General Fic Warnings: PTSD, depression, lightly evocative of self-harm

I saw you walk the wire (I watched you burn away)

"I miss you."

The words, quiet and thin as a wisp of smoke, float from one end of Piper's bed to the other. She ducks her head a little lower, aimed toward the book in her lap, so her hair falls from behind her ear, then cuts her eyes to the side, covertly peering at Alex. Her own book is closed and she's giving Piper this wide open look that makes her chest hurt.

"I'm here," Piper replies, but her voice sounds lifeless even in her own ears.

Piper's legs are hanging off the bed, and after a second she feels Alex foot hook around her ankle, tugging in an oddly gentle gesture. "You know what I mean though."

Piper does, even though she's not sure what prompted the statement; they've been sitting here in mostly silence for nearly two hours, like every other afternoon.

But she does know what Alex means. Piper's been doing well. She doesn't say much, doesn't do much, doesn't ask for anything. She never even seeks Alex out, makes sure it's always her choice to come find her. Piper's relieved every time she does, but she's not sure what Alex is getting out of it.

She realizes she's tracing the letters of I miss you over and over with her fingernail, just above the knee, and she forces herself to hold the book with both hands again.

The next few hour passes without conversation, Alex reading and Piper pretending to. They split up, by about twenty feet, for bunk count. They walk to the cafeteria for dinner. Alex tells Piper about overhearing Boo completely talk her way out of a shot that morning with one of the new befuddled COs. Piper nods politely and says "Wow" when the story is over. They sit at an end of a table by themselves, and after a few minutes of trying to stomach the food in silence, Alex asks if she remembers that restaurant in Turkey, how Alex had ordered for both of them with utter confidence and Piper had been completely shocked two minutes later when Alex informed her she had no idea what food she'd just asked for. Piper confirmed that she does remember. They go back to not talking and not eating much, either. Piper goes with Alex to movie night and sits on her right side so she can sneak occasional glances from the corner of her eye. When something funny happens, Alex bumps her knee against Piper's and turns to see if she's laughing, and Piper curves her lips obediently upward even as her gaze darts quickly back to the screen. When it's over, Alex makes curse laden jokes about the horrible movie while Piper makes indecipherable hums of agreement to show she's listening. Before lights out, Alex taps her knuckles against Piper's shoulder like she's knocking on a door and says goodnight, Pipes. Piper answer: night, Alex. They split up, and Piper falls into uneasy sleep, hoping this won't be a night she wakes up to the sound of Alex's nightmares.

Another day finishes. Rinse and repeat.

"Geez, bout time. I was ready to come check your pulse."

Alex blinks confusedly up at Poussey for a moment, then sits up from the library floor, her stiff muscles groaning in protest. "Sorry if I'm cutting into your nap time," she snaps, though she's more embarrassed than anything. She hasn't been sleeping much lately.

Slowly, Alex becomes more focused on her surroundings and figures out why Poussey's sequestered amid the back shelves where Alex had claimed a napping spot. There's a ceiling tile that's been slid aside above them, and Poussey is sipping from a jar.

"Jesus," Alex mutters, instantly irritated as understanding dawns and Poussey's frequent requests for Alex to "man the front" of the library suddenly make a lot more sense.

She can smell the hoch, sickeningly sweet with sharp boozy edges, and for a second Alex can almost feel the liquid dripping down her throat, the craving's that strong. She holds out a hand and lifts an eyebrow, expression imbedded with the implication that not sharing would be pretty fucking rude, even in prison where everything is a precious commodity. "Can I get in on that?"

Poussey's face pinches skeptically. "Ain't you in AA?"

"Drugs. Not booze," Alex says, not mentioning the drugs she's currently taking. "Never did the across the board sobriety thing."

Like she's making a great sacrifice, Poussey passes over the jar. "Don't get used to it."

Even as she greedily swallows the first gulp, Alex is wanting more.

She leaves the library with a generous buzz. It hadn't taken much: been too long since she drank, and prison food hasn't done much to help regain the weight Alex had shed in the hospital. Turning into a sudden lightweight may have been a blow to her pride in other circumstances, but now it's just convenient.

It makes it a little easier, today, for her to go to Piper's bunk and sit beside the shadow Piper has become.

It makes it a little easier for her to try.

Some days, now, she doesn't. Can't. Some days she writes off as lost causes, just thinks I'll try again tomorrow and joins Piper inside her locked up quiet, both of them barely conscious. Just existing, side by side. She usually redoubles her efforts after days like that, working even harder to engage Piper, to make her laugh or even just smile, searching and searching for the switch that will flip on the light in her eyes.

Alex tries not to notice that the results are the same either way.

She's just so fucking tired. She is learning that the most exhausting thing in the world is trying so hard at something important, pouring everything into it, and getting absolutely nowhere.

In the worst moments, when she wants to cry out of frustration and fear and secret, creeping resentment, Alex thinks maybe there isn't enough of Piper left anymore. Like she's trying to rebuild a burned down home out of just the ashes and dust.

Sometimes, Piper catches herself feeling almost safe.

She is still a grenade, she can't afford to forget that, but for now, the pin is in and no one is too close. Alex can tug it along on a string as long she doesn't hold it in her hands.

She can function like this.

Breathe.

Sleep.

Eat.

Listen to the familiar husk of Alex's voice and remember she's alive.

Every day, rinse and repeat.

Alex wakes up one night with her face and eyes wet, immediately clobbered by panic her. She paws at her cheeks with frantic shaky hands, expecting blood.

But no. Tears, again. Tears and sweat.

She sucks in a harsh, quivering breath that sounds absurdly loud and waits for her heartbeat to stop sprinting. There's no memory of a dream; for the past week she's been waking up scared for no discernible reason. Alex hates it, hates how little sense it makes: emotions triggered by nothing.

Even so she can't shake it, the terror blooming in her chest, thickening in her throat and making her cry like a little kid.

She becomes suddenly, sharply aware of how close Piper is.

Fierce, unfiltered need courses through her and, God, all Alex wants is to be able to cross the room and crawl into bed beside Piper, just for a few minutes. She wants to wake Piper up and and she wants Piper to hold her and she wants Piper to tell her it's okay.

But she can't, and Piper won't, so Alex rolls onto her stomach and presses her face into her pillow just in case she can't stay quiet.

Only now, in the tense 3 a.m. almost-dark, can Alex let herself admit how unfair this is.

"Vause? Can I borrow you for a few minutes?"

Alex tenses up, automatically glancing at Piper to check her reaction to Berdie's sudden presence. She's looking over at the same time and they make accidental eye contact for a brush of a moment before Piper jerks her attention back to her book. Alex notices she hasn't turned a page in at least ten minutes.

"Vause." A little pushy now. Unmistakable authority.

Alex narrows a glare in her counselor's direction. She's been even more irritated with Berdie than usual, ever since she'd tried to claim Alex had been conscious longer than she remembers during the attack, and she definitely doesn't like this: Berdie slipping out of the confines of her office. In there, she lets Alex curse at her and talk back, acts like it's all part of the process, but here she's just another blue uniform who could send Alex to SHU the second she feels like it.

That in mind, Alex swallows the sarcastic refusals lining up on the tip of her tongue and closes her book. Her knee nudges Piper's. "Back soon, okay?"

Piper nods, and Alex trails sulkily after Berdie as they walk to her office, feeling like a kid caught skipping class.

"So," Berdie nods at her to take a seat, then settles into her desk. "Want to tell me why you decided not to show up for your session?"

Alex gives a flippant shrug. "Well, I'm not paying for them, so I don't feel super obligated."

Berdie gives her a look. "This isn't optional, Vause. You came to me for help - "

"Wrong. I came to you for drugs."

"And I told you, if you want those, we have to do the real work with - "

"Fine, take the pills away. Fuck it. They don't do shit anyway."

At that, Berdie pounces, her eyebrows shoot up. "Why do you say that? Have any symptoms increased? Because that can happen, actually. PTSD can actually worsen as you get further from the event -"

"Jesus," Alex cuts her off. "That's fucking convenient for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Alex's face twists hatefully. "You make me come in here, it doesn't do shit to help, and you get to say, oh, that's just part of it."

Berdie's expression doesn't waver; it's frozen into her fake fucking concern. "What is it that's getting worse, Alex?"

Through her teeth, Alex grits out, "I never fucking said anything was getting worse. You said it could."

There's a long silence, like Berdie just wants that to sit between them, before she finally says, "What is it that's making you angry?"

"You, mostly."

"Seemed to come on pretty fast to be just about me." Berdie waits a second before adding, "How about when you're not being forced to sit in my office? You find yourself feeling any anger then?"

"No."

"So what do you feel?"

Alex tightens her jaw and looks away. She feels helpless, and frustrated, and scared, and yes, fine, okay, sometimes she feels angry. But none of that has anything to do with Aydin and the greenhouse; it has everything to do with Piper, and that means it doesn't belong here in Berdie's office.

I miss you makes a nice addition to Piper's waist, as well as a decent distraction from thinking about whatever might be happening in Berdie's office.

She's running out of space. As she pulls her shirt back on, Piper tugs her pants down instead, running a hand experimentally along the smooth, unmarked skin of her thigh. It could work. Not as painful as the ribs or hipbones, but easily accessed. Plenty of space.

Piper's body is still tingling with want, so she finds a tiny rectangle of space and inks Back soon okay? in a narrow stack of words, just because it's the first and easiest thing that comes to mind. It hurts and it makes her feel very awake. Out of nowhere, she thinks of Alex kissing her here, weeks and weeks ago now. She hasn't tried again. Piper doesn't let her get close enough.

The tattoo gun gets tucked into her waistband when she walks back to the suburbs; she doesn't feel safe hiding it here anymore. When Piper walks through the dorm, Alex is standing in front of her cube, and nearly collides with Piper when she turns around.

"Jesus fuck," Alex jolts back from her, wild eyed, her hands shooting out in front of her like she's expecting an attack.

"Sorry," Piper says on reflex, holding up her own hands in surrender. It takes Alex a second to relax and move closer again. Thinking about why makes Piper feel sick.

"Where were you?" There's an edge to Alex's voice that hasn't been present in awhile.

"Bathroom," Piper answers, overly aware of the gun pressed against her stomach. The newest tattoos are chattering at each other; even covered up, they always feel so exposed around Alex.

Piper isn't looking at Alex enough to know whether she believes it or not, but either way she walks past Piper into the bunk, taking her former position on one end of the bed. Piper sits gingerly beside her; she has to wait until they split up for count to temporarily hide the tat gun under her mattress.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, Alex takes Piper's wrist and pushes up her sleeve to check her arm. It's the most she ever touches her; she hasn't tried anything more intimate since that day in the chapel, even though that was the most present she's seen Piper since coming back.

But Alex does check her arm, makes sure she's not hurting herself. It's the only thing she dares to push Piper on at the moment - she doesn't even ask about the tattoos - but she needs to know this much, even though looking at the cuts and open tissue still sometimes makes Alex's skin tighten and lungs shrink.

But a lot of it is healing, and Alex can finally make out the individual letters of the tattoo: Trust No Bitch, of all idiotic bullshit, written in round handwriting and white ink.

And sometimes, even though she's mad at herself for it, Alex can't help but focus on the tattoo instead of the wounds. Sometimes her sickening hurt and anger shove themselves in front of her concern and empathy.

Sometimes she's perversely glad Piper doesn't look her in the eye, because sometimes she can't quite hide her flashes of irritation and resentment.

Sometimes she can't help thinking: Piper cheated on her. Piper ruined them. Piper brought her back here and then she nearly died.

Piper should be the one trying.

It's selfish to think like that, and Alex can usually avoid it.

But sometimes...

It would all be okay if Piper would just smile. Or talk. Alex would bask in even the tiniest spark of progress; it would be enough to smother that bitter, selfish voice in her head.

She is just sick and tired of failing at this.

Piper's face is so lifeless, all the time all the time all the time, no matter what random anecdote or nostalgia laced memory Alex gives her, no matter how many snarky jokes she tries to force into her monologues. It's hard to be funny and charming when there's no real back and forth, but Alex tries anyway.

If she were the one collecting Piper's words, Alex would have a ribcage list that's both dull and frightening: yeah's and okay's and fine's, dozens of each; tiny hollow sentences that wouldn't be worth the little ink they'd require.

Sometimes Alex is gripped with the overwhelming desire to shake Piper, to yell and shove and curse until she's forced to wake up enough to fight back. There's probably something to that instinct; Piper has always needed truths forcefully shoved in her face, and Alex used to be good at doing it.

But now, every time she starts to string the words together in her head, she imagines them written on Piper's body and loses her nerve.

So Alex keeps so many words unsaid, carved on her throat rather than Piper's skin. Because there are both forgivenesses and accusations, and once she gets started Alex isn't sure the two can be untangled.

Occasionally, not too often, when Poussey takes her semi-regular naps on the table in the library, Alex gets the hooch down from the ceiling - the location had changed after that first day, but Alex finds it laughably fast - and drinks. She's taken to carrying water bottles around so she can replace the level of liquid in the jar. She'd never been much of a drowsy drunk before, but the Not Recommended combination of the alcohol and her anti-anxiety meds make her feel foggy in a way that isn't exactly unpleasant.

It almost makes her miss heroin; she'd favored E in the clubs, anything with a kick, but would usually end the nights nodding out in a hotel room, getting happily lost in that strange, euphoric sedation.

At Alex's weakest moments, she wonders vaguely about the heroin that got Nicky thrown into max, if there would be anyway to figure out who'd been supplying her.

She always dismisses the thought, all too aware that the junkie version of herself was almost as useless as this new, supposedly traumatized version. Combining the two won't do anyone any good.

Still, Alex can't help wishing she had easier access to Poussey's supply just before lights out. She needs more sleep than she's getting.

It's a Sunday, with no work, so they're eating lunch together in the cafeteria. It's another weekend passed without Polly coming back for visitation, Alex realizes darkly. Maybe she should try Cal; there had been at least one letter from him in Piper's bunk, too, she could easily snag the address.

That's what she's thinking about, watching Piper eating on the other side of a table that may as well be a few miles long, but what she says is, in a casual, musing aloud kind of tone, "Maybe I should start going to yoga." A few seconds tick by before Alex remembers it's better to talk in direct questions. "Up the Zen level in my life. I can be Zen. What do you think?"

Piper's eyes aim away from her food and toward Alex's approximate direction while she produces one of her randomly generated acknowledgements. "Sure."

Alex takes advantage of the sort-of attention to maneuver her face into a smirk. "Maybe I just want to sit behind you during downward dog. That's a thing, right?"

"It is." She doesn't address the flirting.

"Morello says Jones has upped her game lately. She came in yesterday - "

"Vause."

"Shit," Alex hisses under her breath before she can stop herself. She's skipped two more of Berdie's sessions; at the last one she'd attended after, she'd been pushed on her supposed anger into demanding to read her own goddamn incident report. Berdie had calmly refused, and Alex had walked out.

"Think we need to talk," the counselor says with a small, martyred smile that pisses Alex off right away.

"Don't think you can stop me from eating," Alex says dryly, barely sparing her a flick of a glance. "Probably falls under the umbrella cruel and unusual punishment. Also, skipping meals is a sign of poor mental health so you're just trapping us in a cycle."

As she's talking, Alex watches Piper. She's pretending to look in the opposite direction, eyeing another table. Somehow, her eyes are withdrawn further than they were thirty seconds ago, like she's trying to lose herself in her own head. It makes Alex's chest hurt.

"I'm not asking, Vause."

"Would you just fuck off?" Alex snaps, jumping up from her stool and rounding to face Berdie in a swift, angry motion.

Berdie just only an eyebrow in response, almost challenging, but a CO is walking by at the exact moment. He grabs Alex's upper arms from behind and jerks her back, away from Berdie. She nearly stumbles over the table stools. "What was that, inmate?"

Alex feels herself go paralyzed, in the same second the pounding urge to run the fuck away knifes through her.

"Let her go, Daniels," Berdie orders sharply.

"But she - "

"We're fine here," Berdie's voice is firm and unmistakably in Boss mode. "Move along."

Throwing in a slight shove, the guard lets Alex go.

She can't stop shaking.

"Alex..." Berdie steps toward her, voice soft, all sternness gone from her face. "Hey, Vause, look at me."

"Go away," Alex grits out, but it doesn't come out pissed off. It's high and strained and childlike. Everything is so, so quiet. She turns around and sits back down at the table, grabbing an orange, the first thing she can reach off her tray, whispering to herself without meaning to, "Go away, go away, go away..."

A hand grazes her shoulder and Alex flinches away like it burns. "Come talk to me tomorrow," she hears Berdie say in a worried, conciliatory voice.

Piper is watching her now, so Alex starts digging her fingernails into the orange peel, pulling off strips, trying to seem fine even though her hands are trembling and she can hear her own breathing, wet and staggered, filling the air around her.

She swallows and it tastes like blood. Her head starts to throb.

But she's fine she is okay she is okay she is -

Piper had been trying to tune Berdie and Alex out, but when the CO had come over, Piper had looked along with everyone else in their vicinity, and now she can't look away.

There are tears rolling down Alex's face and she's making choked, quivering noises but it seems different than crying. She doesn't seem to know she's doing it. Her eyes are wild and intense but somehow not looking at anything, and she's shredding a piece of orange peel into smaller and smaller pieces, littering the table with them, her fingers fast and frantic.

Piper's stomach is flipping over. She wants to throw up.

Abruptly, the orange falls from Alex's grip and she presses her hands into her eyes, rubbing them in urgent, unhinged motion. "Pipes..." It's a desperate whimper. "Help."

Piper's vision blurs, a sob rounds in her throat, and she is filled with the strange but certain feeling that she is the one doing this. Like Alex is reacting to her.

So she gets to her feet and she walks away, legs stiff and clumsy underneath her. People are staring, and she nearly runs into Berdie, moving in the opposite direction.

Help becomes the first word she adds to her leg. And the second third fourth fifth and sixth, a shaky arch of pleas.

"Is this the part where I go to psych?" Alex mumbles. Her voice is a weightless, croak of thing. She drinks more water.

"No," Berdie answers gently. She's standing beside Alex's cot in the medical room. "You had a panic attack, not a psychotic break." Neither of them are saying flashback. She was supposed to be done with those. "And it was understandably triggered. I've told the CO's they're not supposed to get too physical with you - "

"Yeah?" Alex lifts her gaze. "If I'd known that was a rule I'd have been doing a lot more shit."

"Unless absolutely necessary," Berdie finishes pointedly, smirking the slightest bit. "And you should forget I told you that."

"Don't be nice to me," Alex mutters.

"Well, that's an interesting request..."

"You're all pissed off I haven't been showing up in your office. So if you're being nice it's because I seem really pathetic."

"Well, now that you mention it..." Berdie drags a chair over. "You do owe me a session. So." Her voice softens. "What are you feeling?"

She always says that. What instead of how, so Alex can't just dismiss with a fine.

Alex huffs out a tired, humorless laugh. "I'm feeling like a fucking idiot."

She had lost it in front of everyone. God. She'd had to be led out by a counselor...only after Berdie had handed her a bag to breathe in. Alex feels like a soap opera character. One with a weak constitution.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Vause."

Alex makes a scoffing sound. "I think you're overestimating the empathy of the crowd. This place is worse than fucking high school."

"Okay. So you're feeling embarrassed," Berdie summarizes needlessly. "Anything else?"

Unexpectedly, Alex feels a fresh wave of hot tears well in her eyes. She lifts her gaze up and lifts her hands to her face, massaging as if she has a headache. "Um..." It comes out wet. She can't shake the about-to-cry sensation.

Piper left. And Alex doesn't want to say what she's feeling about that.

She left before Berdie even got there; Alex had been dimly aware of it, even in her fucked up state, and it had redoubled her panic. In a wild, out of her head moment, she'd been briefly convinced something had happened to Piper, but no. She'd just walked away. Not like someone broken or hollow or numb. Like someone who could make their own damn choices, and had chosen not to stay.

Again.

When she's gone too long without answering, Berdie wisely changes course, saying gently, "I hate to be that guy, so to speak, Vause, but...I'm kinda hoping this incident shows you that maybe the sessions are still necessary?"

"Only if they help," Alex mutters, her voice still pulled too tight.

"I think they can. I hope they will," Berdie says, and it's obvious she means it even if Alex doesn't want to like or believe her right now.

"Do I have to stay here?"

"Nope. You're good to go...as long as you feel okay."

Alex stands from the cot, still a bit unsteady but not wanting to be here any longer than she has to. She meets Berdie's eye and even gives her a quiet, sincere, "Thanks." before leaving.

Piper is lying on her bed, flat on her back, physically ill with self-revulsion.

She doesn't know where Alex is. An inmate she doesn't know had yelled at her "Hey, they drag your loony girlfriend off to psych?" and now she can't stop thinking about it, remembering everything Suzanne told her about psych, all those months ago.

She's been so stupid, thinking everything was okay. It doesn't matter how quiet and still she makes herself now, it's too late the undo the past damage.

And of course Alex is the one still caught in the aftershocks.

Piper's kept herself numb for weeks, but now she feels jolted back to life and it's awful. She scares herself this way. She has no idea what to do.

Then Alex walks by.

Piper sits up, going weak with bone melting relief, and breathes out, "Alex."

She stops walking, but it takes a second before Alex turns around and comes inside Piper's cube, expression impassive. "What?"

Belatedly, it hits Piper that Alex was planning on walking right by her. Her face heats up, and she looks down at her lap before asking in a small voice, "Are you okay?"

"Do you care?" Alex retorts immediately, like she genuinely wants an answer. Like she genuinely doesn't know.

Piper's throat narrows. She should just let Alex stay mad, go back to staying away from her, but Piper really, really hates the idea of Alex thinking she hadn't cared. "I'm sorry." God, that word sounds so thin. Piper needs to stop using it, she still hasn't said it for anything big. "I..." This is more than she's spoken in weeks, since the chapel, and it takes awhile for the words to stumble out of her. "It's hard to...I don't like seeing you...like that."

"Yeah, you've made that really fucking clear," Alex's voice is cold. She huffs out a sharp, frustrated breath of a laugh. "You know what, Pipes? I know you had a rough time when - would you fucking look at me?" Her voice splinters on the outburst of a command, and Piper obediently lifts her head. She makes herself take it all in: both the scar on Alex's cheek and the bruised, wounded fury gleaming in her eyes.

"I know it messed you up," Alex continues after a moment, dangerously quiet. "And I'm really trying to help, Piper, because you were torturing yourself worse than I would ever want for you. But the thing is, Pipes, I shouldn't have had to almost die for you to actually feel bad about getting me sent back here and then fucking someone else anyway."

Alex's face twists in disgusted disbelief, like she's just now hearing how it sounds when she says it all out loud. "Jesus Christ, Piper, I was so fucking scared, all the time. And I didn't even blame you. But you still didn't give a shit!" She runs a hand through her hair, something frighteningly like resolution passing over her expression. "Yeah, you know what, that's exactly the problem. I shouldn't have had to get stabbed in the fucking gut for you to give a shit about me."

The words whip through the air around them like a storm. Alex isn't even finished, and it already feels like they're standing amid destruction.

"You...you are bad for me," Alex states with a definitive sort of force that cleanly rips opens up some old wound in Piper's chest. Piper feels dizzy and out of control, and her skin is screaming. "You selfish fuck."

Alex walks away. Alex leaves. Alex feels really really gone this time.

Piper can't move, she suddenly wants to tell Alex she loves her so badly it aches, she just wants her to know. It's a scream shoving at the walls of her throat but for once she really doesn't think it will be enough, because Alex is right.

She shouldn't have had to almost die for Piper to understand what she was losing.

The library is closed but Alex sneaks in anyway and drinks over half of Poussey's supply, no way she won't notice but Alex will deal with that later. She's crying most of the time, messy, chaotic tears born of the untamed rage and hurt still rioting through her.

She feels crazy and out of control and she hates that. She doesn't like what she just said to Piper, and she especially doesn't like that it's all true.

Not for the first time, but for the first time since she's been back at Litchfield, she thinks it would be easier if Aydin had just made sure she was really dead.

When she can move, Piper takes the tattoo gun for its usual hiding place (inside an empty box of ramen) and heads to the chapel.

With grim determination, she does what she should have done a long time ago.

In a neat, steady list in the center of her thigh, she inks

such a naive asshole

you bitch

you controlling selfish bourgeois piece of shit

such a manipulative cunt

and finally

you are bad for me

you selfish fuck.

Her hand is cramping and wavering when she finishes, and Piper has to blink her eyes clear a few times to get a good look at her handiwork.

It looks -

honest.

Drunk, and sick of the stares people keep throwing her way, Alex stumbles back to the dorm while everyone else is on their way to dinner. After what happened at lunch, she figures the COs won't give her shit about wanting to rest.

She isn't thinking about much of anything, the alcohol is nudging her toward sleep with blissful ease when, with a sudden, sobering flash, Alex imagines everything she said earlier, tattooed on Piper's torso.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Fully awake now, urgency thrumming through her, Alex moves toward the empty halls of Litchfield until she gets to the chapel, searching under chairs for Piper's tattoo gun. She should have done this a long time ago. It never occurred to her.

She stars weaving through every row, back hunched uncomfortably so Alex can run her hand under every seat, frustration mounting as each and every search comes up empty.

"Shit, shit, shit, Jesus fuck..." Curses are spilling out under her breath, increasingly harsh, and Alex's chest feels tight with worry.

She doesn't want words hurled in a moment of anger etched in Piper forever, and right now that seems so much more important than everything that made her say them.