General Fic Warnings: PTSD, depression, lightly evocative of self-harm
unstitch that shit I've sewn (to close up the hole that tore through my skin)
Alex has spent more time upright and moving today than she has in two months. Exhaustion is reaching all the way down to her bones, but her head is pounding with anxiety, and sleeping here feels dangerous, too vulnerable and exposed. She's not used to other people being in the room anymore.
And Alex never knows, these days, how or when she's going to wake up.
So she lays in the top bunk listening to DeMarco's breathing machine whirring, idly thinking she's at least lucky she didn't have to haul any medical equipment back with her.
Although if Alex wakes up screaming from one of those nightmare that are more like a warped, amplified memory, that will end up attracting even more attention.
So she fights off sleep like it's something stalking her, though lying awake in the stillness isn't much better. Her thoughts wander straight to Piper, still processing their earlier encounter, as well as everything Lorna and Yoga had told her.
It was always, always frustrating here at night, lying in some single bed alone, maddeningly aware of how close Piper was, but this is on another level.
She hadn't even touched her.
Alex remembers her first night back last time, stretched out in Piper's arms in the chapel, both of them wrapped in a delusion, but still, being held and stroked and comforted, childishly thinking that she'd been needing that for years.
Now, tonight, Piper had looked like she's the one who needs it. But she hadn't given Alex the chance.
Piper gets out of the shower the next morning and Alex is standing in front of the mirrors. She feels knocked off balance, like it hadn't really clicked that yesterday wasn't a one time only return.
Alex turns her head to look at her, and in the second before Piper's glance jumps away she sees cautious light fill Alex's eyes. "Hey, Pipes."
She doesn't answer, just nods slightly, directed mostly at the floor. Absurdly, Piper pulls her towel a little tighter around herself, as if Alex might reach over and yank it off, exposing her. She carefully angles her arm inward. Hiding.
Two sinks down from Alex, Piper brushes her teeth so hard and fast her gums bleed.
Alex isn't sure how to navigate this.
When she and Piper were last in proximity, they weren't together. Last time Alex saw Piper, she was treating Alex like an irritation and trying to turn herself into some prison crime ring dictator.
But now feels so fucking far away from then, like they'd both been blown off the map and wherever they'd been standing when it happened is irrelevant.
Piper won't look at her face. Other people pretend, either with too intense eye contact or that trick where they focus on a point over her shoulder and think she won't notice.
With Piper there's no pretense, like she isn't even going to risk peripheral vision.
It hurts more than Alex wants it to. Hurts more than it should.
But it does mean Alex can openly stare at her while Piper brushes her teeth and then brushes out wet tangled hair, and slowly Alex realizes something.
Piper isn't looking at her own face either. Her gaze is slack, deliberately avoiding the mirror.
For some reason, she walks into a stall to change clothes, then leaves the bathroom without saying a word.
For two months, Piper has held herself in a self imposed solitary confinement, not getting close enough to anyone to inflict damage.
For the first time, that isn't easy.
She starts making a point not to go through the line for food until after Alex and several of the others have already sat down. She lets Alex have everyone else, makes sure she's settled at a table and surrounded by friends before Piper gets her own tray and finds an empty space as far away as she can.
The third or fourth time that happens, Alex leaves her own food and walks over; as usual, Piper's lungs swell into conflict, one of them breathing out I'm so glad you're here while the other exhales look what I did to you.
She stares down at a her tray.
"Hey, you can come sit, you know," Alex says lightly. Lorna and the others have probably informed her that Piper's New Kid in the Cafeteria routine is new, and that she has at least been sitting with them for the past two months, albeit silently.
"I'm good," Piper mutters.
"Yeah, I can see that." Alex's voice has a hint of smirk. "But in the name of peaceful coexistence..." She trails off, and when Piper doesn't answer, her tone softens at the edges. "Pipes, c'mon, I'm seriously not trying to push you out."
Of course she's not. That much is obvious, but Piper doesn't understand why. She wants to the Alex who broke up with her and walked away. The Alex who called her a manipulative cunt, who slapped her across the face and wanted her hurt.
But those versions of Alex had always existed in quick flashes, always an immediate reaction, never sticking around. So instead she's left with this, with Alex trying. Alex always searching for eye contact, Alex saying hey, Alex always always watching.
Alex is the person Piper has come closest to truly destroying, the one wearing the damage on her skin.
So why the hell is she the only one who won't just stay away?
"Don't do that." Piper still must not be used to talking, because the words get messed up. What she means is you don't have to do this, but it comes out cold and commanding. "I just...I don't want..." She shakes her head. She doesn't want to hurt her. Not again.
But she can't say that. Piper knows she owes Alex an apology (at the very very very least), and maybe that's what she's after, but Piper will never be able to make it big enough. Besides, the way Alex seems now, all concern and zero asshole, she'd probably argue, try to downplay it.
She'd probably fucking forgive.
Piper remembers that the version of Alex she wants right now, the one she deserves, only emerges out of initial shocked anger.
So Piper turns her face hard and makes herself disconnect and fixates on a point just over Alex's right shoulder, the first time she's lifted her head the whole conversation. "Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?"
She picks up her tray, not waiting to see if it's enough for Alex to walk away.
"Welcome back!" Berdie smiles warmly when Alex slinks reluctantly into her office.
"You, too," Alex replies, referencing Berdie's supposedly complicated suspension. It comes out too snide, and Alex regrets it a little. To her counselor's immense and sudden credit, she doesn't even bat an eye at the sight of Alex's face.
She doesn't react to the snideness, either, just waves a hand for Alex to sit. Alex has been dreading this, not wanting anything resembling therapy, so in an attempt to steer the conversation toward the practical, she asks, "Do I have a job assignment?" She pauses, rolls her eyes slightly. "My third prison career."
Berdie smiles at that. "Well, first of all, don't worry, we obviously won't be putting you back on grounds crew." The phrase tugs forward an image of the greenhouse, and Alex's pulse starts skittering unpleasantly. She hasn't even been outside in the yard yet. Berdie continues, "Any job in particular calling your name?"
Alex arches an eyebrow. "Seriously? Is this more VIP treatment? Very important prisoner?" She makes a derisive, scoffing sound, "You people hire a guard who worked a drug ring, I nearly get killed, but hey, now I get to choose my own job?"
With a patient smile, Berdie says, unrattled as always, "We don't want to give you anything too physically intensive right now. And if you have a preference that might ease the transition back, then it makes my job even easier. Win win."
Alex is quiet for a moment, thinking. She's tempted to ask for the sweat shop, keep crowding in on Piper's determined avoidance of her; she hardly ever sees Piper except for from across the cafeteria, sitting on her own. She's never in the TV room or rec area or library, so Alex has no idea where she spends most of her time.
She'd like to see if there's any part of the day when Piper seems okay.
"The, uh, Whispers thing - "
Berdie makes an apologetic face and cuts her off. "Actually, that one we can't do."
"Oh, right...the fucking test."
"Between you and me, I think the test is a hoax. But they are maxed out with people down there."
"Oh." Alex frowns, disappointment colliding with small, guilty relief - she's not sure she wants to spend every day making reminders of the panty business and everything that had been falling down around it. She thinks for a second. "I don't know, is the library actually functioning enough to be a job?"
"That I can do for you."
"Great." Alex gives a crisp, we're-done-here sort of nod and starts to stand up.
"Not so fast," Berdie sounds amused at her attempt to flee, but when Alex grits her teeth and lowers herself back into the chair, the counselor's face goes soft. "How you doing?"
"Fine." It comes out firm and defensive.
"Sleeping okay?"
"Yeah..." she says it like it's a stupid question.
Berdie pats a thick file in front of her. "We have your records from the hospital, they indicated there's been some problems with - "
Alex talks over top of her, sarcastically reassuring. "Well, that's what the pills are for, right?"
Consulting the papers in front of her, Berdie says smoothly, "Right, I see they've got you on a low dose of anti-anxiety, but I want you to feel like you have a safe space to - "
"I'm fine," she says through her teeth.
"Vause," Berdie says gently. "You've been through a major trauma, and there's absolutely no shame in - "
"Yeah, a trauma," Alex spits out the word. "Because you people hired a fucking drug dealer and hit man based on a fake name and fake resume, and then half the other guards walked out just before he decided to dent my fucking head in with a shovel. And now..." Alex's measured, bitter tirade stumbles before she really gets started; her voice catches and her eyes start stinging and fuck, Berdie is going for tissues. "I'm fine," she says, forceful and panicked enough that Berdie stops mid reach. Alex swallows against the lump in her throat, pissed at herself.
"Alex." The use of her first name startles Alex enough to look over. "I am truly sorry this happened to you." There's a sincerity in her voice that makes it hard for Alex to snark or dismiss. "I can understand you not wanting to trust help from any of us who work here. But I'm on your side, and I just want you to know that if things get too hard...you can come to me, and I'll help you figure it out."
Alex's face is hot. Her eyes drift away, and she tightens her jaw, running a hand through her hair before she's able to ask flatly, "Do I have a bunk assigned yet?"
Mercifully, Berdie accepts the cue to move on. "You do, actually."
Ten minutes later, Alex is putting sheets on one of the beds in the suburbs when Lorna sing-songs from behind her, "Hiya, bunkie."
Alex throws a grin over her shoulder. "Hey. You cool with this?"
"You kidding? McGinnis snored like a buzz saw. You and me, we'll have fun."
Alex scans the wall above Lorna's bunk, looking at photos. "So that's the husband?"
She beams, pleased with herself. "Yeah, yeah, that's my Vince. Isn't he handsome?"
Alex makes a noncommittal noise; for an odd second, she misses Nicky.
She shakes it off, letting her eyes wander to Piper's cube, only two down from theirs. It's empty.
Lorna follows her gaze. "Yeah, I dunno where Chapman is. Used to be she was in the bunk all day, just...lyin' there." Alex knew that already, Lorna's told her before, but she feels the dull sting of that mental image anyway. "Gotta be a good thing she's up and at 'em, right?"
"You wouldn't know where she's up and at, do you?"
To her credit, Lorna pretends like Alex doesn't ask her some variation of that question all the time. "Sorry. Not a clue."
Piper spends most of her time outside the greenhouse.
She doesn't go inside; there are still bloodstains, a deep brownish red splattered over the wooden planks in the floor. She used to make herself go look at it, when she went too numb for too long and the pain from a fresh tattoo wasn't enough to wake her up.
Now, she mostly just sits in the grass with her back against the side of the building, the one near the garden, facing away from the yard.
It's the one place she's sure Alex won't look for her.
Lorna leaves while Alex finishes making her bed, and when she's done, Alex walks casually toward Piper's bunk, scanning the dormitory to make sure no one who would bother observing is around. That's still a larger than usual number; the novelty of Alex's return and appearance hasn't worn off. The staring is wearing on her; it makes her feel cornered, jumpy with dormant paranoia.
But the dormitory is mostly empty, save for a few women napping or reading, so Alex moves unobserved into Piper's cube.
She's not snooping without purpose, but she gets distracted once she's inside Piper's space, some ill defined ache rounding between the chest and throat.
Piper's standard issue white wife beater is hanging on the hook on her side of the room. Alex lifts it off, checks one more time for anyone watching, then burrows her face briefly in the fabric. She breathes in, steadying herself. It feels like so long since she's been close enough to catch Piper's scent. She hasn't even been close enough to touch her.
Lifting her head, Alex reaches to hang the tank top back up when she notices her glasses, hooked over the neck of Piper's sweatshirt.
Alex picks them up, overwhelmed at the thought of Piper holding onto these all this time, and then her eyes land on the crack in the lens.
The shovel must have done it.
Alex's hands start to shake.
The shovel had hit her and the glasses had fallen off and blood got in her eyes.
The floor tilts beneath her, and Alex sits down, hard, on the floor of Piper's bunk. Her heart is trying to claw it's way out of her chest, desperate for evacuation.
The world turns to broken glass, delicate but sharp.
There's a crack in the lens. A fault line. If she put them on right now, it'd line up with her scar.
The dormitory starts to shrink.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yeah. I do."
He is between you and the door, and you tighten your grip on the broom because it's all you have, but then Aydin reaches for pepper spray, aiming it with his finger on the trigger and advancing toward you. The broom clatters to the floor and you squeeze your eyes shut, twisting your head into the crook of your arm on instinct.
Two seconds later his baton hits the side of your head, and in the same breath his foot hooks around the back of your heels, jerking your legs out from under you. It's so absurdly childish, but you land with a leaden impact that thuds your heart and lungs into momentarily stillness. The broom is under your back, your glasses slid up to your forehead.
There's a rattling of keys. You pull down the glasses and look up, see Aydin with his back to you, reaching in the cabinet of garden tools There's a clear path to the door.
You're on your knees when he turns around, swinging the shovel like a baseball bat.
You feel your cheekbone crack.
Your face is split in two, nerves are spilling out and licking your skin like flames. There's blood in your left eye, wet and thick, you're scared it might dry there, but you can still see Aydin lifting the shovel again and you curl on your side. Blood runs the bridge of your nose, it's everywhere now, blinding you. The shovel hits the side of your head and the blood in your eyes explodes like crimson fireworks.
You struggle to get up, but something is sitting on your legs.
Something sharp pierces your gut, aimed upward. The air is full of desperate, dying animal whines. They start to rattle. Blood sprays the back of your throat, warm and metallic. You can't swallow. You can't see. Blood in your eyes, in your mouth, your lungs. He's going to drown you in your own blood.
The weight rolls off your legs.
You're going to die.
Out of nowhere you think of your mom; she died instantly, that's what everyone kept reminding you, at least it was instant, and you hated all of them who made it sound like that made a difference, like you should be grateful, except now you understand and now you are glad. It means she wasn't hurting, she wasn't terrified, she didn't have to wait and she didn't have to know.
She didn't have time to wish you'd been there.
You wish Piper was here.
Piper.
Picture Piper wrapped in hotel sheets, on the floor by the minibar, laughing like music and swirling tequila with her finger.
Picture Piper asleep on your shoulder across airplane seats, fingers limp in yours.
The pain is starting to recede, its volume turning way down.
Picture Piper reaching for your hand through crystal blue seawater, bubbling words from under her scuba mask, her hair floating angelically in the water.
The greenhouse feels far away and you swallow the blood.
Picture Piper's dizzyingly familiar smile, Piper dancing in khaki prison scrubs, pressing herself close.
Picture Piper's cube Alex is in Piper's cube. When she comes to, she's crouched on the floor, soaked in cold sweat and shaking violently.
Alex blinks, her eyes darting wildly around her. She runs both hands through her hair and ends up pressing spasmodically at her skull like she's trying to hold herself down, anchored to the present.
Slowly, she extracts a hand to run her palm along her cheek. The skin is bumpy and rough but it's healed.
Forgetting her original purpose in coming to Piper's bunk, Alex gets to her feet. She leaves the old glasses on the floor and frantically stumbles through the dormitory, heading for the bathroom, feeling like she's barely outrunning collapsing ground.
She's breathing hard by the time she gets there, gripping the sides of the sink to hold herself up, and staring intently at her own reflection. Her eyes are bloodshot and disturbing, but for the first time, the scar is a reassurance.
Piper returns to the suburbs for count, her steps momentarily faltering when she sees Alex standing outside Morello's cube.
She doesn't slow down, doesn't stop to look, but panic is swerving through her bloodstream.
Red gives her a pointed look when Piper reaches her own bunk. She nods at the floor of the cube and asks dryly, "Were you hoping to lure Vause inside? Those some sort of bait?"
"What?" Piper looks where she's indicating, and her stomach clenches. Alex's glasses are lying in the floor.
Confused and unsettled, Piper picks them up but doesn't return them to their usual hiding spot, just keeps them in her hand, pressing her thumb against the cracked lens. She can't remember when she last pulled them out. She can't be sure she hadn't left them there.
When the COs walk in, Piper chances a look over at Alex. In profile, she can't see the scar. Traitorous longing yanks at Piper's chest, and she winds herself tighter to quell the urge.
In her curled up fists, the biggest piece of the lens pops out of the frames.
The CO gets to their bunk, and Piper nervously tightens her fingers around the shard of glass, hiding what could be seen as a potential weapon. It slices new lines into her palm and the pressure in Piper's chest eases up.
The first three nights Alex is sleeping in the dormitory, it takes Piper longer than usual to quiet her brain enough to go to sleep, but for the most part, she manages to stick to her strategy without disruption.
On the fourth night, Piper wakes up in the middle of the night and becomes aware of quiet whimpering and the occasional gasp sliding through the dark of the room.
Even before she's awake enough to figure out which direction they're coming from, Piper knows it's Alex.
The sounds catch in her ears, and Piper rolls over on her side, pulling her pillow over her ears and grinding her teeth.
Somewhere in the dark, Alex makes a noise like she's hurt, a moan mingled with a whine, and then sucks in a quivering, wet breath.
Piper presses the heels of her hands against her ears, muscles flexing so tight she rips opens scabs.
The word "Don't." falls onto her. Alex's voice, but not like Piper's ever, ever heard it before. Almost wailing.
Piper's head fills up with memories that aren't even hers.
A scream stretches its way from her chest and up her throat, but Piper catches it behind her teeth. She swallows it back, and then her voice leaps out of her, too loud and wild sounding, "Morello, shut her up."
There's a slow, shuffling murmur of waking reactions, as if Piper is the one disturbing the quiet.
Alex makes another stuck, panicked sound.
"Morello."
Lorna's voice, fuzzy with sleep and sharp with annoyance, finally answers, "Whassit? What'd'ya want?"
"Shut her up." she sounds borderline unhinged. "She's keeping everyone awake."
"No, that'd be you, bitch," a voice Piper can't place yells.
"No," Alex again, practically a shriek.
"Lorna," Piper's voice is coming apart at the seams.
Lorna answers, "M-maybe you should - "
"She's your bunkie, wake her the fuck up."
Finally, she hears a few padding footsteps, followed by Lorna's quiet voice, "Vause...hey, Vause, wake up..."
Piper buries her face in her mattress and pulls her pillow firmly over her head, folding her arms back and pressing it down. Her eyes are wet, chest heaving. She inhales and exhales, deliberately sharp so it roars in her ears like crackling static.
She stays like that for a long time until she lets herself lift her head and hesitantly listen.
Everything is quiet.
Piper's skin is prickling. She splays her hands under her shirt, against her ribcage, her right thumb finding a rare patch of bare skin, suddenly begging to be marked. Piper doesn't know how to ink the sound of screaming.
A/N: A bit of a filler chapter here, but stuff's picking up soon. Still love hearing what y'all think!