into a situation totally anonymous. There's the risk of the owner telling someone about the sting, and that person tells someone else, and the list goes on. Agents have been killed in these sorts of scenarios. I avoid thinking about that.

"Everything is arranged for Saturday night. You'll arrive at Club Sway at 10 p.m. and there will be a posse of undercover agents already present." He shows us still images of the interior of the club. "Lopez and LeBlanc will join you on the balcony. Tremaine and Reed will be on the dance floor. We'll have two other agents at the main entrance, one at the emergency exit and one posing as a bouncer." He goes on to describe the operation, shows us two videos and sends us on our way with files about the man we're trying to corner.

I've only carried a gun twice in my role as informant; Kevin is always armed. My outfits thus far have prevented me from concealing a weapon. Tonight, I'm going to have to find a way. The man we're trying to nab, Frank Rossellini, is known to carry multiple weapons and his associates are also armed. They got into a brawl with Italian officials a few years ago that ended in bloodshed, so we have to be prepared to defend ourselves.

At precisely ten o'clock, we pay the $20 cover, enter the club and head to the balcony. The music is loud, and the dance floor is packed. It smells like cologne and booze and maybe a little like sweat from bodies in motion. It wasn't all that long ago when I frequented clubs just like this all over the world. My heaviest clubbing days were after Piper left me in Paris. Those were dark times when I started using again to try to forget her. I blink my eyes, bringing myself back to the present.

"You ok?" Kevin sits in an armchair on the balcony designated for special guests, and I wonder who arranged for this area to be cleared upon our arrival.

I sit on the sofa and cross my legs, eyeing Lopez, the undercover agent next to me—a tall brunette who looks like a Hispanic Julia Roberts. "As good as I can be." My platinum blonde wig, though longer, reminds me of the one Piper wore many years ago in Brussels. I tug at the edges, ensuring it's perfectly in place.

"Nice outfit," Kevin comments, running his hand over his greased blond hair. He looks like a WWF wrestler with a half-buttoned silver shirt revealing his chest hair.

I look down at my gold sequined top and leather skirt. "Slutty enough?"

He chuckles. "Perfectly slutty."

I hear a sound check on my earbud, followed by instructions for me to check the tiny camera embedded in the sequins at the top of my blouse. "Vause, turn to your right."

I do as I'm told.

"And left."

Again, I turn my body that way. "Are we good?"

"Roger that," Agent Thompson reports from his spot in an unmarked van a block away. "Rossellini is making his way inside with three associates. Will let you know if another crew rolls in, but for now it's just the four of them."

One of the undercover agents sitting with us pulls out three vials of cocaine. She pours the fake one on a granite coaster.

A cocktail waitress approaches us, bringing the bottle of vodka we ordered (it's actually water), a bucket of ice and four glasses. Kevin craftily fills the glasses with ice and water, squeezing a lime into each. The four of us look like we're having fun laughing, dancing in our seats and getting high.

Rossellini approaches us, holding his hands out and jutting his chin forward. "Who gave you permission to sit here?"

Two of his goons shove their thumbs into the waistband of their pants, each revealing a revolver tucked on their hip.

"There's plenty of room for all of us," I say, scooting over and patting the cushion net to me.

He reaches for my hand, kissing the back of it, expression changing from suspicion to intrigue. "Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"I'm Gisele," I lie. "This is Sandy and that's Maria." I motion towards the agents next to me. "And this is Willy Platt." I watch Rossellini's face contort when I say Kevin's fake name. Willy Platt is a well-known drug lord from Alabama who was recently picked up on a drug violation 24 hours ago. This information has not been made public yet because of this very case, which is yet another reason why we had to move quickly.

"Willy Platt?" Rossellini nods at Kevin. "Rumor has it you keep to your Confederate brethren down South. What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd check out the scene in New York—see if I can find a few good folks to join my enterprise," Kevin offers with a cocky smile.

He looks a bit unsettled but turns and waves off his goons as he sits between me and the other female agent. "What do you have here?"

I pick up the granite coaster and a straw so that he doesn't reach for the fake stuff.

Sandy opens another vial, pouring it onto a slightly different coaster. She feeds him a line about this being the purist cocaine this side of the border and Rossellini seems to buy it. None of us make eye contact—it's too early to make a move, and we know there's at least one other member of Rossellini's crew nearby. If he senses something is amiss, this whole operation could fail.

There's some commotion coming from the stairwell as a gaggle of drunk girls make their way to the upstairs lounge.

"Renaldo!" Kevin calls our undercover bouncer over. "I thought we had an agreement?"

"Sorry, they're not supposed to be up here, sir. I'll take care of it."

Rossellini grins seemingly impressed with Willy Platt's power. He returns his gaze to the cocaine. "I doubt this stuff is better than mine but let me be the judge of that."

Two drunk women barge past the bouncer before Renaldo grabs each of them by the arm. I look up and see familiar blue eyes catch my own. Piper? Are you fucking kidding me? A confused expression crosses her face—like she knows my eyes but can't place my face. I have in blue contact lenses instead of glasses and my hair is the absolute opposite of its usual long, black and shiny hair. My body tenses and my eyes widen. She cannot come over here. Please don't recognize me.

She squirms out of the bouncer's grip, blinking a few times. "Alex?" comes out with a hint of disbelief.

Rossellini looks my way, scrutinizing me like I'm some obscure insect.

"That chic is fucking wasted," Kevin laughs it off, and I wonder if he senses a change in my demeanor. "Renaldo, take care of her." He then motions to Sandy. "Give me a hit of that sweet stuff."

Rossellini seems satisfied enough but he's still suspicious.

"I'm personally going to make sure these women don't get in the way of our little party. Excuse me." I slowly crawl over Rossellini, dragging my hand across his chest and giving him a nice view of my cleavage, earning me a smile.

Piper shakes her head in disbelief. "Alex is that you?"

Renaldo stands between us. "You have exactly five seconds to go back downstairs, lady."

I touch his shoulder. "I've got this."

"I have orders to—"

Agent Thompson's voice rings in my ear bud, "What's going on, Vause?"

I step impossibly close to the fake bouncer, chin raised. "You'll take orders from me, Renaldo. Now move the fuck out of the way. I've got this."

He reluctantly steps aside, and I turn my attention back to her. "Piper, you need to leave now."

"It is you! What have you done?" She touches my blonde hair.

"I'm not fucking around." I pull away, grabbing her wrist harder than I mean to. "This is serious. Get out of the club now."

She shakes her head. "I don't understand."

"I'll explain later. Please leave."

"You don't have my number," Piper comments, and I get the sense that she has no idea what she's just walked into.

I take her by the arm and escort her downstairs. "I'm not going to ask you again."

One of our other undercover agents is at the bottom of the stairwell, dealing with the two girls Piper was with.

"Will you please escort these women out of the club?"

"You can't kick me out! Alex!" She tries to follow me back upstairs, but there's no way she's getting past Agent Cheskey.

My heart rate skyrockets as I climb up the stairs again, and it's only then that I realize someone is talking in my ear piece again. I don't have time to contemplate how good it felt to see Piper—I have a job to do and my attention needs to be focused solely on that.

But her face, those eyes, that mouth…

I return to our section of the lounge and see that my fellow agents have picked up the slack and are showing Rossellini a good time. Another person has joined our group, and I realize that's what Thompson is informing us in our ear pieces. It takes me a moment to return to the task at hand, thoughts of Piper pushed to the back of my mind.

We're there another 20 minutes before all four suspects are within reach. We wait for instructions to make our move, but not before I find myself in a compromising position. Rossellini demands that he take a hit off my chest, so my head is laying back against the sofa and my neck is exposed. We're taught never to expose our necks or wrists, and here I am, going against protocol for the good of the operation. I can tell by the set of his jaw that Kevin doesn't approve.

Kevin stands, hand on his waistband where I know his gun is hidden. "I want in on this action."

"Ask him to join you in the back room," Agent Thompson states in my ear piece. "Get Vause out of this situation."

I lift my head, tracing a finger down Rossellini's cheek. "Maybe we should go to the back room?"

"What's in the back room?" He's high—I can see it in his eyes. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

"Privacy," I whisper.

He laughs like a villain in a movie. "I like privacy."

I lead him to the other side of the room where there's a thick, black door. As soon as we walk inside, two of our agents shove him to the floor and remove his weapon. I wipe my brow and wait for my next orders as Rossellini hisses words laced with vengeance.

"We've got a situation on the first floor," I hear in the ear bud. "Vause, there's a woman screaming your name and struggling with Agent Cheskey. Fix it!"

I rush out the room, making a bee line down the stairs, shaking my head with frustration.

"Alex!" Piper shoves Cheskey to the side, but he won't have any of it. He drags her outside with extreme force, and she yelps. "Ow, you're hurting me!"

I take over, hand on Piper's waist. "Are you fucking kidding me?" We walk briskly around the corner into an alley.

"I'm not leaving until I get answers!" she yells.

"Look at me." I wrap both hands on her shoulders and shake her. "Look at me and listen: you need to leave, Piper! This is not about you or me or us."

"I don't understand."

Just then, two gunshots ring out, drawing my attention above. They sound like they came from upstairs.

"Fuck." Once again, I grab her by the wrist and tug her around another corner until we reach the unmarked van. I pound on the back door. "It's Vause—55145."

Agent Thompson opens the door, and the other agent inside the van steps out. "What's going on?"

"Take her."

I run back towards the club, climbing the exterior stairwell and snagging my shin on a rusty, metal step. "Shit." I don't have to look down to know that it's bleeding. This whole time, Agent Thompson is giving orders to the other agents, but it's chaotic. I have to get to Kevin.

As I bang on the locked door, I hear people running out of the club in hysterics.

I'm filled with relief as Kevin opens the door. "Second floor secure," he says into his mic, ushering me inside where Rossellini is handcuffed next to what appears to be a dead goon. Our undercover agents finish handcuffing the other two other men and shoving them against the wall.

I don't leave the back room to deal with the chaos in the club, but the sounds of people screaming inside is deafening. I'm glad Piper is safe, but she has now compromised my position and could've potentially compromised the entire operation.

"Who was that woman?" Kevin asks, jaw tight and slightly out of breath.

I can't look him in the eye, knowing I put all of us in danger. Well, not me, technically, but Piper. "My ex."

He nods once, jaw set. "Take care of it."

I glance around the room once more, making sure there's nothing I need to do, and then head for the same steps I climbed up minutes earlier. As I make my way to the van, I see another vehicle pull up and recognize the agent who steps out of it.

"You're bleeding." The agent doesn't stop to check on me; instead, he knocks on the side of the van three times, states his name and agent number.

Piper steps out of the van, cheeks stained with tears.

"What did you do to her?" I instinctively revert to ProtectPiper mode.

Thompson folds his arms. "She says she knows you."

"I do—she's…she's," I stumble, worried about giving too much away.

"Your ex-girlfriend?" he asks.

Fuck. "Yes. Her name is Piper Chapman."

"She's under arrest for impeding an investigation."

"How was I supposed to know Alex was undercover?" Piper blinks at me, though her question is directed at the other agents.

"The fake contacts and platinum wig didn't give it away?" I'm angry, but I have to fix this. "Look, sir, Piper and I haven't seen each other in nearly a year, and she was freaked out by my appearance. There was no way she could've known I was on a case."

"And now she's blown your cover," he says, handing Piper over to the other agent who drove up in the car.

"I'm going to take her in."

"No," I state firmly. "Let me talk to her, please."

The other agents exchange glances.

"Bring her to the field office by 8 o'clock sharp tomorrow, otherwise, I'll issue a warrant for her arrest."

"Does this mean I'm not going to jail?" Piper asks.

"For now." Thompson gets back into the van. "We have a shit load of clean up to do, Vause. I suggest you take off now and explain your disappearance to your partner later."

"Yes, sir."