Some of your favorite Bad Girls fan fic writers have decided to write custom ficlets in an effort to raise donations for disaster relief in Haiti.
Here's how it works:
1) Choose an organization to which you'd like to donate.
2) Make a donation.
3) Comment on your favorite author's thread with a prompt. (For a full list of authors, click here.) Tell us who, when, where, how. Make it detailed or leave it open. And we'll write the ficlet for you. (Check each author's individual thread for specific details.)
4) Spread the word! If you know any other fan fic authors who want to get involved, tell them about us. If you want to get involved, comment on this post with your contact info. If you have friends who would like to read fan fic and help a great cause, send them our way! (We're even open to other fandoms!)
5) Check back for your story. You'll find a list of links under your author's individual posts.
Let's turn something we love into something world-changing! Let's help Haiti! Remember, all contributions to these charities are deductible on your 2009 taxes!
Update: We are not making a profit off of any of these stories. All funds are donated directly to charities by the requesters. No money will be collected or distributed by any fan fiction writer. After consulting with a lawyer, we are sure this project does not constitute copyright infringement. Please see similar charity fund drives here.
We just want to raise some money for the victims of Haiti by playing nice and writing fan fiction. It's a win-win!
We are suggesting $5 per 500 words, but any amount you can give will certainly be appreciated by the people of Haiti.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Update!
Just wanted to let you guys know we've raised $850 so far! I am just super stoked. Thank you for your generosity! The writers are all working on your stories, we promise!
Friday, January 15, 2010
List of Charities
This is just a partial list of international organizations that are seeking donations for disaster relief in Haiti. Let us know in the comments if you have any more suggestions.
Direct Relief
Doctors Without Borders
Portlight Strategies
UNICEF (USA)
UNICEF (Canada)
Red Cross (International)
Oxfam (America)
Oxfam (UK)
Mercy Corps
Humane Society
Clinton Bush Haiti Fund
Charity Navigator has formed their own list, with a helpful ranking system for various charities.
Direct Relief
Doctors Without Borders
Portlight Strategies
UNICEF (USA)
UNICEF (Canada)
Red Cross (International)
Oxfam (America)
Oxfam (UK)
Mercy Corps
Humane Society
Clinton Bush Haiti Fund
Charity Navigator has formed their own list, with a helpful ranking system for various charities.
Crispaay
I am happy to submit any type of fic, shorties are probably better. Being a brit settings and storylines need to be those that I would know about but besides that I will pretty much have a go at anything. I am happy to write fics that include past storylines or characters and will be happy to discuss anything with the readers about the plot that they require.
Cobalt Librarian
My preferred length is long stories so I'd prefer higher word limits if possible. Having said that I'll try my hand at shorter pieces. My usual pairing is Nikki and Helen but I'll write any canonical slash pairing or gen. I can do AU, science fiction, historical and maybe even crossovers if I've seen the other show (remembering that I'm based in the UK). I'll do unusual slash pairings if I can convince myself they'd work - no Bodybag/Nikki requests, please . My only caveat is that I tend towards the angsty so if anyone really doesn't think they can take angst (or anything else) in a story they should warn me so that I can be sure to leave whatever it is out.
Look forward to hearing from you !
Help Haiti stories posted:
Road Trip
Look forward to hearing from you !
Help Haiti stories posted:
Road Trip
Lyn27
I prefer the Helen/Nikki pairing, but would be willing to try some Trish fic as long as she's not the "bad" guy. I also prefer not to be asked to write 'sequels' to any of my existing stories (at this time). I'm happy to write Larkhall or post-Larkhall stories - or even new ideas (new ideas are very very good).
Help Haiti Stories Posted:
Football Lessons
Footnote
Help Haiti Stories Posted:
Football Lessons
Footnote
StuntDouble
I'll write Helen and Nikki (or Trish and Claire if you'd like a continuation of Among the Lilies) pre-Larkhall, during Larkhall, post-Larkhall. I'll write them on holiday. I'll write them messing around. I'll write them a/u. I'll write them any way you want them. (But only Helen/Nikki or Trish/Claire. No Helen/Fenner or anything else that will me me vomit.)
Just comment and let me know how much you donated, and what you'd like to read. If you'd rather email instead of comment: stuntdoublefanfic@gmail.com.
Help Haiti Stories Posted:
Alive Like Fire
Just comment and let me know how much you donated, and what you'd like to read. If you'd rather email instead of comment: stuntdoublefanfic@gmail.com.
Help Haiti Stories Posted:
Alive Like Fire
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Road Trip by Cobalt Librarian
This fic is for red card who requested : a wee story based on Nikki and Helen driving up to Scotland for the first time to meet Helen's family?
DISCLAIMER:
Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.
Once again, thanks to Kathy for her awesome betaing skills.
Author : Cobalt Librarian
Rating : 15
ROAD TRIP
Nikki drew up outside the house and parked the hire car. Hopping out of the Range Rover, she let herself into the house, wondering how Helen was getting on with her packing. The worst of the rush hour should be over by now, and Nikki was keen to get out onto the M25 while things were still relatively quiet. While they were only going as far as York before stopping over, Nikki could think of better ways to spend her time than sitting in a traffic jam. Especially with a stressed Scot in the passenger seat.
Nikki sighed. They’d been together for most of a year, and Helen, displaying her usual integrity, had been open about her sexuality from the start. She had come out to her family within a month of them moving in together, and most of them had been supportive, if slightly puzzled by the fact that Helen had apparently decided to try women after a lifetime of sticking to men.
Helen’s father, however, had stayed true to type by vehemently disapproving of his daughter’s decision and informing her that she was living in a worse state of sin than she had been when she had made the decision to have Sean move in with her. Nikki had watched Helen’s half of that phone conversation and had been so angry about his reaction that the only thing that had stopped her from ringing him back and giving him the benefit of her uncensored opinion had been the need to comfort her partner.
It hadn’t affected their day to day life at all until Helen's Aunt Margaret, who had invited them to her cousin Graeme’s wedding, had rung up to tell them, almost apologetically, that she would have to invite Helen's father as well and to ask them if they still wanted to come. Helen had hesitated for a brief but noticeable period and then firmly told her auntie that they would both be attending. She had put the phone down before adding softly, “And to hell with my father and his bigoted opinions.”
That had been three weeks ago and Nikki didn’t think Helen realised what hard work she had been since that conversation. She covered it well, but she had been getting increasingly nervous and short-tempered as the date of their trip to Scotland came closer. In turn, that had made Nikki, who had been quite calm, apprehensive about how the whole thing would go.
They’d had a number of spectacular arguments about apparently unrelated things since receiving the news, and Helen, who took self-deception to new heights when she was stressed, had alternated between insisting that there was nothing wrong and wearing them both out with some of the most energetic sex they’d had since the honeymoon period when they’d first started living together. Nikki didn’t mind that - she preferred it to the rows, and it relaxed both of them physically. She just thought that Helen would be happier, in the long term, if she faced up to how much her father’s reaction was upsetting her and how worried she was about what might be said at the wedding.
She glanced at her suitcases and decided that she might as well put them in the boot of the car. She’d been packed since last night, with everything Helen had insisted they’d need, from casual clothes to midge repellent cream to a really nice dress for the actual wedding and reception. She was just glad that Helen hadn’t been so traditional as to insist on a hat. They would have had another fight about that; while Nikki was aware that she was giving in to her partner more than usual, there were lines she was not prepared to cross.
Coming back into the house, she heard a noise upstairs and went to investigate. Helen was standing in their room, frowning as she looked into her wardrobe, her overnight bag open on the bed next to her. Nikki took a moment to admire the shape of her legs in her jeans and joined the Scot.
“Got everything?” she asked.
“I keep thinking that I’ve forgotten something,” Helen said with an exasperated sigh.
“Like what?”
“”Well, if I knew that, it wouldn’t be forgotten, would it!” Helen snapped.
“OK,” Nikki said, “I’m heading for the garden. I think I’m just in the way here. Do you want to try and get away before lunch?”
“Course I do. It’s a long drive.”
“I’ll give you half an hour, then.”
“Stop managing me,” Helen said and turned suddenly, zipping up her holdall with short, jerky movements.
“I thought you wanted to do another check?”
“No. Since you’re obviously dying to get away, if I’ve missed anything, I’ll buy it en route. Happy?”
“Calm down, Helen,” Nikki said gently. “I have packed the wedding present and made sure our outfits are in the car. There are shops in York and Scotland. But I’m sure you’ve got everything you need. Come on, let’s go. I want to play with my new toy.”
“What?”
“The four wheel drive.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You were the one who said we might need it in the Highlands.”
“Which gives you carte blanche to hire some gas-guzzling monstrosity.”
“Pretty much,” Nikki agreed.
Helen smiled for the first time since she had come into the room and kissed her, slipping her arms around the taller woman’s waist. They stood together for a second before Helen moved away and picked up her bag.
“What was that about?” Nikki asked.
“Do I need a reason to kiss my partner?”
“No. I just wondered.”
Helen looked fondly at her. “I love the way you get such pleasure from little things.”
“Being inside‘ll do that for you,” Nikki said and then bit her lip as Helen’s face changed. That was the other thing her father had made great play of when he’d found out. According to James Stewart, Nikki’s violent tendencies and criminal record were just further proof of the moral degeneracy her lesbianism demonstrated in the first place. The mood, which had lightened slightly, soured again.
“I’ll go and get my coat,” Helen said.
Nikki did a last, quick tour of the house, making sure that everything was switched off and secured, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Helen was already belted in, her face abstracted as she fiddled with the controls on the car stereo. She put her hand on Nikki’s thigh when she’d closed the door, an attempt at making peace.
“Radio or CD?” she asked.
“Whatever you want,” Nikki said. “I’ve got a powerful car, the open road and a beautiful woman in the seat next to me. I don’t care what the soundtrack is.”
“Bloody Toad of Toad Hall,” Helen said teasingly, and leaned across to kiss her cheek. Nikki squeezed the hand on her thigh reassuringly, then checked her mirrors, indicated and pulled out into the road, enjoying the feeling of driving a bigger car than usual.
They chatted about inconsequential things as they drove round the M25, and though Helen was still tense, she seemed less nervous than she had been for days. Nikki supposed that now they were actually on their way, they were committed - there was no turning back and that must be a relief in itself. At least Nikki hoped so.
They’d made it partway up the M1 in amicable silence when Helen nudged Nikki and pointed at the fuel gauge, which was looking dangerously low. Nikki glanced at the dashboard and swore.
“This thing really does drink diesel, doesn’t it?” Helen commented.
“Doesn’t matter, we’ve got services in three miles,” Nikki said. “We can get a coffee, if you want.”
“I don’t think I’ll bother. I wouldn’t mind using the toilets, though.”
“I bet the shop sells chocolate.”
“Not the good stuff,” Helen said firmly. Nikki smiled. What Helen didn’t know was that there was a box of her favourite Charbonnel et Walker tucked away in Nikki’s suitcase. It was an extravagant purchase, but Nikki thought Helen might need it to get through the next few days. And if not - she’d enjoy it anyway.
Pulling into the petrol station, Nikki filled up the tank, paid and then drove over to the main services.
“See you in the shop?” she asked. Helen nodded and vanished in the direction of the facilities. Nikki navigated her way around the stressed families, salesmen and random, screaming children, giving the noisy games room and burger bar a wide berth, and headed for the newsagents. At least there’d be papers there. After her years in Larkhall, Nikki had become an unrepentant current affairs junkie - while she had mostly concentrated on classic literature while she had been locked up, she had quickly got back into the swing of events once she could influence them on the outside.
Walking past the shelves and shelves of chocolate, boiled sweets, snacks and tacky souvenirs, she headed straight for the newspapers and magazines. One thing about motorway service stations, they usually had a wide range of material, everything from Woman’s Own to Coarse Fishing Monthly. This close to London, there were often foreign publications as well.
Nikki disregarded the ‘lifestyle’ section and the wedding and home makeover magazines, homing in on the current affairs. She picked up New Statesman and The Economist, hesitating before finally selecting The Spectator for balance. She spared a brief glance upwards toward the ‘top shelf’ magazines, feeling her usual weary contempt for the products of the porn industry. Frowning, she realised that Gay Times and Diva were both up there, next to a variety of titles she didn’t want to think about too closely. The Diva was the latest issue and she snagged a copy, adding it to her other purchases and going to stand in the queue, which was stretching down most of the shop. She took a moment to wonder if it was a deliberate tactic to encourage impulse buying before grabbing a couple of bottles of mineral water and a packet of the crisps she knew Helen liked.
Five minutes later, as she’d finally got to near the front of the line and was watching a toddler work up to a truly spectacular tantrum in the next aisle because his mother was refusing to buy him a packet of sweets, Helen walked up to stand beside her. Nikki turned and smiled at her.
“Sorted?”
“Just about. It was filthy in there,” Helen said fastidiously. “Dysentery outbreak waiting to happen.”
“OK,” Nikki said. “I’ll cross my legs to the next services, then.”
“You do that.”
Nikki turned back to the checkout assistant as they got to the front of the queue, putting her purchases down on the till. She didn’t spare him much attention, too busy fishing out her wallet, but his reaction when he got to Diva caught her notice. Up till then, he’d been pretty indifferent, scanning her purchases through like a machine, obviously thinking more about whatever interested him than the job in hand. When he picked up the magazine, he looked at both of them, a quick, furtive study that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.
Internally, Nikki rolled her eyes. Yes, dykes exist, she imagined saying to him, and they don’t all wear dungarees. Once, in her younger, more aggressive days, she might have done just that. Now, she merely favoured him with a beaming smile as he looked at her, then at Helen, obviously trying to work out who was the dominant one in the relationship. Who was the ‘man’.
He blushed as he caught her knowing, amused gaze and leaned over. “Do you want this one in a bag?” he asked quietly.
Nikki frowned. “No,” she said in the exact second that Helen said, “Yes.”
Startled, Nikki glanced at her partner, who was looking down, refusing to meet her eyes. Slowly, she reached out and slid Diva into the middle of her other purchases, hiding the cover. “Put it all in one bag, OK?”
The boy at the counter ducked his head and did as he was told before ringing through the purchase and letting them go. On the way out to the car, Helen put her hand on Nikki’s arm.
“Nikki ...”
“No, it’s fine,” Nikki said. “You want to drive for a while?”
“Yes.”
Nikki handed over the keys and then waited as Helen adjusted the seat and mirrors, making herself comfortable. They pulled out of the car park in tense silence, and Nikki sighed and concentrated on the rich, lush scenery she could see out of the window, the slightly dissonant hum of the traffic providing a soundtrack to her thoughts. She was so distracted that she started slightly when Helen spoke.
“You see, this is one of the things I hate about being gay. It’s the way it seems to give everyone the idea that they’ve permission to look at you and speculate about your sex life.”
Nikki bit back the impulse to tell Helen she was being paranoid. Her partner didn’t need that at the moment. Instead, she shrugged. “I think he was just a bit embarrassed.”
“Bollocks,” Helen said robustly, swerving across lanes and cutting up a business type in a Ford Mondeo. ”He was undressing us both with his eyes. It was perfectly clear what was going through his mind.”
“We’re not that obvious. It’s not like we go round in T shirts with slogans on! For all he knew, I’m a dyke and you’re my best friend.”
“You weren’t watching his face,” Helen retorted.
“No, I wasn’t. For one simple reason. His bloody opinion doesn’t matter!” Nikki said. “Who I sleep with and why and how I do it is my business, so long as it’s between consenting adults in private. If he wants to find material for his wet dreams, he can do it in those magazines they were selling.”
“So you don’t care that we’re featuring in his filthy little fantasies?”
“No,” Nikki said. “When I’m with you, all I’m thinking about is you. The fact that some sad bastard wants to imagine two women together doesn’t come into my mind.”
Helen frowned. Nikki reached out and touched her shoulder, careful not to distract her from driving. “Helen, he may see you as nothing but a lesbian. You don’t have to define yourself that way. It’s only part of what you are. Just like the fact that you’re Scottish doesn’t define you.”
“I suppose,” Helen said quietly. “I just hate being put in a category.”
“The people who do don’t know you. Or they’re not worth knowing,” Nikki said.
Helen was silent for a little while and then took her eyes of the road long enough to glance at Nikki and smile. Her forehead had smoothed out and her scowl had gone.
“I love you, Nikki Wade.”
“Good, because I prefer it to be mutual. Less embarrassing that way.”
They got to York mid-afternoon and checked into their hotel. Standing by the window of their room, Helen looked out across the city.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Fancy a walk round the walls?”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
They wrapped up warmly, Nikki in her battered old leather jacket and Helen in a more modern waterproof, and set out. After a certain amount of getting lost in the winding streets and lingering to look into shop windows, they found one of the gates and climbed the steps up onto the wide grey stone walkway on top of the walls, strolling along hand in hand as they pointed things out to each other. The warm, late August sunlight bathed them in light and heat, compensating for the colder temperature of the North and the wind that sighed across the top of the parapets beside them.
“It’s so flat,” Helen commented.
“Flood plain of two rivers,” Nikki said.
“Since when were you into geography?”
“Never. I just read a novel set in York once.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t very good. One of the things it did have was great chunks of information every so often. Some of it stuck.”
Helen nodded. She knew that Nikki had been on a limited ration of books before she’d started as wing governor and given her permission to have more than the usual allowance of titles in her cell. As a result, she’d often had to re-read the ones she did borrow several times before returning them to the library, and could usually quote passages from her favourites verbatim. The ex-con sometimes joked that it had been one of the things that had turned her into a critic instead of just a reader, the situation forcing her to analyse the writers’ tricks and techniques as a way of keeping her interest up when she knew the story already.
The Scot slipped her arm comfortably around the taller woman’s waist and felt Nikki put her left arm around her shoulders, returning the gesture. Helen didn’t have to say anything - she knew that Nikki understood why she had hugged her and appreciated it.
They were standing on a section of the wall near the Lord Mayor’s Walk, overlooking the Minster, and the area was busy with tourists. A family group sailed past - a severe looking man and his harried wife with a group of gangling teenage boys in tow. The parents ignored them, beyond a glare from the man and a disapproving sniff from the woman, but the boys started to stare and whisper as soon as they came into sight, their conversation going on as they vanished into the distance, together with much nudging and glancing back.
Nikki glared back at them as she felt Helen stiffen slightly and move away, covering the action with a comment about the Rose Window in the Minster. She scowled and resisted the impulse to kiss Helen, knowing that it was only a form of marking her territory and that her partner wouldn’t accept it; she would recognise it for what it was and be angry with Nikki for even having the thought. For just a second, Nikki wished she lived in a world where people could simply be accepted on their own merits instead of who they chose to go to bed with, and then shrugged, putting the impractical hope aside. Impractical for today, anyway.
“D’you want to go and get a cup of tea?” she asked.
Helen nodded silently and they made their way to Taylor’s, where they had a light meal before returning to the hotel via another bout of window shopping. Once they were back in their room, Helen went for a bath while Nikki settled down with a magazine. She looked up as she heard the sound of swearing from the bathroom and crossed over to the doorway. Helen was standing, naked, rooting through her sponge bag.
“What’s the matter?” Nikki asked.
“Forgotten my razor. I need to shave my legs. What with everything else that's been going on ...”
With how distracted you’ve been worrying about your father, Nikki supplied mentally.
“Well, borrow mine, then.”
She crossed over to her stuff and hauled the razor out. “New blade. It won’t catch.”
“Thanks,” Helen said gratefully. “The last thing I want to do is look like some hairy-legged stereotype in front of my family.”
Nikki stilled, hardly able to believe her ears. Then she turned, thrusting the razor at Helen, who took it from her hand, slightly startled.
“You know what, Helen? The problem isn’t when other people think crap about you. The problem is when you internalise it. If you’re going to start believing it and hating yourself for what you are, then you’re on a fucking slippery slope!”
Now it was Helen’s turn to glare.
“You’re talking bollocks!” she said. “I get upset about one little thing, and you turn it into an opportunity to psychoanalyse me.”
“It’s not one little thing! You’ve been bloody impossible since you found out that your father would be at the wedding!”
“He doesn’t influence my decisions!”
“No, but he sure as hell casts a long shadow over your moods. Just what did he do when you were a kid that made you so scared of him? You’re an adult woman, Helen, with a successful career. Get over him!”
“Over what?”
“I don’t know. You never talk about it. Maybe you should.”
“To a professional, I suppose,” Helen said bitterly. “Emerge smiling and happy about my new identity. Able to live up to your ‘out and proud’ standards.”
“Don’t twist my words,” Nikki warned, aware that three weeks of strain was spilling out now and that she was starting to lose control of her temper, always a danger with the Scot, who seemed to have the knack of pushing her buttons in a way no one else could. Probably, Nikki thought bitterly, because her opinion matters so bloody much to me.
“I’m not. You should hear yourself. You sound like a page from a textbook on political correctness!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I shock you,” Nikki said, “but I’ve never been ashamed of what I am or who I go to bed with. And anyone who tries to make me can fuck off!”
“Well, hurray for you,” Helen retorted, “but some of us don't live in a vacuum, and we actually care what other people think.”
“I’d noticed.”
Helen didn’t throw anything, but Nikki got the impression that it was a close run thing. Instead, her jaw firmed.
“Get out,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want to have a bath in peace.”
“Please yourself,” Nikki said, retreating, and watched as Helen closed and locked the door in her face. She threw herself on the bed to avoid pacing and tried to get her breathing back under control. She still hadn’t calmed down when Helen emerged from the bathroom in a fluffy white bathrobe, the slight pinkness of her skin showing where she had shaved her legs.
“Well?” Helen said.
“Well, what?”
“Are you willing to apologise?”
Nikki felt a cold ball of rage form in her stomach.
“Right,” Nikki said softly. Helen watched, puzzled, as her partner went to the phone and called room service.
“Hi, this is 215. Can we have a couple of bottles of mineral water, and ... do you have champagne? What kind?” Nikki listened and then nodded. “OK, that’ll do. No, put it on the tab.”
“What's that for?” Helen asked.
“We’ll need it later,” Nikki said cryptically, then sat down on the bed, taking off her shoes and jacket. She glanced around the room and then, of all things, started unpacking her suitcase, hanging her things neatly in the wardrobe next to her discarded jacket. Helen gave up trying to understand what Nikki was doing and took the opportunity to get dressed before crossing to the window, looking out across the lights of York as she tried to calm down.
She jumped slightly when there was a loud knock at the door and glanced back, distracted from her contemplation of the illuminated Minster, as a young woman, dressed in the hotel’s livery, wheeled a trolley with the order through the door. Nikki smiled at the girl and tipped her, tucking a crisp note into her hand and then strolled over and dropped her wallet on the table, placing a lingering kiss onto Helen’s neck as she passed her.
Helen swallowed as the waitress reacted to what she saw, glancing at both of them before making her excuses and leaving. Nikki closed the door behind her, putting the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the outside before firmly turning the key in the lock.
“What was all that about?” Helen asked. Nikki didn’t reply, unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling her sleeves up, revealing toned forearms. Helen felt her anger rise. “I said, what was all that about?”
“Oh, just making it perfectly obvious what we are. What you are to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You should. Last night, I had my mouth between your legs and you liked it. You liked it enough to come twice.”
“Don’t be crude,” Helen said, shocked.
“I’m not being crude,” Nikki said. “Crude would be describing what you did to me first to make me come.”
“Nikki!”
“The point is, darling, that we’re dykes. We both enjoy fucking other women.”
“I am aware of what being a dyke means.”
Nikki walked up to Helen, challenge radiating from every line of her body.
“It’s more than that - I’ve had enough affairs with straight women to know that even the biggest admirer of a good hard cock likes to experiment once in awhile, see what it’s like to be with someone who knows what they’re doing and not just put up with the standard thirty second’s foreplay followed by a battering that surprises you into an orgasm. Which is how I know you’re the same as me. It’s not just an experiment or a holiday for you. You like women. You like to fuck them and you like the way they are, the way they smell and taste, the way they move and think and behave. You came to it late, but you’re a natural.”
Helen looked at her dangerously, her jaw set in taut, angry lines. “Do you want to tell me what the point of this is? Apart from ensuring that I go to this wedding on my own?”
“The point is that I don’t understand why you’re lying to yourself about what we are to each other! We’ve had most of a year, Helen. It’s been more that nice. It’s been right for both of us. So what is your problem?!”
“My problem is that I don’t see why the rest of my life should be defined by one aspect of my personality. That’s not a lifestyle choice. It’s a disability!”
“So being a dyke means being less good, less worthy. Is that it?” Nikki demanded. “We’re not really people because we don’t fancy men.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!”
“Am I? You don’t want to touch me in public, you don’t want people to think we have a life together, you don't want the hotel staff to know we’re in a relationship .... Well guess what, Helen, we’re in a room with a double bed. I think they've worked it out!”
“I’m not having this conversation!” Helen said angrily. She snatched up her coat and went to the door.
“That’s right,” Nikki said, “run away. Well, you can run as far and as fast as you like, Helen. You can't run away from what you are. Believe me. I’ve seen people try.”
“Sod you, Nikki Wade,” Helen said furiously, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind her.
DISCLAIMER:
Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.
Once again, thanks to Kathy for her awesome betaing skills.
Author : Cobalt Librarian
Rating : 15
ROAD TRIP
Nikki drew up outside the house and parked the hire car. Hopping out of the Range Rover, she let herself into the house, wondering how Helen was getting on with her packing. The worst of the rush hour should be over by now, and Nikki was keen to get out onto the M25 while things were still relatively quiet. While they were only going as far as York before stopping over, Nikki could think of better ways to spend her time than sitting in a traffic jam. Especially with a stressed Scot in the passenger seat.
Nikki sighed. They’d been together for most of a year, and Helen, displaying her usual integrity, had been open about her sexuality from the start. She had come out to her family within a month of them moving in together, and most of them had been supportive, if slightly puzzled by the fact that Helen had apparently decided to try women after a lifetime of sticking to men.
Helen’s father, however, had stayed true to type by vehemently disapproving of his daughter’s decision and informing her that she was living in a worse state of sin than she had been when she had made the decision to have Sean move in with her. Nikki had watched Helen’s half of that phone conversation and had been so angry about his reaction that the only thing that had stopped her from ringing him back and giving him the benefit of her uncensored opinion had been the need to comfort her partner.
It hadn’t affected their day to day life at all until Helen's Aunt Margaret, who had invited them to her cousin Graeme’s wedding, had rung up to tell them, almost apologetically, that she would have to invite Helen's father as well and to ask them if they still wanted to come. Helen had hesitated for a brief but noticeable period and then firmly told her auntie that they would both be attending. She had put the phone down before adding softly, “And to hell with my father and his bigoted opinions.”
That had been three weeks ago and Nikki didn’t think Helen realised what hard work she had been since that conversation. She covered it well, but she had been getting increasingly nervous and short-tempered as the date of their trip to Scotland came closer. In turn, that had made Nikki, who had been quite calm, apprehensive about how the whole thing would go.
They’d had a number of spectacular arguments about apparently unrelated things since receiving the news, and Helen, who took self-deception to new heights when she was stressed, had alternated between insisting that there was nothing wrong and wearing them both out with some of the most energetic sex they’d had since the honeymoon period when they’d first started living together. Nikki didn’t mind that - she preferred it to the rows, and it relaxed both of them physically. She just thought that Helen would be happier, in the long term, if she faced up to how much her father’s reaction was upsetting her and how worried she was about what might be said at the wedding.
She glanced at her suitcases and decided that she might as well put them in the boot of the car. She’d been packed since last night, with everything Helen had insisted they’d need, from casual clothes to midge repellent cream to a really nice dress for the actual wedding and reception. She was just glad that Helen hadn’t been so traditional as to insist on a hat. They would have had another fight about that; while Nikki was aware that she was giving in to her partner more than usual, there were lines she was not prepared to cross.
Coming back into the house, she heard a noise upstairs and went to investigate. Helen was standing in their room, frowning as she looked into her wardrobe, her overnight bag open on the bed next to her. Nikki took a moment to admire the shape of her legs in her jeans and joined the Scot.
“Got everything?” she asked.
“I keep thinking that I’ve forgotten something,” Helen said with an exasperated sigh.
“Like what?”
“”Well, if I knew that, it wouldn’t be forgotten, would it!” Helen snapped.
“OK,” Nikki said, “I’m heading for the garden. I think I’m just in the way here. Do you want to try and get away before lunch?”
“Course I do. It’s a long drive.”
“I’ll give you half an hour, then.”
“Stop managing me,” Helen said and turned suddenly, zipping up her holdall with short, jerky movements.
“I thought you wanted to do another check?”
“No. Since you’re obviously dying to get away, if I’ve missed anything, I’ll buy it en route. Happy?”
“Calm down, Helen,” Nikki said gently. “I have packed the wedding present and made sure our outfits are in the car. There are shops in York and Scotland. But I’m sure you’ve got everything you need. Come on, let’s go. I want to play with my new toy.”
“What?”
“The four wheel drive.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You were the one who said we might need it in the Highlands.”
“Which gives you carte blanche to hire some gas-guzzling monstrosity.”
“Pretty much,” Nikki agreed.
Helen smiled for the first time since she had come into the room and kissed her, slipping her arms around the taller woman’s waist. They stood together for a second before Helen moved away and picked up her bag.
“What was that about?” Nikki asked.
“Do I need a reason to kiss my partner?”
“No. I just wondered.”
Helen looked fondly at her. “I love the way you get such pleasure from little things.”
“Being inside‘ll do that for you,” Nikki said and then bit her lip as Helen’s face changed. That was the other thing her father had made great play of when he’d found out. According to James Stewart, Nikki’s violent tendencies and criminal record were just further proof of the moral degeneracy her lesbianism demonstrated in the first place. The mood, which had lightened slightly, soured again.
“I’ll go and get my coat,” Helen said.
Nikki did a last, quick tour of the house, making sure that everything was switched off and secured, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Helen was already belted in, her face abstracted as she fiddled with the controls on the car stereo. She put her hand on Nikki’s thigh when she’d closed the door, an attempt at making peace.
“Radio or CD?” she asked.
“Whatever you want,” Nikki said. “I’ve got a powerful car, the open road and a beautiful woman in the seat next to me. I don’t care what the soundtrack is.”
“Bloody Toad of Toad Hall,” Helen said teasingly, and leaned across to kiss her cheek. Nikki squeezed the hand on her thigh reassuringly, then checked her mirrors, indicated and pulled out into the road, enjoying the feeling of driving a bigger car than usual.
They chatted about inconsequential things as they drove round the M25, and though Helen was still tense, she seemed less nervous than she had been for days. Nikki supposed that now they were actually on their way, they were committed - there was no turning back and that must be a relief in itself. At least Nikki hoped so.
They’d made it partway up the M1 in amicable silence when Helen nudged Nikki and pointed at the fuel gauge, which was looking dangerously low. Nikki glanced at the dashboard and swore.
“This thing really does drink diesel, doesn’t it?” Helen commented.
“Doesn’t matter, we’ve got services in three miles,” Nikki said. “We can get a coffee, if you want.”
“I don’t think I’ll bother. I wouldn’t mind using the toilets, though.”
“I bet the shop sells chocolate.”
“Not the good stuff,” Helen said firmly. Nikki smiled. What Helen didn’t know was that there was a box of her favourite Charbonnel et Walker tucked away in Nikki’s suitcase. It was an extravagant purchase, but Nikki thought Helen might need it to get through the next few days. And if not - she’d enjoy it anyway.
Pulling into the petrol station, Nikki filled up the tank, paid and then drove over to the main services.
“See you in the shop?” she asked. Helen nodded and vanished in the direction of the facilities. Nikki navigated her way around the stressed families, salesmen and random, screaming children, giving the noisy games room and burger bar a wide berth, and headed for the newsagents. At least there’d be papers there. After her years in Larkhall, Nikki had become an unrepentant current affairs junkie - while she had mostly concentrated on classic literature while she had been locked up, she had quickly got back into the swing of events once she could influence them on the outside.
Walking past the shelves and shelves of chocolate, boiled sweets, snacks and tacky souvenirs, she headed straight for the newspapers and magazines. One thing about motorway service stations, they usually had a wide range of material, everything from Woman’s Own to Coarse Fishing Monthly. This close to London, there were often foreign publications as well.
Nikki disregarded the ‘lifestyle’ section and the wedding and home makeover magazines, homing in on the current affairs. She picked up New Statesman and The Economist, hesitating before finally selecting The Spectator for balance. She spared a brief glance upwards toward the ‘top shelf’ magazines, feeling her usual weary contempt for the products of the porn industry. Frowning, she realised that Gay Times and Diva were both up there, next to a variety of titles she didn’t want to think about too closely. The Diva was the latest issue and she snagged a copy, adding it to her other purchases and going to stand in the queue, which was stretching down most of the shop. She took a moment to wonder if it was a deliberate tactic to encourage impulse buying before grabbing a couple of bottles of mineral water and a packet of the crisps she knew Helen liked.
Five minutes later, as she’d finally got to near the front of the line and was watching a toddler work up to a truly spectacular tantrum in the next aisle because his mother was refusing to buy him a packet of sweets, Helen walked up to stand beside her. Nikki turned and smiled at her.
“Sorted?”
“Just about. It was filthy in there,” Helen said fastidiously. “Dysentery outbreak waiting to happen.”
“OK,” Nikki said. “I’ll cross my legs to the next services, then.”
“You do that.”
Nikki turned back to the checkout assistant as they got to the front of the queue, putting her purchases down on the till. She didn’t spare him much attention, too busy fishing out her wallet, but his reaction when he got to Diva caught her notice. Up till then, he’d been pretty indifferent, scanning her purchases through like a machine, obviously thinking more about whatever interested him than the job in hand. When he picked up the magazine, he looked at both of them, a quick, furtive study that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.
Internally, Nikki rolled her eyes. Yes, dykes exist, she imagined saying to him, and they don’t all wear dungarees. Once, in her younger, more aggressive days, she might have done just that. Now, she merely favoured him with a beaming smile as he looked at her, then at Helen, obviously trying to work out who was the dominant one in the relationship. Who was the ‘man’.
He blushed as he caught her knowing, amused gaze and leaned over. “Do you want this one in a bag?” he asked quietly.
Nikki frowned. “No,” she said in the exact second that Helen said, “Yes.”
Startled, Nikki glanced at her partner, who was looking down, refusing to meet her eyes. Slowly, she reached out and slid Diva into the middle of her other purchases, hiding the cover. “Put it all in one bag, OK?”
The boy at the counter ducked his head and did as he was told before ringing through the purchase and letting them go. On the way out to the car, Helen put her hand on Nikki’s arm.
“Nikki ...”
“No, it’s fine,” Nikki said. “You want to drive for a while?”
“Yes.”
Nikki handed over the keys and then waited as Helen adjusted the seat and mirrors, making herself comfortable. They pulled out of the car park in tense silence, and Nikki sighed and concentrated on the rich, lush scenery she could see out of the window, the slightly dissonant hum of the traffic providing a soundtrack to her thoughts. She was so distracted that she started slightly when Helen spoke.
“You see, this is one of the things I hate about being gay. It’s the way it seems to give everyone the idea that they’ve permission to look at you and speculate about your sex life.”
Nikki bit back the impulse to tell Helen she was being paranoid. Her partner didn’t need that at the moment. Instead, she shrugged. “I think he was just a bit embarrassed.”
“Bollocks,” Helen said robustly, swerving across lanes and cutting up a business type in a Ford Mondeo. ”He was undressing us both with his eyes. It was perfectly clear what was going through his mind.”
“We’re not that obvious. It’s not like we go round in T shirts with slogans on! For all he knew, I’m a dyke and you’re my best friend.”
“You weren’t watching his face,” Helen retorted.
“No, I wasn’t. For one simple reason. His bloody opinion doesn’t matter!” Nikki said. “Who I sleep with and why and how I do it is my business, so long as it’s between consenting adults in private. If he wants to find material for his wet dreams, he can do it in those magazines they were selling.”
“So you don’t care that we’re featuring in his filthy little fantasies?”
“No,” Nikki said. “When I’m with you, all I’m thinking about is you. The fact that some sad bastard wants to imagine two women together doesn’t come into my mind.”
Helen frowned. Nikki reached out and touched her shoulder, careful not to distract her from driving. “Helen, he may see you as nothing but a lesbian. You don’t have to define yourself that way. It’s only part of what you are. Just like the fact that you’re Scottish doesn’t define you.”
“I suppose,” Helen said quietly. “I just hate being put in a category.”
“The people who do don’t know you. Or they’re not worth knowing,” Nikki said.
Helen was silent for a little while and then took her eyes of the road long enough to glance at Nikki and smile. Her forehead had smoothed out and her scowl had gone.
“I love you, Nikki Wade.”
“Good, because I prefer it to be mutual. Less embarrassing that way.”
They got to York mid-afternoon and checked into their hotel. Standing by the window of their room, Helen looked out across the city.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Fancy a walk round the walls?”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
They wrapped up warmly, Nikki in her battered old leather jacket and Helen in a more modern waterproof, and set out. After a certain amount of getting lost in the winding streets and lingering to look into shop windows, they found one of the gates and climbed the steps up onto the wide grey stone walkway on top of the walls, strolling along hand in hand as they pointed things out to each other. The warm, late August sunlight bathed them in light and heat, compensating for the colder temperature of the North and the wind that sighed across the top of the parapets beside them.
“It’s so flat,” Helen commented.
“Flood plain of two rivers,” Nikki said.
“Since when were you into geography?”
“Never. I just read a novel set in York once.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t very good. One of the things it did have was great chunks of information every so often. Some of it stuck.”
Helen nodded. She knew that Nikki had been on a limited ration of books before she’d started as wing governor and given her permission to have more than the usual allowance of titles in her cell. As a result, she’d often had to re-read the ones she did borrow several times before returning them to the library, and could usually quote passages from her favourites verbatim. The ex-con sometimes joked that it had been one of the things that had turned her into a critic instead of just a reader, the situation forcing her to analyse the writers’ tricks and techniques as a way of keeping her interest up when she knew the story already.
The Scot slipped her arm comfortably around the taller woman’s waist and felt Nikki put her left arm around her shoulders, returning the gesture. Helen didn’t have to say anything - she knew that Nikki understood why she had hugged her and appreciated it.
They were standing on a section of the wall near the Lord Mayor’s Walk, overlooking the Minster, and the area was busy with tourists. A family group sailed past - a severe looking man and his harried wife with a group of gangling teenage boys in tow. The parents ignored them, beyond a glare from the man and a disapproving sniff from the woman, but the boys started to stare and whisper as soon as they came into sight, their conversation going on as they vanished into the distance, together with much nudging and glancing back.
Nikki glared back at them as she felt Helen stiffen slightly and move away, covering the action with a comment about the Rose Window in the Minster. She scowled and resisted the impulse to kiss Helen, knowing that it was only a form of marking her territory and that her partner wouldn’t accept it; she would recognise it for what it was and be angry with Nikki for even having the thought. For just a second, Nikki wished she lived in a world where people could simply be accepted on their own merits instead of who they chose to go to bed with, and then shrugged, putting the impractical hope aside. Impractical for today, anyway.
“D’you want to go and get a cup of tea?” she asked.
Helen nodded silently and they made their way to Taylor’s, where they had a light meal before returning to the hotel via another bout of window shopping. Once they were back in their room, Helen went for a bath while Nikki settled down with a magazine. She looked up as she heard the sound of swearing from the bathroom and crossed over to the doorway. Helen was standing, naked, rooting through her sponge bag.
“What’s the matter?” Nikki asked.
“Forgotten my razor. I need to shave my legs. What with everything else that's been going on ...”
With how distracted you’ve been worrying about your father, Nikki supplied mentally.
“Well, borrow mine, then.”
She crossed over to her stuff and hauled the razor out. “New blade. It won’t catch.”
“Thanks,” Helen said gratefully. “The last thing I want to do is look like some hairy-legged stereotype in front of my family.”
Nikki stilled, hardly able to believe her ears. Then she turned, thrusting the razor at Helen, who took it from her hand, slightly startled.
“You know what, Helen? The problem isn’t when other people think crap about you. The problem is when you internalise it. If you’re going to start believing it and hating yourself for what you are, then you’re on a fucking slippery slope!”
Now it was Helen’s turn to glare.
“You’re talking bollocks!” she said. “I get upset about one little thing, and you turn it into an opportunity to psychoanalyse me.”
“It’s not one little thing! You’ve been bloody impossible since you found out that your father would be at the wedding!”
“He doesn’t influence my decisions!”
“No, but he sure as hell casts a long shadow over your moods. Just what did he do when you were a kid that made you so scared of him? You’re an adult woman, Helen, with a successful career. Get over him!”
“Over what?”
“I don’t know. You never talk about it. Maybe you should.”
“To a professional, I suppose,” Helen said bitterly. “Emerge smiling and happy about my new identity. Able to live up to your ‘out and proud’ standards.”
“Don’t twist my words,” Nikki warned, aware that three weeks of strain was spilling out now and that she was starting to lose control of her temper, always a danger with the Scot, who seemed to have the knack of pushing her buttons in a way no one else could. Probably, Nikki thought bitterly, because her opinion matters so bloody much to me.
“I’m not. You should hear yourself. You sound like a page from a textbook on political correctness!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I shock you,” Nikki said, “but I’ve never been ashamed of what I am or who I go to bed with. And anyone who tries to make me can fuck off!”
“Well, hurray for you,” Helen retorted, “but some of us don't live in a vacuum, and we actually care what other people think.”
“I’d noticed.”
Helen didn’t throw anything, but Nikki got the impression that it was a close run thing. Instead, her jaw firmed.
“Get out,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want to have a bath in peace.”
“Please yourself,” Nikki said, retreating, and watched as Helen closed and locked the door in her face. She threw herself on the bed to avoid pacing and tried to get her breathing back under control. She still hadn’t calmed down when Helen emerged from the bathroom in a fluffy white bathrobe, the slight pinkness of her skin showing where she had shaved her legs.
“Well?” Helen said.
“Well, what?”
“Are you willing to apologise?”
Nikki felt a cold ball of rage form in her stomach.
“Right,” Nikki said softly. Helen watched, puzzled, as her partner went to the phone and called room service.
“Hi, this is 215. Can we have a couple of bottles of mineral water, and ... do you have champagne? What kind?” Nikki listened and then nodded. “OK, that’ll do. No, put it on the tab.”
“What's that for?” Helen asked.
“We’ll need it later,” Nikki said cryptically, then sat down on the bed, taking off her shoes and jacket. She glanced around the room and then, of all things, started unpacking her suitcase, hanging her things neatly in the wardrobe next to her discarded jacket. Helen gave up trying to understand what Nikki was doing and took the opportunity to get dressed before crossing to the window, looking out across the lights of York as she tried to calm down.
She jumped slightly when there was a loud knock at the door and glanced back, distracted from her contemplation of the illuminated Minster, as a young woman, dressed in the hotel’s livery, wheeled a trolley with the order through the door. Nikki smiled at the girl and tipped her, tucking a crisp note into her hand and then strolled over and dropped her wallet on the table, placing a lingering kiss onto Helen’s neck as she passed her.
Helen swallowed as the waitress reacted to what she saw, glancing at both of them before making her excuses and leaving. Nikki closed the door behind her, putting the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the outside before firmly turning the key in the lock.
“What was all that about?” Helen asked. Nikki didn’t reply, unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling her sleeves up, revealing toned forearms. Helen felt her anger rise. “I said, what was all that about?”
“Oh, just making it perfectly obvious what we are. What you are to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You should. Last night, I had my mouth between your legs and you liked it. You liked it enough to come twice.”
“Don’t be crude,” Helen said, shocked.
“I’m not being crude,” Nikki said. “Crude would be describing what you did to me first to make me come.”
“Nikki!”
“The point is, darling, that we’re dykes. We both enjoy fucking other women.”
“I am aware of what being a dyke means.”
Nikki walked up to Helen, challenge radiating from every line of her body.
“It’s more than that - I’ve had enough affairs with straight women to know that even the biggest admirer of a good hard cock likes to experiment once in awhile, see what it’s like to be with someone who knows what they’re doing and not just put up with the standard thirty second’s foreplay followed by a battering that surprises you into an orgasm. Which is how I know you’re the same as me. It’s not just an experiment or a holiday for you. You like women. You like to fuck them and you like the way they are, the way they smell and taste, the way they move and think and behave. You came to it late, but you’re a natural.”
Helen looked at her dangerously, her jaw set in taut, angry lines. “Do you want to tell me what the point of this is? Apart from ensuring that I go to this wedding on my own?”
“The point is that I don’t understand why you’re lying to yourself about what we are to each other! We’ve had most of a year, Helen. It’s been more that nice. It’s been right for both of us. So what is your problem?!”
“My problem is that I don’t see why the rest of my life should be defined by one aspect of my personality. That’s not a lifestyle choice. It’s a disability!”
“So being a dyke means being less good, less worthy. Is that it?” Nikki demanded. “We’re not really people because we don’t fancy men.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!”
“Am I? You don’t want to touch me in public, you don’t want people to think we have a life together, you don't want the hotel staff to know we’re in a relationship .... Well guess what, Helen, we’re in a room with a double bed. I think they've worked it out!”
“I’m not having this conversation!” Helen said angrily. She snatched up her coat and went to the door.
“That’s right,” Nikki said, “run away. Well, you can run as far and as fast as you like, Helen. You can't run away from what you are. Believe me. I’ve seen people try.”
“Sod you, Nikki Wade,” Helen said furiously, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind her.
Footnote
Title: Footnote
Author: Lyn27
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters. They are being used solely and without permission to entertain and/or torture you with varying degrees of humor, angst and general manipulation of your emotional state. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film. No animals were harmed during the creation of this fiction, although the Yorkshire terriers living in my house are on borrowed time. Enter at your own risk and please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop. Return your seatback and tray table to their normal upright position. In the event of extreme angst, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback as it will improve my writing skills. Please use email or private message for extensive comments.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This story was requested by ‘H&N4ever’ via the Help Haiti Blog. She wanted a short story that took place, for the most part, in the library of Larkhall. So, I decided to write a ‘footnote’ – a missing scene, if you will, from Series 3, which takes place after Nikki finds out about Thomas Waugh and Helen.
And it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway – a HUGE thanks has to go to red card and SG, for all their help in the beta department. You two are absolutely fantastic!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Footnote
It was raining – again. Buckets fell from a sky so dark that it appeared to be night instead of day. Weather forecasters spouted that clear skies were just around the corner, but as Helen Stewart drove to HMP Larkhall that morning, even if the sun had pushed its way through the black clouds, her day would not have brightened a single watt.
A week or so earlier, a non-descript visitor had entered the gates of the prison, and was led to the visitor’s room, where they hugged and kissed their loved one, chatting and giggling about this and that, until it was time to leave. The only problem was, when they walked out of the gates, they left something behind … the flu. Within a week, inmates and staff began to fall like flies, and the infirmary filled to beyond capacity while the officer’s lounge emptied almost as quickly.
Leaving Larkhall only a few hours earlier, to go home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, she was now making her way back. Parking in the nearest space to the entry gate, she took a deep breath and made a mad dash through the watery onslaught of Mother Nature.
Once inside the prison walls, she pushed her wet hair out of her face and unlocked and locked several gates as she made her way towards the officer’s lounge. Passing the servery, she looked through the bars and waved at the women behind the counter. Di Barker and Barbara Hunt had volunteered to become chief cooks and bottle washers, and for the better part of three days, they had prepared soup, tea and juice for every inmate on G-Wing. Since Karen Betts and Jim Fenner were among the first to fall victim to the influenza, as Governing Governor, Helen had made the decision to relax the structured rules of the prison. Left with only a handful of healthy staff members, she had breathed a small sigh of relief when Di volunteered to assist Barbara, while Gina Rossi agreed to help those in the infirmary.
As she passed an open gate, Di Barker called out her name and she stopped, watching as the guard came to doorway carrying a white pastry box.
“What’s this?” she asked as Di handed her the box.
“I called a friend and had her bring them to the gate. I thought we could do with something more than servery food.”
“How did they get inside?” she asked, knowing that there weren’t enough guards to allow such a thing.
Di Barker blushed and looked over her shoulder towards Barbara Hunt. “I didn’t think she’d go over the walls, ma’am.”
Helen smiled weakly. Leeway had been given to both the prisoners and the guards for the past week. Most of inmates were too sick to care whether their cell doors were locked or open, and guards, normally wearing in HMP uniforms, now walked the wing in jeans and sweaters, having run out of clean uniforms a few days earlier.
In the lounge, she found Sylvia Hollamby with her feet propped up on the coffee table, happily snoring away. If it had been another day and another time, Helen would have exploded, but Hollamby, along with Mark Waddle, Di Barker and Gina Rossi, were the only staff she had left. Latitude came in many forms; Bodybag taking a quick kip in the lounge was just one of them.
The dumpy woman stirred as Helen placed the box of pastries on the table, and when she opened her eyes to see the acting Governing Governor standing in front of her, she quickly dropped her feet to the floor and began straightening her clothing.
“Sorry, ma’am. It’s just we’ve been putting in some long hours …”
“I know Sylvia,” Helen responded as she walked past, placing her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Anything happen while I was gone?"
“No, ma’am. Other than the sneezing, hacking and their god-awful moaning … it’s been a quiet night.”
+++
She stood at the landing, looking towards the upper levels and tried to remember when she had ever heard G-Wing so quiet. Even in the stillness of night, there would always be a prisoner who refused to remain quiet, but today, the only sounds were of the storm that loomed outside the prison windows and an occasional cough coming from behind one of the dozen doors in her view.
She held two flashlights, and as Mark Waddle approached with an empty servery cart, she handed him one. The storm had gotten progressively worse throughout the morning. The thunder had slowly built, and with each loud rumble, the stone walls of the prison seemed to shake. Twice already, the lights of the old jail had flickered and dimmed as a blinding flash of lightning cracked in the atmosphere.
“So, how they doing?” she asked as he took the torch.
It was lunchtime and as he had pushed the cart from cell to cell, he hadn’t gotten many that asked for food. Ladling out soup for those that could keep it down, he replaced empty thermoses with ones filled with hot tea, felt foreheads for fever, administered aspirin and repeated his rounds on each level. It wasn’t what he signed on for when becoming a member of Her Majesty’s Prison Service, but a flu epidemic has a way of re-writing the rules.
“A few more are eating now, but it’s slow going, that’s for sure,” he replied, placing the torch on the cart. “Do you think we’re going to lose power?”
“I have no idea …” she began, but her words were stopped by a clap of thunder so loud that they both jumped.
Several seconds passed before she grinned and said, “It’s better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
He nodded in reply, pushing the cart towards the servery when he stopped and said, “Oh, by the way, Wade is asking to go outside.”
“Outside! Is she crazy?”
“I can’t blame her. She’s one of the few that isn’t sick, and she’s been stuck in her cell for days.”
Helen’s shoulders fell. She knew that Nikki hadn’t been out of her cell and she knew the reason why. It was easy for her to avoid Helen in a prison full of women, but with halls emptied by sickness, to walk out of her cell now would mean that she’d see Helen … and it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Pulling the clipboard from under her arm, she scanned the pages and then looked at Mark. “I’ll go talk to her.”
She climbed the grated steel treads and walked towards the cell that held the woman that had changed her life. Outside the green door, she paused for a second before she tapped on the frame and walked inside.
“Hiya, Nikki.”
She knew she was there before Helen walked into the cell, so looking up to acknowledge her presence was unnecessary, and even though it would appear she was rude, Nikki Wade didn’t care. For two weeks, the echo of Fenner’s words had haunted her. For two weeks, the knowledge that the woman she loved more than life itself now slept with another had robbed her of sleep. For two weeks, no matter how hard she tried, Helen Stewart had invaded her mind like the epidemic that had invaded Larkhall, but no amount of food, drink or aspirin would ever take away the pain of her broken heart.
“Mr. Waddle says you want to go outside.”
Nikki glared in her direction and for a split second, their eyes met, but those of dark brown looked away, and when she spoke, her words were filled with anger. “It’s my job and I want to do it!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining it’s arse off out there.”
Nikki stood, taking two long steps until she was within inches of Helen. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been banged up in this cell for three fucking days and I’m not sick!”
Helen pulled back. The invasion of her space was slight, and with others it would have gone unnoticed, but Nikki was not like any other, and Helen, no matter how hard she tried, could not deny it.
“Well, you can’t go outside.”
“Fine!”
Nikki turned and strode to the window, staring through the dirty panes of glass at the storm looming outside. Helen watched as she lit a cigarette, and even the smoke that curled over her head appeared to take on an anger all its own.
“You can’t go outside …”
“You’ve already said that!” she shouted.
“Can I finish?”
“We’re already finished … or have you forgotten?”
Helen winced at the pain of the words, and she let out a long breath as she walked to join her at the window.
“There was a shipment of books delivered to the library yesterday. If you want something to do … they need to be unpacked.”
+++
Opening the last carton, Nikki glanced at the stacks of books on the table and scratched her head. Although the room where she stood was called a library, until this moment it seemed to be only a room that held books. Volumes deemed by the Home Office to be suitable for inmates, most of the editions that lined the shelves were either classics written decades before her time, or novellas purchased only for their price and not their contents. Stacked and sorted on the metal shelving, they permeated the room with the mustiness of their age and their use. She studied the piles of new books, cocking her head to one side as she read the glossy covers, not yet torn or scratched by careless hands. Two Winterson’s, the complete works of Jane Austen and six new gardening books had been added, along with books on history, geography and dozens of paperbacks containing fiction written within the last few years. She opened one of the gardening how-to’s and slid into a chair, casually scanning the pages and forgetting, for a moment, the pain in her heart.
Helen stood in the doorway and watched her – she couldn’t help it. She was wearing the oversized white shirt that Helen loved so much. Casual and wrinkled, most would think it was sloppy, thrown on due to lack of other clothes, but for Helen, it was anything but. She liked the way it hung on Nikki’s slender frame and she knew that underneath, she would be wearing a tight vest. She always did with that shirt – Helen knew it. Helen paid attention to things like that. The jeans were her ‘baggy pair’, as Helen had named them. One pair was tight, and Nikki’s long legs would be hugged by the denim that was faded and soft; the other pair – this pair – wasn’t overly baggy. Actually, they weren’t baggy at all, just a little looser in the seat. Helen didn’t like this pair half as much as the other.
A bellowing clap of thunder, followed by a vibrant flash of light, caused both women to jump and then the lights flickered and sputtered and it was dark.
“Shit!” Nikki said angrily.
A faint sound caused her to turn, and she held her hand up to block the light of the torch as it momentarily blinded her.
“Sorry,” Helen said in a whisper as she cast the light towards the floor.
“Helen?”
“Yeah.”
Nikki let out a disgusted sigh. “Time to take me back to my cage, is it?”
Before she could respond, the overhead lights groaned and awakened and they blinked in unison at the brightness. Having not paid any attention when Helen had visited her cell earlier that day, Nikki now found it impossible to look away. Gone was the normal power suit, professional clothes designed to be worn by Governing Governors. Gone was the casual attire, worn by a Lifer’s Liaison or a woman relaxing in her home. Today, she wore jeans of faded blue, deliciously snug and straight-legged; they added a bit of normalcy to the woman she wished was still a part of her life. There was so much she didn’t know and there was so much she had never seen, but seeing Helen standing there, looking normal in a burgundy sweater with sleeves pushed up, made her heart ache and her body pulse. Did love really have to hurt this much?
“You’ve got some time, if you need it,” Helen replied.
Nikki glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at Helen. “I should have been locked up twenty minutes ago.”
“Well, we’re being a little lax on the rules due to the circumstances,” she replied. She shut the door and walked over to the table, placing the torch down as she scanned the stacks of books.
“So, is there anything you like?” Helen asked, nodding towards the piles.
When no response was given, Helen looked up and found Nikki staring back at her, her head cocked to one side and the slimmest hint of amusement in her eyes.
Swallowing hard, she turned back to the books and thumbed through the pages of one while she tried to squelch the blush she knew was on her cheeks.
“Did you buy all of these for me?”
Helen closed her eyes, realizing that her attempt to provide Nikki with new reading material was apparently quite transparent.
“By the amount, it appears you think I won’t get my appeal.”
“No!” Helen exclaimed. “I just wanted to make sure you had something to read, that’s all.”
“Sure.”
“Nikki, you’re going to get your appeal. I know you are. I was just trying to give you something to occupy your time … to keep your mind off it.”
“Are these books supposed to take my mind off you, too?”
Her shoulders fell and inwardly, she winced at the pain she knew she had caused. “I don’t think we should talk about this.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“And what … you don’t think I have a right to be?” Nikki shouted. “That’s it, isn’t it? As long as I’m a prisoner here, I don’t have any rights. I’m not supposed to feel or to care or to hurt. Is that it, Helen? Am I supposed to just accept all of this shit and move on … like you did?”
“Please don’t do this …”
“Do what – tell you that I’m angry? Tell you how much I was gutted when Fenner told me about Waugh. Tell me, Helen, how come you can shag Thomas, but the first time I think about putting my hand down another woman’s pants, you send her away?”
“Caroline was …”
“I know what she was, goddamn it! But what about the next one or the one after that? Are you going to send them all away? You and I are over; you made that perfectly clear by fucking that man! But you’re not the only one that can use someone like that. When I get out of here, Helen, I’m going to bed as many women as I can, because I need to get the taste of you off of me. I need to get you out of my head and my heart, so when you are lying under him, pretending to enjoy what he’s doing – remember I’ll be doing the same thing … but I’ll be enjoying it!”
She had never slapped someone before that moment, and as soon her hand connected with Nikki’s face, she regretted it.
“Nikki … Nikki … I’m sorry …”
She felt her face, felt the burn of the slap that turned her cheek red and she smiled. “I guess that comes under the heading of lax rules, now doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t mean …”
“What didn’t you mean, Helen? Was it those words you spoke in the art room? Or how about the ones in the courtyard or in my cell? Or better yet, how about the ones you moaned when I made you come … did you mean those? Tell me, Helen … does he make you feel the way I did? Does he make you use those words? Does he make you feel?”
She needed to get away, to get out of this room and distance herself from the passion that was Nikki Wade, so she ran to the door, but before she could open it, she found herself being spun around and pressed against the wooden surface.
“Tell me!” Nikki said with a scowl as she held Helen’s wrists tight.
“Please …”
“Tell me he makes you feel!”
“Nikki …”
“Tell me!”
Her mind was spinning and her heart was racing. She wasn’t afraid of Nikki, but she was terrified of the feelings she couldn’t deny, and wouldn’t accept.
“Please don’t make me …”
“Goddamn it, Helen … tell me he makes you feel like I did!”
“I can’t …” she said in a ragged whisper. “I can’t.”
In an instant, Nikki’s mouth descended on hers. The kiss was punishing and hard, meant to hurt, meant to recreate what they had … and that’s exactly what it did. Helen lost herself in the taste of all that was Nikki. The fullness of her lips, the warmth of her breath as it brushed against her cheeks, the flavor of cigarettes and the softness of a tongue, forcing its way inside, turned Helen into someone she had only been once before. The memories of that night came rushing back, and when Nikki pulled the sweater from her body, and her hands greedily cupped her breasts, Helen became who she so desperately wanted to be.
Pushing the oversized shirt to the floor, she tugged the vest from Nikki’s jeans, and when she felt the smooth skin underneath, she moaned. Their lips met again and again, each pummeling the other with all they had, making statements of possession with every plunge of a tongue. They separated for an instant, and Helen gasped for air when she felt the clasp of her bra being released, and desire flowed from her body.
“Oh God …” she said in a whisper as Nikki’s hands found her breasts again, tweaking and rubbing against nipples so hard that each pinch caused a pulse, and when her mouth covered one, sucking it hard and long, Helen grabbed her by the hair and held her firmly in place.
When she awoke that morning, the idea of ever having Helen Stewart again was unimaginable; but now, in the musty library of Larkhall prison, Nikki wasn’t only to have Helen, she was going to own her. Like the night they had become lovers, once again, they ignited in each other an inferno of passion that could not be extinguished by prison walls or misguided love affairs. Sliding her hand south, when she cupped Helen’s sex through the denim, the throaty growl that escaped her lips drove Nikki wild. Ripping open the snap and forcing the zipper open, she plunged her hand inside, and when she felt the soaked silk of Helen’s knickers, the breath escaped her lungs.
She pulled away, just far enough to see the heat in Helen’s eyes, and as the hazel-green orbs stared back at her, she pushed the silk aside and plunged into the wetness. She watched in awe as Helen’s eyes closed and the Scot’s hips began to flex instinctively against the glorious intrusion. Again and again, she stroked her lover, watching in amazement as she took her to a place, she now knew, no one else ever could. Hard and then soft, her fingers worked magic on Helen’s inner walls, and Nikki pushed the jeans to the floor, allowing Helen the freedom to open herself and she did it unabashedly.
Both were out of breath and the room, although normally cool, now felt hot and thick with the humidity of uncontrolled desire. She knew it was happening; she remembered that low purr far down in Helen’s throat when climax was imminent and she pushed harder, curling her fingers inside while her tongue again plundered Helen’s mouth, and within seconds, Helen cried out as the orgasm swept over her.
Gasping for air, she waited until the contractions stopped and then she removed her hand and took one step back. Helen opened her eyes and reached for her, but Nikki pushed her hand away.
Confused, Helen said, “I want to touch you.”
Nikki shook her head. “No.”
“But you must be … I mean …”
“I am.”
“Then why won’t you let me …”
“Because I want you to remember this,” Nikki said as she loosened her zipper and slipped her hand inside her own jeans.
Wide-eyed, Helen watched as Nikki began to pleasure herself, and when she reached for her again, Nikki pressed her forearm against Helen’s chest and pushed her hard against the door.
“Watch,” she demanded.
Nikki knew it wouldn’t take long; she was soaking wet and had been close to climax several times and now, in front of Helen, who was gazing at her in stunned curiosity, she brought herself to release. Her desire overflowed and coated her hand, soaking through the cotton and the denim in an instant, and the moan that escaped her lips was untamed; the sound of it caused Helen’s body to pulse.
In silence, Helen stood on wobbly knees as Nikki brought herself to orgasm, and in all of her life, Helen had never seen something so pure or so erotic. To watch, but not participate, was foreign to her and even though, at the particular moment, she hadn’t a clue why Nikki had done what she had done, it didn’t seem to matter. The ability for someone to allow another to see them at their most vulnerable took strength, a strength that came to Helen only when she was in the arms of Nikki Wade.
Her breathing now under control, she opened her eyes and looked back at Helen. Dropping her hands, she zipped her trousers, snapped them closed and picked up her clothes from the floor. Grabbing Helen’s bra and shirt, she pushed them into her hands and then turned her back to dress herself. In silence, they clasped, buttoned, zipped, straightened and primped until all seemed normal and then Nikki turned around.
“I’d like to go back to my cell now, Miss.”
Helen’s head snapped back, hearing the condescension in Nikki’s voice. Confused, she stared back, unable to think of something to say.
“Is there a problem, Miss?”
“What the hell are you doing, Nikki? Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what, Miss?”
“Goddamn it, Nikki … we just made love …”
“No, we didn’t.”
“What?”
“I made love to you, Helen … because I love you and I can admit it. But you didn’t make love to me … now did you?
“I tried, but you wouldn’t let me. You wanted me to watch instead … so I did.”
“Tell me that you love me.”
“Nikki …”
“Tell me that you love me.”
“Nikki, please …”
She sighed and shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Utterly confused, Helen whispered, “No, I don’t.”
“Well, then, let me explain it to you, shall I?” Nikki said as she leaned against the table. “I wouldn’t allow you to make love to me because I wanted to make sure you remember how I look at that particular moment of pleasure. And when you’re fucking Thomas Waugh, I want you to know that somewhere out there, beyond these bloody walls and this bloody life, there will be a woman who will make me feel that way again. It may not be in a year, or even two, because the love I feel for you is so bloody strong, it’s hard just to breathe sometimes, but eventually, I will forget it … just not as easily as you did.”
Her dark brown eyes were filled tears and her voice was shaky, but she stood tall and glared back at the woman she loved. She knew her words were brutal, the sting of them worse than any slap she could have given, and her heart broke to see the pain in Helen’s eyes. It was a last-ditch, feeble effort made in hopes of forcing Helen to admit something … and it hadn’t worked. And she wanted to die.
“Now, take me back to my cell.”
+++
They walked in silence down the corridors that would lead them back to Nikki’s cell. They walked past the servery and the sounds of Di and Barbara cleaning and prepping for the next day, and past the officer’s lounge, where Bodybag lay asleep in the chair with her feet, clad in black support shoes, propped on the table like they had been that morning. Mark Waddle stood sipping coffee at the window and he nodded as they strode past; Helen grinned weakly, but Nikki did not look up. They walked up the stairs, Nikki first and Helen following, the latter doing her best not to watch the hips swaying in front of her, and when they got to her cell, Helen unlocked the door so Nikki could enter.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered as Nikki strode past.
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t give me what I want.”
Nikki began to push the door closed, but Helen stopped it with her foot a few inches before it would latch.
“So what happens now?” Helen asked.
Half-heartedly, Nikki chuckled and then said, “Don’t worry, Miss – what happened today was the last of it. I’ll be the obedient prisoner and you’ll be the stalwart Governor, just as it should be. Since most believe we’re friends, we’ll continue along that line until one or the other of us leaves this place. Will that work for you?”
“Is that what you want?”
Exasperated and on the verge of tears, Nikki opened the door and looked right and left before pulling Helen into her cell. Their lips met slowly, cautiously and once the kiss began, neither wanted it to end, for they both thought it would be their last. Nikki pulled away first, and taking Helen by the shoulders, she spun her around and guided her back out the door.
She hadn’t intended to say another word, but when Helen turned and she saw those beautiful eyes filled with tears, hope won out again.
“You want to know what I want?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“I want to hear you say that Thomas is gorgeous … and that’s he everything a woman could want in a man. And then I want to hear you say that you don’t want a man … you want me. Say those words to me, Helen, and I’ll be yours forever.”
And then, Nikki shut the door; she shut it on her cell, on her hopes, on her dreams and on Helen. She would walk through the rest of her days at Larkhall being the perfect prisoner; she would smile falsely when they met in the corridors and even offer a brief conversation if the situation required it. But that night, as they lay in their separate beds, they cried themselves to sleep, neither knowing that, in a few short months, one would finally have the strength to say the words the other desperately needed to hear.
The End
Author: Lyn27
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters. They are being used solely and without permission to entertain and/or torture you with varying degrees of humor, angst and general manipulation of your emotional state. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film. No animals were harmed during the creation of this fiction, although the Yorkshire terriers living in my house are on borrowed time. Enter at your own risk and please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop. Return your seatback and tray table to their normal upright position. In the event of extreme angst, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback as it will improve my writing skills. Please use email or private message for extensive comments.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This story was requested by ‘H&N4ever’ via the Help Haiti Blog. She wanted a short story that took place, for the most part, in the library of Larkhall. So, I decided to write a ‘footnote’ – a missing scene, if you will, from Series 3, which takes place after Nikki finds out about Thomas Waugh and Helen.
And it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway – a HUGE thanks has to go to red card and SG, for all their help in the beta department. You two are absolutely fantastic!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Footnote
It was raining – again. Buckets fell from a sky so dark that it appeared to be night instead of day. Weather forecasters spouted that clear skies were just around the corner, but as Helen Stewart drove to HMP Larkhall that morning, even if the sun had pushed its way through the black clouds, her day would not have brightened a single watt.
A week or so earlier, a non-descript visitor had entered the gates of the prison, and was led to the visitor’s room, where they hugged and kissed their loved one, chatting and giggling about this and that, until it was time to leave. The only problem was, when they walked out of the gates, they left something behind … the flu. Within a week, inmates and staff began to fall like flies, and the infirmary filled to beyond capacity while the officer’s lounge emptied almost as quickly.
Leaving Larkhall only a few hours earlier, to go home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, she was now making her way back. Parking in the nearest space to the entry gate, she took a deep breath and made a mad dash through the watery onslaught of Mother Nature.
Once inside the prison walls, she pushed her wet hair out of her face and unlocked and locked several gates as she made her way towards the officer’s lounge. Passing the servery, she looked through the bars and waved at the women behind the counter. Di Barker and Barbara Hunt had volunteered to become chief cooks and bottle washers, and for the better part of three days, they had prepared soup, tea and juice for every inmate on G-Wing. Since Karen Betts and Jim Fenner were among the first to fall victim to the influenza, as Governing Governor, Helen had made the decision to relax the structured rules of the prison. Left with only a handful of healthy staff members, she had breathed a small sigh of relief when Di volunteered to assist Barbara, while Gina Rossi agreed to help those in the infirmary.
As she passed an open gate, Di Barker called out her name and she stopped, watching as the guard came to doorway carrying a white pastry box.
“What’s this?” she asked as Di handed her the box.
“I called a friend and had her bring them to the gate. I thought we could do with something more than servery food.”
“How did they get inside?” she asked, knowing that there weren’t enough guards to allow such a thing.
Di Barker blushed and looked over her shoulder towards Barbara Hunt. “I didn’t think she’d go over the walls, ma’am.”
Helen smiled weakly. Leeway had been given to both the prisoners and the guards for the past week. Most of inmates were too sick to care whether their cell doors were locked or open, and guards, normally wearing in HMP uniforms, now walked the wing in jeans and sweaters, having run out of clean uniforms a few days earlier.
In the lounge, she found Sylvia Hollamby with her feet propped up on the coffee table, happily snoring away. If it had been another day and another time, Helen would have exploded, but Hollamby, along with Mark Waddle, Di Barker and Gina Rossi, were the only staff she had left. Latitude came in many forms; Bodybag taking a quick kip in the lounge was just one of them.
The dumpy woman stirred as Helen placed the box of pastries on the table, and when she opened her eyes to see the acting Governing Governor standing in front of her, she quickly dropped her feet to the floor and began straightening her clothing.
“Sorry, ma’am. It’s just we’ve been putting in some long hours …”
“I know Sylvia,” Helen responded as she walked past, placing her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Anything happen while I was gone?"
“No, ma’am. Other than the sneezing, hacking and their god-awful moaning … it’s been a quiet night.”
+++
She stood at the landing, looking towards the upper levels and tried to remember when she had ever heard G-Wing so quiet. Even in the stillness of night, there would always be a prisoner who refused to remain quiet, but today, the only sounds were of the storm that loomed outside the prison windows and an occasional cough coming from behind one of the dozen doors in her view.
She held two flashlights, and as Mark Waddle approached with an empty servery cart, she handed him one. The storm had gotten progressively worse throughout the morning. The thunder had slowly built, and with each loud rumble, the stone walls of the prison seemed to shake. Twice already, the lights of the old jail had flickered and dimmed as a blinding flash of lightning cracked in the atmosphere.
“So, how they doing?” she asked as he took the torch.
It was lunchtime and as he had pushed the cart from cell to cell, he hadn’t gotten many that asked for food. Ladling out soup for those that could keep it down, he replaced empty thermoses with ones filled with hot tea, felt foreheads for fever, administered aspirin and repeated his rounds on each level. It wasn’t what he signed on for when becoming a member of Her Majesty’s Prison Service, but a flu epidemic has a way of re-writing the rules.
“A few more are eating now, but it’s slow going, that’s for sure,” he replied, placing the torch on the cart. “Do you think we’re going to lose power?”
“I have no idea …” she began, but her words were stopped by a clap of thunder so loud that they both jumped.
Several seconds passed before she grinned and said, “It’s better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
He nodded in reply, pushing the cart towards the servery when he stopped and said, “Oh, by the way, Wade is asking to go outside.”
“Outside! Is she crazy?”
“I can’t blame her. She’s one of the few that isn’t sick, and she’s been stuck in her cell for days.”
Helen’s shoulders fell. She knew that Nikki hadn’t been out of her cell and she knew the reason why. It was easy for her to avoid Helen in a prison full of women, but with halls emptied by sickness, to walk out of her cell now would mean that she’d see Helen … and it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Pulling the clipboard from under her arm, she scanned the pages and then looked at Mark. “I’ll go talk to her.”
She climbed the grated steel treads and walked towards the cell that held the woman that had changed her life. Outside the green door, she paused for a second before she tapped on the frame and walked inside.
“Hiya, Nikki.”
She knew she was there before Helen walked into the cell, so looking up to acknowledge her presence was unnecessary, and even though it would appear she was rude, Nikki Wade didn’t care. For two weeks, the echo of Fenner’s words had haunted her. For two weeks, the knowledge that the woman she loved more than life itself now slept with another had robbed her of sleep. For two weeks, no matter how hard she tried, Helen Stewart had invaded her mind like the epidemic that had invaded Larkhall, but no amount of food, drink or aspirin would ever take away the pain of her broken heart.
“Mr. Waddle says you want to go outside.”
Nikki glared in her direction and for a split second, their eyes met, but those of dark brown looked away, and when she spoke, her words were filled with anger. “It’s my job and I want to do it!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining it’s arse off out there.”
Nikki stood, taking two long steps until she was within inches of Helen. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been banged up in this cell for three fucking days and I’m not sick!”
Helen pulled back. The invasion of her space was slight, and with others it would have gone unnoticed, but Nikki was not like any other, and Helen, no matter how hard she tried, could not deny it.
“Well, you can’t go outside.”
“Fine!”
Nikki turned and strode to the window, staring through the dirty panes of glass at the storm looming outside. Helen watched as she lit a cigarette, and even the smoke that curled over her head appeared to take on an anger all its own.
“You can’t go outside …”
“You’ve already said that!” she shouted.
“Can I finish?”
“We’re already finished … or have you forgotten?”
Helen winced at the pain of the words, and she let out a long breath as she walked to join her at the window.
“There was a shipment of books delivered to the library yesterday. If you want something to do … they need to be unpacked.”
+++
Opening the last carton, Nikki glanced at the stacks of books on the table and scratched her head. Although the room where she stood was called a library, until this moment it seemed to be only a room that held books. Volumes deemed by the Home Office to be suitable for inmates, most of the editions that lined the shelves were either classics written decades before her time, or novellas purchased only for their price and not their contents. Stacked and sorted on the metal shelving, they permeated the room with the mustiness of their age and their use. She studied the piles of new books, cocking her head to one side as she read the glossy covers, not yet torn or scratched by careless hands. Two Winterson’s, the complete works of Jane Austen and six new gardening books had been added, along with books on history, geography and dozens of paperbacks containing fiction written within the last few years. She opened one of the gardening how-to’s and slid into a chair, casually scanning the pages and forgetting, for a moment, the pain in her heart.
Helen stood in the doorway and watched her – she couldn’t help it. She was wearing the oversized white shirt that Helen loved so much. Casual and wrinkled, most would think it was sloppy, thrown on due to lack of other clothes, but for Helen, it was anything but. She liked the way it hung on Nikki’s slender frame and she knew that underneath, she would be wearing a tight vest. She always did with that shirt – Helen knew it. Helen paid attention to things like that. The jeans were her ‘baggy pair’, as Helen had named them. One pair was tight, and Nikki’s long legs would be hugged by the denim that was faded and soft; the other pair – this pair – wasn’t overly baggy. Actually, they weren’t baggy at all, just a little looser in the seat. Helen didn’t like this pair half as much as the other.
A bellowing clap of thunder, followed by a vibrant flash of light, caused both women to jump and then the lights flickered and sputtered and it was dark.
“Shit!” Nikki said angrily.
A faint sound caused her to turn, and she held her hand up to block the light of the torch as it momentarily blinded her.
“Sorry,” Helen said in a whisper as she cast the light towards the floor.
“Helen?”
“Yeah.”
Nikki let out a disgusted sigh. “Time to take me back to my cage, is it?”
Before she could respond, the overhead lights groaned and awakened and they blinked in unison at the brightness. Having not paid any attention when Helen had visited her cell earlier that day, Nikki now found it impossible to look away. Gone was the normal power suit, professional clothes designed to be worn by Governing Governors. Gone was the casual attire, worn by a Lifer’s Liaison or a woman relaxing in her home. Today, she wore jeans of faded blue, deliciously snug and straight-legged; they added a bit of normalcy to the woman she wished was still a part of her life. There was so much she didn’t know and there was so much she had never seen, but seeing Helen standing there, looking normal in a burgundy sweater with sleeves pushed up, made her heart ache and her body pulse. Did love really have to hurt this much?
“You’ve got some time, if you need it,” Helen replied.
Nikki glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at Helen. “I should have been locked up twenty minutes ago.”
“Well, we’re being a little lax on the rules due to the circumstances,” she replied. She shut the door and walked over to the table, placing the torch down as she scanned the stacks of books.
“So, is there anything you like?” Helen asked, nodding towards the piles.
When no response was given, Helen looked up and found Nikki staring back at her, her head cocked to one side and the slimmest hint of amusement in her eyes.
Swallowing hard, she turned back to the books and thumbed through the pages of one while she tried to squelch the blush she knew was on her cheeks.
“Did you buy all of these for me?”
Helen closed her eyes, realizing that her attempt to provide Nikki with new reading material was apparently quite transparent.
“By the amount, it appears you think I won’t get my appeal.”
“No!” Helen exclaimed. “I just wanted to make sure you had something to read, that’s all.”
“Sure.”
“Nikki, you’re going to get your appeal. I know you are. I was just trying to give you something to occupy your time … to keep your mind off it.”
“Are these books supposed to take my mind off you, too?”
Her shoulders fell and inwardly, she winced at the pain she knew she had caused. “I don’t think we should talk about this.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“And what … you don’t think I have a right to be?” Nikki shouted. “That’s it, isn’t it? As long as I’m a prisoner here, I don’t have any rights. I’m not supposed to feel or to care or to hurt. Is that it, Helen? Am I supposed to just accept all of this shit and move on … like you did?”
“Please don’t do this …”
“Do what – tell you that I’m angry? Tell you how much I was gutted when Fenner told me about Waugh. Tell me, Helen, how come you can shag Thomas, but the first time I think about putting my hand down another woman’s pants, you send her away?”
“Caroline was …”
“I know what she was, goddamn it! But what about the next one or the one after that? Are you going to send them all away? You and I are over; you made that perfectly clear by fucking that man! But you’re not the only one that can use someone like that. When I get out of here, Helen, I’m going to bed as many women as I can, because I need to get the taste of you off of me. I need to get you out of my head and my heart, so when you are lying under him, pretending to enjoy what he’s doing – remember I’ll be doing the same thing … but I’ll be enjoying it!”
She had never slapped someone before that moment, and as soon her hand connected with Nikki’s face, she regretted it.
“Nikki … Nikki … I’m sorry …”
She felt her face, felt the burn of the slap that turned her cheek red and she smiled. “I guess that comes under the heading of lax rules, now doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t mean …”
“What didn’t you mean, Helen? Was it those words you spoke in the art room? Or how about the ones in the courtyard or in my cell? Or better yet, how about the ones you moaned when I made you come … did you mean those? Tell me, Helen … does he make you feel the way I did? Does he make you use those words? Does he make you feel?”
She needed to get away, to get out of this room and distance herself from the passion that was Nikki Wade, so she ran to the door, but before she could open it, she found herself being spun around and pressed against the wooden surface.
“Tell me!” Nikki said with a scowl as she held Helen’s wrists tight.
“Please …”
“Tell me he makes you feel!”
“Nikki …”
“Tell me!”
Her mind was spinning and her heart was racing. She wasn’t afraid of Nikki, but she was terrified of the feelings she couldn’t deny, and wouldn’t accept.
“Please don’t make me …”
“Goddamn it, Helen … tell me he makes you feel like I did!”
“I can’t …” she said in a ragged whisper. “I can’t.”
In an instant, Nikki’s mouth descended on hers. The kiss was punishing and hard, meant to hurt, meant to recreate what they had … and that’s exactly what it did. Helen lost herself in the taste of all that was Nikki. The fullness of her lips, the warmth of her breath as it brushed against her cheeks, the flavor of cigarettes and the softness of a tongue, forcing its way inside, turned Helen into someone she had only been once before. The memories of that night came rushing back, and when Nikki pulled the sweater from her body, and her hands greedily cupped her breasts, Helen became who she so desperately wanted to be.
Pushing the oversized shirt to the floor, she tugged the vest from Nikki’s jeans, and when she felt the smooth skin underneath, she moaned. Their lips met again and again, each pummeling the other with all they had, making statements of possession with every plunge of a tongue. They separated for an instant, and Helen gasped for air when she felt the clasp of her bra being released, and desire flowed from her body.
“Oh God …” she said in a whisper as Nikki’s hands found her breasts again, tweaking and rubbing against nipples so hard that each pinch caused a pulse, and when her mouth covered one, sucking it hard and long, Helen grabbed her by the hair and held her firmly in place.
When she awoke that morning, the idea of ever having Helen Stewart again was unimaginable; but now, in the musty library of Larkhall prison, Nikki wasn’t only to have Helen, she was going to own her. Like the night they had become lovers, once again, they ignited in each other an inferno of passion that could not be extinguished by prison walls or misguided love affairs. Sliding her hand south, when she cupped Helen’s sex through the denim, the throaty growl that escaped her lips drove Nikki wild. Ripping open the snap and forcing the zipper open, she plunged her hand inside, and when she felt the soaked silk of Helen’s knickers, the breath escaped her lungs.
She pulled away, just far enough to see the heat in Helen’s eyes, and as the hazel-green orbs stared back at her, she pushed the silk aside and plunged into the wetness. She watched in awe as Helen’s eyes closed and the Scot’s hips began to flex instinctively against the glorious intrusion. Again and again, she stroked her lover, watching in amazement as she took her to a place, she now knew, no one else ever could. Hard and then soft, her fingers worked magic on Helen’s inner walls, and Nikki pushed the jeans to the floor, allowing Helen the freedom to open herself and she did it unabashedly.
Both were out of breath and the room, although normally cool, now felt hot and thick with the humidity of uncontrolled desire. She knew it was happening; she remembered that low purr far down in Helen’s throat when climax was imminent and she pushed harder, curling her fingers inside while her tongue again plundered Helen’s mouth, and within seconds, Helen cried out as the orgasm swept over her.
Gasping for air, she waited until the contractions stopped and then she removed her hand and took one step back. Helen opened her eyes and reached for her, but Nikki pushed her hand away.
Confused, Helen said, “I want to touch you.”
Nikki shook her head. “No.”
“But you must be … I mean …”
“I am.”
“Then why won’t you let me …”
“Because I want you to remember this,” Nikki said as she loosened her zipper and slipped her hand inside her own jeans.
Wide-eyed, Helen watched as Nikki began to pleasure herself, and when she reached for her again, Nikki pressed her forearm against Helen’s chest and pushed her hard against the door.
“Watch,” she demanded.
Nikki knew it wouldn’t take long; she was soaking wet and had been close to climax several times and now, in front of Helen, who was gazing at her in stunned curiosity, she brought herself to release. Her desire overflowed and coated her hand, soaking through the cotton and the denim in an instant, and the moan that escaped her lips was untamed; the sound of it caused Helen’s body to pulse.
In silence, Helen stood on wobbly knees as Nikki brought herself to orgasm, and in all of her life, Helen had never seen something so pure or so erotic. To watch, but not participate, was foreign to her and even though, at the particular moment, she hadn’t a clue why Nikki had done what she had done, it didn’t seem to matter. The ability for someone to allow another to see them at their most vulnerable took strength, a strength that came to Helen only when she was in the arms of Nikki Wade.
Her breathing now under control, she opened her eyes and looked back at Helen. Dropping her hands, she zipped her trousers, snapped them closed and picked up her clothes from the floor. Grabbing Helen’s bra and shirt, she pushed them into her hands and then turned her back to dress herself. In silence, they clasped, buttoned, zipped, straightened and primped until all seemed normal and then Nikki turned around.
“I’d like to go back to my cell now, Miss.”
Helen’s head snapped back, hearing the condescension in Nikki’s voice. Confused, she stared back, unable to think of something to say.
“Is there a problem, Miss?”
“What the hell are you doing, Nikki? Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what, Miss?”
“Goddamn it, Nikki … we just made love …”
“No, we didn’t.”
“What?”
“I made love to you, Helen … because I love you and I can admit it. But you didn’t make love to me … now did you?
“I tried, but you wouldn’t let me. You wanted me to watch instead … so I did.”
“Tell me that you love me.”
“Nikki …”
“Tell me that you love me.”
“Nikki, please …”
She sighed and shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Utterly confused, Helen whispered, “No, I don’t.”
“Well, then, let me explain it to you, shall I?” Nikki said as she leaned against the table. “I wouldn’t allow you to make love to me because I wanted to make sure you remember how I look at that particular moment of pleasure. And when you’re fucking Thomas Waugh, I want you to know that somewhere out there, beyond these bloody walls and this bloody life, there will be a woman who will make me feel that way again. It may not be in a year, or even two, because the love I feel for you is so bloody strong, it’s hard just to breathe sometimes, but eventually, I will forget it … just not as easily as you did.”
Her dark brown eyes were filled tears and her voice was shaky, but she stood tall and glared back at the woman she loved. She knew her words were brutal, the sting of them worse than any slap she could have given, and her heart broke to see the pain in Helen’s eyes. It was a last-ditch, feeble effort made in hopes of forcing Helen to admit something … and it hadn’t worked. And she wanted to die.
“Now, take me back to my cell.”
+++
They walked in silence down the corridors that would lead them back to Nikki’s cell. They walked past the servery and the sounds of Di and Barbara cleaning and prepping for the next day, and past the officer’s lounge, where Bodybag lay asleep in the chair with her feet, clad in black support shoes, propped on the table like they had been that morning. Mark Waddle stood sipping coffee at the window and he nodded as they strode past; Helen grinned weakly, but Nikki did not look up. They walked up the stairs, Nikki first and Helen following, the latter doing her best not to watch the hips swaying in front of her, and when they got to her cell, Helen unlocked the door so Nikki could enter.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered as Nikki strode past.
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t give me what I want.”
Nikki began to push the door closed, but Helen stopped it with her foot a few inches before it would latch.
“So what happens now?” Helen asked.
Half-heartedly, Nikki chuckled and then said, “Don’t worry, Miss – what happened today was the last of it. I’ll be the obedient prisoner and you’ll be the stalwart Governor, just as it should be. Since most believe we’re friends, we’ll continue along that line until one or the other of us leaves this place. Will that work for you?”
“Is that what you want?”
Exasperated and on the verge of tears, Nikki opened the door and looked right and left before pulling Helen into her cell. Their lips met slowly, cautiously and once the kiss began, neither wanted it to end, for they both thought it would be their last. Nikki pulled away first, and taking Helen by the shoulders, she spun her around and guided her back out the door.
She hadn’t intended to say another word, but when Helen turned and she saw those beautiful eyes filled with tears, hope won out again.
“You want to know what I want?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“I want to hear you say that Thomas is gorgeous … and that’s he everything a woman could want in a man. And then I want to hear you say that you don’t want a man … you want me. Say those words to me, Helen, and I’ll be yours forever.”
And then, Nikki shut the door; she shut it on her cell, on her hopes, on her dreams and on Helen. She would walk through the rest of her days at Larkhall being the perfect prisoner; she would smile falsely when they met in the corridors and even offer a brief conversation if the situation required it. But that night, as they lay in their separate beds, they cried themselves to sleep, neither knowing that, in a few short months, one would finally have the strength to say the words the other desperately needed to hear.
The End
Alive Like Fire
Title: Alive Like Fire
Author: Stuntdouble
Rating: R(ish)
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.
---
This one's for Emily. The request was Helen and Nikki on the night of Nikki's release. Huge thanks to Stealthgirl for everything including the beta-ing.
Alive Like Fire
Tomorrow, she needs to speak to Trisha, needs to interlace their fingers and look into her eyes and tell her everything she's seen and done, and done and seen, since the doors clanged behind her at Larkhall.
She needs to walk alone down the street with a newspaper in one hand and a frothy cup of coffee in the other.
She wants ice cream and organic cotton sheets. She wants the smell of new books and the taste of fresh herbs. She wants rain, sheets of it; thunder; the sort of lightning that splits entire tree trunks. She wants sunlight, unsheltered, merciless on her skin.
But tonight there is only Helen. Beautiful, beautiful Helen, with adoring eyes and miles and miles of flawlessly uncharted skin. She is reaching for Nikki on her bed of grass, under her blanket of stars, and they are wrapped in the scent of
***
lavender?"
When she doesn't answer, Helen closes the book Nikki is reading over her shoulder and turns to face her, sliding easily along the bottom of their two-person bathtub, full as it is with scented bubbles.
Nikki looks at Helen over the top of the glasses she's too vain to wear in public. "I wasn't finished with that page," she says.
Helen leans back and reopens the book.
It is thoroughly impractical for her and Nikki to read together. Helen plows through stories with nothing but plot resolution in mind, while Nikki lingers on every sentence, delighting in the way words work together. Elegant writing, like gourmet food, had a libidinous effect on her, and Helen willingly suffers through it. Besides, she is irresistible in those damn glasses.
Helen relaxes further into Nikki's embrace, relishing the feel of Nikki's sudsy breasts against her bare back. She is almost ashamed of how much she misses physical contact with her when they're apart for only a day.
Nikki kisses Helen at the juncture of her neck and shoulder to indicate that she's finished with the page.
"So?" Helen asks.
"So," Nikki says. She turns Helen around, scooting her backwards along the length of the tub until she is resting at the opposite end. She props Helen's foot on her shoulder and reaches for the shaving mousse, lathering Helen's leg from ankle to thigh, and in a practiced, delicate routine, begins shaving Helen's leg.
Helen sinks down into the steamy water and closes her eyes. Nikki smoothes the razor over her calf, sliding it from the ankle to the back of Helen's knee, causing her leg to jerk.
"Stay still," Nikki commands.
"It tickles! You know I'm ticklish there!"
Nikki chuckles and continues working her way around Helen's calf. She looks up -- again, over the top of her glasses -- and raises her eyebrows when she sees Helen's grin.
"What?" she asks.
"You," Helen says, "are beautiful beyond all sense."
She is singularly peculiar, Nikki Wade; confident enough to walk the streets of London completely starkers, but always coloring under Helen's adoring gaze.
When Nikki is finished, she rinses off the mousse and leans forward to run her hand
***
up Helen's inner thigh, pausing at the seam of her jeans to apply pressure and elicit a hissed expletive, before finally moving her fingers to Helen's zipper. Helen wants to help, wants out of her jeans more than she's ever wanted anything in her life, wants Nikki's flesh pressed against her own. She is angry at the space between them, alternating between crushing kisses, whispered adoration and possessive fingers digging into Nikki's back, hoping on some carnal level to mark Nikki as her own.
Yes, that is exactly what she wants.
She stops Nikki mid-zip, and rolls her off the blanket, pinning Nikki's hips firmly to the
***
lawn!" Helen shouts, but Nikki can barely hear her over the sound of the four-stroke engine. She shrugs and looks away to indicate as much, but Helen is relentless. She marches to Nikki's other side and signals to her, through the universal neck-slicing motion, that she should shut it down.
Nikki ignores her.
"I know you saw the letter!" Helen shouts.
Nikki shakes her head.
"You didn't see the letter? You're just out here in the middle of winter, stomping around in your boots, doing lawnmower therapy for no reason?"
"If you didn't want me to see the letter, you should have hidden it better!" Nikki shouts back over the growl of the mower.
"Don't be a prat, Nikki! It was on the kitchen table with the bills! I obviously wasn't trying to hide it!"
"Do you think I care if you get a letter from your ex-boyfriend?"
"I should bloody well hope so!" Helen is two steps from unhinged and Nikki knows it.
"Thomas Waugh can fuck off!" Nikki shouts.
"I know! That's why I left him for you!"
"But you didn't leave him, did you? He left you!"
"Nikki, we've been over this a hundred times!" Helen actually stomps her foot as she continues shouting. The wind and her anger are causing such a blush that Nikki cannot look away. "It was a year ago! I love you! I only ever loved you! I thought you knew that by now!"
Nikki does know. She reaches to switch off the mower in remorse as Helen reaches to shut it off in anger. The sound of their heads knocking together is cartoon coconuts.
"Jesus
***
Christ," Nikki rasps as Helen sucks Nikki's nipple into her mouth, lavishing and loving it in the chilly night air.
Whatever timidity Helen expressed the night of Nikki's escape, whatever reservations and hang-ups, whatever insecurities and fears she harbored: they have been vanquished.
"I love you," she breathes, moving her mouth to the hollow of Nikki's neck. She places the flat of her tongue against the place where Nikki's pulse is beating madly, and Nikki wants to say it is for Helen, all for Helen. And the kiss that comes after is bursting with
***
promise."
"I promise," Nikki says, making an 'x' over her chest. "Cross my heart."
Helen's face is a study in skepticism when the salesman returns.
"Ah, I can see that your friend is still not happy with your choice. Which does she not like, a fast ride? Italian leather? Or maybe she does not like to share the attention of the men who will be staring at you when you take this top down, eh?"
He winks down at them as they sit in the car in the showroom.
"I'm her partner, actually," Helen says. "And I'm not worried about men looking at her -- or at me. I'm worried about her safety."
"Even though I've promised to keep it comfortably within the maximum speed limit," Nikki says, running her hands over the wheel.
"But what is life without adventure," the salesman says, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Open roads are always best with your lover, no? The breeze in your hair and the song in your heart and the growl of 600 horses under the hood!"
Helen is still frowning.
"Or perhaps your girlfriend wants something suitable for babies," he says, his optimism failing him at last.
The word flips Nikki's stomach to the point of dizziness. Babies. It does something to Helen, too; Nikki can see it in the side mirror. She waves the salesman off and turns to face her. Babies.
"Helen?" she says, but Helen refuses to meet her eyes.
"Helen?" Nikki reaches out to touch her. "Is that true?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Helen says, still staring straight ahead. "You love this car. Buy it. I never expected you to want a minivan."
Nikki grips the wheel, feeling as though she lost something she never even knew had.
"But yes."
"Yes, what?" Nikki says, turning in the seat to face Helen fully.
"Yes, I want to have your babies."
An entire world Nikki never imagined flashes before her eyes: swings and ice cream and rattles and bottles and handball games and Christmas pageants and crayons and clay and trucks and cars and dolls and dishes -- and her child alive inside of Helen. Her child. Hers and Helen's.
"My babies?" Nikki says, barely daring to believe the words have escaped her mouth.
"You didn't know?"
Nikki shakes her head and reaches for Helen's hands. "You never said."
"Nikki," she whispers, "I want us to make a baby."
The tears begin to splash down
***
Helen's cheek as soon as she enters Nikki. She kisses her again, meaning a thousand things she's never said before, a thousand things she's never felt before. Nikki is free. Nikki is free. Helen Stewart is alive like fire.
Slowly, deliberately, she coaxes Nikki to the brink of herself, to the brink of her sanity, and when she tips her over the edge, the sound of her name on Nikki's lips is the most perfect song she's ever heard.
She falls down beside her, panting, sweating, begging, dreaming, praying this is only the beginning. When she rolls over, a blaze of light flashes across the night sky. A shooting star. An anomaly in London.
Like hope.
Like miracles.
Like Nikki.
Author: Stuntdouble
Rating: R(ish)
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.
---
This one's for Emily. The request was Helen and Nikki on the night of Nikki's release. Huge thanks to Stealthgirl for everything including the beta-ing.
Alive Like Fire
Tomorrow, she needs to speak to Trisha, needs to interlace their fingers and look into her eyes and tell her everything she's seen and done, and done and seen, since the doors clanged behind her at Larkhall.
She needs to walk alone down the street with a newspaper in one hand and a frothy cup of coffee in the other.
She wants ice cream and organic cotton sheets. She wants the smell of new books and the taste of fresh herbs. She wants rain, sheets of it; thunder; the sort of lightning that splits entire tree trunks. She wants sunlight, unsheltered, merciless on her skin.
But tonight there is only Helen. Beautiful, beautiful Helen, with adoring eyes and miles and miles of flawlessly uncharted skin. She is reaching for Nikki on her bed of grass, under her blanket of stars, and they are wrapped in the scent of
***
lavender?"
When she doesn't answer, Helen closes the book Nikki is reading over her shoulder and turns to face her, sliding easily along the bottom of their two-person bathtub, full as it is with scented bubbles.
Nikki looks at Helen over the top of the glasses she's too vain to wear in public. "I wasn't finished with that page," she says.
Helen leans back and reopens the book.
It is thoroughly impractical for her and Nikki to read together. Helen plows through stories with nothing but plot resolution in mind, while Nikki lingers on every sentence, delighting in the way words work together. Elegant writing, like gourmet food, had a libidinous effect on her, and Helen willingly suffers through it. Besides, she is irresistible in those damn glasses.
Helen relaxes further into Nikki's embrace, relishing the feel of Nikki's sudsy breasts against her bare back. She is almost ashamed of how much she misses physical contact with her when they're apart for only a day.
Nikki kisses Helen at the juncture of her neck and shoulder to indicate that she's finished with the page.
"So?" Helen asks.
"So," Nikki says. She turns Helen around, scooting her backwards along the length of the tub until she is resting at the opposite end. She props Helen's foot on her shoulder and reaches for the shaving mousse, lathering Helen's leg from ankle to thigh, and in a practiced, delicate routine, begins shaving Helen's leg.
Helen sinks down into the steamy water and closes her eyes. Nikki smoothes the razor over her calf, sliding it from the ankle to the back of Helen's knee, causing her leg to jerk.
"Stay still," Nikki commands.
"It tickles! You know I'm ticklish there!"
Nikki chuckles and continues working her way around Helen's calf. She looks up -- again, over the top of her glasses -- and raises her eyebrows when she sees Helen's grin.
"What?" she asks.
"You," Helen says, "are beautiful beyond all sense."
She is singularly peculiar, Nikki Wade; confident enough to walk the streets of London completely starkers, but always coloring under Helen's adoring gaze.
When Nikki is finished, she rinses off the mousse and leans forward to run her hand
***
up Helen's inner thigh, pausing at the seam of her jeans to apply pressure and elicit a hissed expletive, before finally moving her fingers to Helen's zipper. Helen wants to help, wants out of her jeans more than she's ever wanted anything in her life, wants Nikki's flesh pressed against her own. She is angry at the space between them, alternating between crushing kisses, whispered adoration and possessive fingers digging into Nikki's back, hoping on some carnal level to mark Nikki as her own.
Yes, that is exactly what she wants.
She stops Nikki mid-zip, and rolls her off the blanket, pinning Nikki's hips firmly to the
***
lawn!" Helen shouts, but Nikki can barely hear her over the sound of the four-stroke engine. She shrugs and looks away to indicate as much, but Helen is relentless. She marches to Nikki's other side and signals to her, through the universal neck-slicing motion, that she should shut it down.
Nikki ignores her.
"I know you saw the letter!" Helen shouts.
Nikki shakes her head.
"You didn't see the letter? You're just out here in the middle of winter, stomping around in your boots, doing lawnmower therapy for no reason?"
"If you didn't want me to see the letter, you should have hidden it better!" Nikki shouts back over the growl of the mower.
"Don't be a prat, Nikki! It was on the kitchen table with the bills! I obviously wasn't trying to hide it!"
"Do you think I care if you get a letter from your ex-boyfriend?"
"I should bloody well hope so!" Helen is two steps from unhinged and Nikki knows it.
"Thomas Waugh can fuck off!" Nikki shouts.
"I know! That's why I left him for you!"
"But you didn't leave him, did you? He left you!"
"Nikki, we've been over this a hundred times!" Helen actually stomps her foot as she continues shouting. The wind and her anger are causing such a blush that Nikki cannot look away. "It was a year ago! I love you! I only ever loved you! I thought you knew that by now!"
Nikki does know. She reaches to switch off the mower in remorse as Helen reaches to shut it off in anger. The sound of their heads knocking together is cartoon coconuts.
"Jesus
***
Christ," Nikki rasps as Helen sucks Nikki's nipple into her mouth, lavishing and loving it in the chilly night air.
Whatever timidity Helen expressed the night of Nikki's escape, whatever reservations and hang-ups, whatever insecurities and fears she harbored: they have been vanquished.
"I love you," she breathes, moving her mouth to the hollow of Nikki's neck. She places the flat of her tongue against the place where Nikki's pulse is beating madly, and Nikki wants to say it is for Helen, all for Helen. And the kiss that comes after is bursting with
***
promise."
"I promise," Nikki says, making an 'x' over her chest. "Cross my heart."
Helen's face is a study in skepticism when the salesman returns.
"Ah, I can see that your friend is still not happy with your choice. Which does she not like, a fast ride? Italian leather? Or maybe she does not like to share the attention of the men who will be staring at you when you take this top down, eh?"
He winks down at them as they sit in the car in the showroom.
"I'm her partner, actually," Helen says. "And I'm not worried about men looking at her -- or at me. I'm worried about her safety."
"Even though I've promised to keep it comfortably within the maximum speed limit," Nikki says, running her hands over the wheel.
"But what is life without adventure," the salesman says, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Open roads are always best with your lover, no? The breeze in your hair and the song in your heart and the growl of 600 horses under the hood!"
Helen is still frowning.
"Or perhaps your girlfriend wants something suitable for babies," he says, his optimism failing him at last.
The word flips Nikki's stomach to the point of dizziness. Babies. It does something to Helen, too; Nikki can see it in the side mirror. She waves the salesman off and turns to face her. Babies.
"Helen?" she says, but Helen refuses to meet her eyes.
"Helen?" Nikki reaches out to touch her. "Is that true?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Helen says, still staring straight ahead. "You love this car. Buy it. I never expected you to want a minivan."
Nikki grips the wheel, feeling as though she lost something she never even knew had.
"But yes."
"Yes, what?" Nikki says, turning in the seat to face Helen fully.
"Yes, I want to have your babies."
An entire world Nikki never imagined flashes before her eyes: swings and ice cream and rattles and bottles and handball games and Christmas pageants and crayons and clay and trucks and cars and dolls and dishes -- and her child alive inside of Helen. Her child. Hers and Helen's.
"My babies?" Nikki says, barely daring to believe the words have escaped her mouth.
"You didn't know?"
Nikki shakes her head and reaches for Helen's hands. "You never said."
"Nikki," she whispers, "I want us to make a baby."
The tears begin to splash down
***
Helen's cheek as soon as she enters Nikki. She kisses her again, meaning a thousand things she's never said before, a thousand things she's never felt before. Nikki is free. Nikki is free. Helen Stewart is alive like fire.
Slowly, deliberately, she coaxes Nikki to the brink of herself, to the brink of her sanity, and when she tips her over the edge, the sound of her name on Nikki's lips is the most perfect song she's ever heard.
She falls down beside her, panting, sweating, begging, dreaming, praying this is only the beginning. When she rolls over, a blaze of light flashes across the night sky. A shooting star. An anomaly in London.
Like hope.
Like miracles.
Like Nikki.
Football Lesson by Lyn27
Title: Football Lesson
Author: Lyn27
Rating: 15
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters. They are being used solely and without permission to entertain and/or torture you with varying degrees of humor, angst and general manipulation of your emotional state. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film. No animals were harmed during the creation of this fiction, although the Yorkshire terriers living in my house are on borrowed time. Enter at your own risk and please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop. Return your seatback and tray table to their normal upright position. In the event of extreme angst, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback as it will improve my writing skills. Please use email or private message for extensive comments.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This story was requested by ‘ratz’ via the Help Haiti Blog. She wanted a short story having something to do with a Cowboys football game … so here it is. For those who know nothing about the game of American football, the terms I have used in this story are not made up.
And to 'red card' and SG, that helped me beta this story ... you're simply the best!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Football Lesson
“Oi! I could use a hand here!” Nikki yelled as she struggled to get in the front door.
Within seconds, Helen jogged from the lounge, wearing her patented tongue-between-the-teeth smile.
“Hiya,” she said as she reached up and kissed Nikki on the cheek. Seeing her lover’s hands filled with bags, she chuckled. “I told you not to go shopping when you’re hungry.”
“I wouldn’t have been so hungry,” she started, handing a few bags to Helen, “if someone hadn’t given me a rather rousing wake-up call this morning, now would I?”
“I didn’t hear any complaints,” Helen said with a wink as she walked to the kitchen, purposely emphasizing the sway of her hips every step of the way.
Nikki looked up and stared at the ceiling. “God … I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her … but thank you.”
By the time she reached the kitchen, Helen had already emptied the bags and was opening a bottle of beer.
“Can you handle the rest?” she asked, nodding to the bags that Nikki was piling on the counter.
“Sure … why?”
Tossing the cap in the trash, she kissed Nikki’s cheek and trotted towards the lounge. “I was watching something, that’s all.”
Nikki began to put away the groceries and chuckled at the amount of junk food she had bought. Tossing the packages of crisps into the pantry, she was down to the last bag before she called out, “So what you watching?”
“Football,” Helen called back.
“Oh yeah … who’s playing?”
“Dallas and Pittsburgh!”
Halfway between the counter and the pantry, Nikki stopped dead in her tracks. Confused, she cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her face. “Who?”
Not hearing an answer, Nikki finished with the groceries, opened a beer for herself and walked into the lounge. When she looked at the television, her expression changed from curiosity to confusion.
“What the hell is that?” she asked, nodding towards the screen.
“Football,” Helen said with a smile, as she pulled her legs under her and snuggled into the corner of the sofa.
Plopping down at the opposite end of couch, Nikki blurted, “That’s not football.”
“It’s American football.”
“Like I said,” Nikki said with a grin. “That’s not football.”
Giggling, Helen reached over and slapped on her on the knee. “Behave, I like it.”
“Since when?”
Intent on trying to watch the game, Helen put her mouth in motion way before her mind ever left the starting blocks. “Thomas used to watch it all the time and …”
Instantly, she wished she had a rewind button. Wincing, she closed her eyes and waited for her partner to explode. If there was one thing she learned since Nikki’s release, it was that if she wanted to increase the woman’s blood pressure, mention Thomas Waugh.
Slowly, she glanced to her left and saw Nikki glaring back. “Please don’t get mad,” she whispered.
“Why should I get mad? You’re sitting in our lounge, cheering on his team …”
“No, I’m not!”
“No?”
“No … I’m cheering on my team.”
“Your team?”
“Yes … I’m a Dallas fan,” she said proudly.
“Dallas?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s not Waugh’s team?”
“Nope!”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
There was a long list of things about Helen Stewart that Nikki adored, and when she saw her defiant posture and heard that glorious accent thicken with argument, the only place her smile didn’t appear was on her face. Helen could read the contents off the label of an air freshener can and it would sound sexy to Nikki, and when Helen got defensive, like she was at the moment … that was an accent to die for. Their morning tryst was still fresh in her mind, along with other places in her body, and if she could keep Helen talking, and wind up her a tad bit more, she knew exactly where the afternoon would lead.
“So why is Dallas your team?” she asked innocently.
“Huh?”
“Why do you like that team, as opposed to any other?”
Helen looked away, knowing when she answered, Nikki would no doubt laugh, but to not answer would be a worse fate, so she looked back and stated, “I like their colors.”
Nikki burst out laughing and Helen felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.
“Stop laughing at me.”
Several seconds passed before Nikki could find her voice, and after wiping the tears of laughter off her cheeks, she grinned. “I’m laughing because you don’t know anything about this game, except you like the team in blue and white.”
“I know about American football,” Helen replied indignantly.
“Sure you do.”
“I do!”
“Okay, fine,” Nikki said with a grin as she leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table. “Then tell me how the game’s played.”
“What?”
“You heard, darling. I don’t know anything about it … so why don’t you enlighten me, Miss Stewart. Teach me about American football.”
Uncurling her legs, Helen took a swig of beer and turned to her partner. “What do you want to know?”
Nikki shrugged and looked at the television. “Since I know your favorite colors, Dallas is in the blue … who are the bumblebee-looking bubbleheads?”
“That’s the Pittsburgh Steelers.”
“Pittsburgh has an ongoing felon problem, does it?”
Helen chuckled. “No … S-t-e-e-l. Back in the day, apparently the city produced quite a bit of it.”
“Well, color me enlightened.”
“If you’re going to just be a smartass about this …”
Holding her hands up in mock surrender, Nikki smiled. “Sorry, I’ll be good … I promise.”
“Okay, so there was coin toss and Dallas won it, so they elected to receive the ball … meaning they have the first chance at scoring.
“Clear as crystal, so far,” Nikki chimed in.
Helen grinned back and continued, “So, Pittsburgh kicked off and Dallas caught the ball and now they are trying to get up the field to their end zone.”
“Their what?”
“End zone … it’s where they score.”
Smirking, Nikki raised an eyebrow and winked at her partner. “Scoring in the end zone … got it.”
Helen rolled her eyes at the insinuation but nevertheless, continued, “Anyway, they have four downs …”
“Huh?”
“Downs … um … chances,” Helen clarified. “They have four chances to move the ball down the field and if they move it ten yards, they get four more chances … and if they reach the end zone, they score.”
“Don’t we all,” Nikki quipped.
Giggling, she swatted Nikki’s leg. “Behave!”
“You said it … I didn’t.”
“Do you want to learn about the game or not?”
“Sorry … please go on.”
“What else do you want to know?”
Nikki looked at the television for a minute, then her eyes widened and she blurted, “Whoa! Did you see that?”
Helen peered at the screen, “What?”
“That bloke just stuck his hands between that guy’s legs!”
“Which guy?”
“The one in the middle.”
“Oh, you mean the center?”
“Middle, center … what’s the bloody difference!”
Chuckling, Helen explained, “Sweetheart, the man in the middle … his position is called ‘the center.’”
“Well, whatever the hell he’s called, that other bloke just felt him up!”
Helen laughed out loud. “No, he didn’t, sweetheart … he was just getting the ball.”
“Exactly my point!”
“No,” Helen giggled. “Nikki, he snaps the ball to the quarterback that way.”
“The quarter what?”
“The quarterback,” Helen began as she looked at the TV. “The man who reached down to get the football, that’s the quarterback. He’s the key to the offense. He gets the ball and then either hands it or throws it to another player on his team.”
“Can he give it to anyone?”
“Well, no not exactly. You see that row of guys in the front?” she asked, pointing to the screen. “They’re there to protect the quarterback, so he has time to get the ball to someone else. Then the other players, they either carry or catch the ball.”
“So he can give it or throw it to anyone he wants?”
“No … the running backs or the fullbacks carry the ball and the receivers catch the ball and … oh yeah, and the tight end can do both.
“The what?”
“The tight end.”
Nikki started to chuckle, causing Helen to frown. “What’s so funny?”
“The tight end?” she leered. “You sure this isn’t a gay game?”
Helen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before glancing in Nikki’s direction, “Can we get past this?”
“Well, you’re the one that said …”
“I didn’t name the bloody positions, for Christ sake … it’s just what they’re called! You know what … forget it … you’re not listening, you’re just making fun of me …”
Absolutely loving the fact that she was winding Helen up, she tried desperately to keep her grin concealed as she blurted, “Helen … I am listening. The quarterboy …”
“QuarterBACK!” Helen screamed.
“Right … the quarterback gets the ball from the guy in the …uh … the center and then he dances back a few steps and either hands it or throws it to a player. They move down the field ten yards at a time and when they reach the end zone, they score.”
“Well color me surprised …you were listening!”
Nodding her head, Nikki glanced at the television as she took a swig of beer. “And by the score, they get seven points when they get to the end zone… because my team is leading, seven to nothing.”
Quickly, Helen looked at the television for the score. “What do you mean your team?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“Why the hell are they your team?”
“They’re in black, aren’t they?” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
She took a deep breath and shook her head; arguing with logic that matched her own would be pointless and she knew it.
“Fine … but touchdowns are only six points, not seven.”
“Touch what?”
“Touchdowns … it’s what they call it when they reach the end zone and score, but they are only worth six points – the seventh is an extra point.”
“Okay … now I’m confused. What’s an extra point?”
Slipping easily back into her teaching mode, Helen explained, “After they get a touchdown, the ‘special’ team comes out and tries for another point by kicking the ball through the goal posts.”
“They have handicapped players on the team? Well, that’s mighty nice of the Yanks.”
Nikki’s misinterpretation caused Helen to giggle and her mood lightened instantly. “Sweetheart … they aren’t handicapped. The ‘special teams’ is what they call the players who run very specific plays, that’s all. And if they make it through the uprights, they score!”
A tiny blip of laughter escaped Nikki’s lips as she raised an eyebrow and grinned suggestively to her partner. “Scoring through the uprights, eh? Sounds like something I’m familiar with … yes?”
Helen’s cheeks flamed and the temperature in the room seemed to increase dramatically. “What has gotten into you?” she blurted angrily.
Seeing Nikki’s sexy leer, and realizing what she had said, Helen quickly added, “Do not answer that question.”
Nikki laughed out loud and Helen’s cheeks darkened. Living together for almost a year, she had seen Nikki in playful moods before, but never like this, and although she didn’t want to admit it, her partner’s suggestive remarks were working … in all the right places.
Running her fingers through her hair, Helen fought to get her mind back on the game of football and finally asked, “Where were we?”
Nikki giggled to herself and glanced at the television. “Okay, so what’s going on now?”
Helen looked over and studied the screen for a minute before replying, “Oh, there was an ‘illegal use of hands’ penalty against Dallas.”
“See, I told you that quarterback was feeling up that guy!”
Having had enough of Nikki’s attempt at comedy, Helen exploded. “Jesus Christ! What is your problem? Why are you making everything sound sexual when it’s not?”
Where she was getting the strength to remain seated, Nikki had no idea. Helen was fired up, her accent was thick and by her rosy cheeks, Nikki knew she wasn’t just hot under the collar … she was getting warm somewhere else.
“Helen … I’m not trying to, but you got a bloke sticking his hands between another man’s legs, they score by going between the uprights, you got a player called a tight end and there’s a penalty for illegal use of the hands!”
Helen flashed a death stare in Nikki’s direction, but when she saw the twinkle in her lover’s eyes, a thought crossed her mind and tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you winding me up on purpose?”
“Moi?” Nikki asked with a grin.
Picking up her empty beer bottle, Helen stood and glared at her partner, whose long legs were the only thing blocking her path to the kitchen. Annoyed she was missing the game, she growled, “Move your bloody legs.”
“Why?”
“Nikki, will you please move your legs. I want to get a beer and then I want to watch MY football game. I’ve had enough of your games … now move your fucking legs.”
Without saying a word, she casually swung her legs to the floor, but when Helen tried to pass, Nikki grabbed her by the hips and tossed her on the sofa, quickly straddling her to prevent her escape.
“What the hell are you doing?” Helen snarled, trying her best to stay angry with her obviously playful partner.
“I believe it’s called ‘blocking below the waist,’” Nikki quipped as she slipped her hands under Helen’s sweatshirt.
“Well, that’s a penalty … so get the hell off me,” Helen snapped as she grabbed Nikki’s hands, removing them from under her top while she continued to struggle to get up. Outweighing her lover by a few pounds, Nikki continued to chuckle as she held Helen in place. “Of course, it could also be considered ‘holding.’”
“Either way, they are both penalties, so let me …” Helen stopped mid-sentence and her eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute … what did you say?”
Nikki leaned back, smiling ear-to-ear as she began to pull the zip of Helen’s hoodie south. “What do you mean, darling?”
“How did you know those terms?”
“I know lots of things, Miss Stewart. You, of all people, should know that,” Nikki answered, releasing the zip and allowing the hoodie to fall open. Smiling, she leaned in and unsuccessfully tried for a kiss.
“You know about American football, don’t you?” Helen said, quickly turning her face to the side so Nikki’s lips landed on her cheek.
“Yes, I do,” Nikki replied as she tried again to kiss the woman she adored.
Pushing her away, Helen asked, “How much?”
“Enough.”
By the look in Nikki’s eyes, Helen knew where they were heading and she stopped struggling. Eight months of living together had confirmed what Helen already knew the day she showed up at Chix, after Nikki’s release from Larkhall. She was totally and unequivocally in love with the woman, and all Nikki had to do was look at her with those delicious brown eyes and her heart, as well as another part of her anatomy, melted.
With a sigh, she asked, “How much?”
Reaching down, she opened the snap on Helen’s jeans and said, “Tony Romo is the quarterback for the Cowboys and Ben Roethlisberger is the Steelers; Dallas has won the Super Bowl five times and Pittsburgh has won it six … and the Cowboys cheerleaders have great rah-rahs.”
“You mean pom-poms,” Helen said with a giggle.
“No, I don’t,” Nikki replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
Helen chuckled and when Nikki again tried for a kiss, her reception was warm and wet. They kissed long and hard and then light and playful, and when Helen felt her hand slide the zip down on her jeans, she asked in a whisper, “You going for a touchdown, sweetheart?”
In a low, sexy purr, Nikki whispered back, “No, darling … I’m going for the extra point.”
The End
Author: Lyn27
Rating: 15
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters. They are being used solely and without permission to entertain and/or torture you with varying degrees of humor, angst and general manipulation of your emotional state. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film. No animals were harmed during the creation of this fiction, although the Yorkshire terriers living in my house are on borrowed time. Enter at your own risk and please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop. Return your seatback and tray table to their normal upright position. In the event of extreme angst, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device.
I am happy to accept constructive feedback as it will improve my writing skills. Please use email or private message for extensive comments.
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This story was requested by ‘ratz’ via the Help Haiti Blog. She wanted a short story having something to do with a Cowboys football game … so here it is. For those who know nothing about the game of American football, the terms I have used in this story are not made up.
And to 'red card' and SG, that helped me beta this story ... you're simply the best!
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Football Lesson
“Oi! I could use a hand here!” Nikki yelled as she struggled to get in the front door.
Within seconds, Helen jogged from the lounge, wearing her patented tongue-between-the-teeth smile.
“Hiya,” she said as she reached up and kissed Nikki on the cheek. Seeing her lover’s hands filled with bags, she chuckled. “I told you not to go shopping when you’re hungry.”
“I wouldn’t have been so hungry,” she started, handing a few bags to Helen, “if someone hadn’t given me a rather rousing wake-up call this morning, now would I?”
“I didn’t hear any complaints,” Helen said with a wink as she walked to the kitchen, purposely emphasizing the sway of her hips every step of the way.
Nikki looked up and stared at the ceiling. “God … I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her … but thank you.”
By the time she reached the kitchen, Helen had already emptied the bags and was opening a bottle of beer.
“Can you handle the rest?” she asked, nodding to the bags that Nikki was piling on the counter.
“Sure … why?”
Tossing the cap in the trash, she kissed Nikki’s cheek and trotted towards the lounge. “I was watching something, that’s all.”
Nikki began to put away the groceries and chuckled at the amount of junk food she had bought. Tossing the packages of crisps into the pantry, she was down to the last bag before she called out, “So what you watching?”
“Football,” Helen called back.
“Oh yeah … who’s playing?”
“Dallas and Pittsburgh!”
Halfway between the counter and the pantry, Nikki stopped dead in her tracks. Confused, she cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her face. “Who?”
Not hearing an answer, Nikki finished with the groceries, opened a beer for herself and walked into the lounge. When she looked at the television, her expression changed from curiosity to confusion.
“What the hell is that?” she asked, nodding towards the screen.
“Football,” Helen said with a smile, as she pulled her legs under her and snuggled into the corner of the sofa.
Plopping down at the opposite end of couch, Nikki blurted, “That’s not football.”
“It’s American football.”
“Like I said,” Nikki said with a grin. “That’s not football.”
Giggling, Helen reached over and slapped on her on the knee. “Behave, I like it.”
“Since when?”
Intent on trying to watch the game, Helen put her mouth in motion way before her mind ever left the starting blocks. “Thomas used to watch it all the time and …”
Instantly, she wished she had a rewind button. Wincing, she closed her eyes and waited for her partner to explode. If there was one thing she learned since Nikki’s release, it was that if she wanted to increase the woman’s blood pressure, mention Thomas Waugh.
Slowly, she glanced to her left and saw Nikki glaring back. “Please don’t get mad,” she whispered.
“Why should I get mad? You’re sitting in our lounge, cheering on his team …”
“No, I’m not!”
“No?”
“No … I’m cheering on my team.”
“Your team?”
“Yes … I’m a Dallas fan,” she said proudly.
“Dallas?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s not Waugh’s team?”
“Nope!”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
There was a long list of things about Helen Stewart that Nikki adored, and when she saw her defiant posture and heard that glorious accent thicken with argument, the only place her smile didn’t appear was on her face. Helen could read the contents off the label of an air freshener can and it would sound sexy to Nikki, and when Helen got defensive, like she was at the moment … that was an accent to die for. Their morning tryst was still fresh in her mind, along with other places in her body, and if she could keep Helen talking, and wind up her a tad bit more, she knew exactly where the afternoon would lead.
“So why is Dallas your team?” she asked innocently.
“Huh?”
“Why do you like that team, as opposed to any other?”
Helen looked away, knowing when she answered, Nikki would no doubt laugh, but to not answer would be a worse fate, so she looked back and stated, “I like their colors.”
Nikki burst out laughing and Helen felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.
“Stop laughing at me.”
Several seconds passed before Nikki could find her voice, and after wiping the tears of laughter off her cheeks, she grinned. “I’m laughing because you don’t know anything about this game, except you like the team in blue and white.”
“I know about American football,” Helen replied indignantly.
“Sure you do.”
“I do!”
“Okay, fine,” Nikki said with a grin as she leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table. “Then tell me how the game’s played.”
“What?”
“You heard, darling. I don’t know anything about it … so why don’t you enlighten me, Miss Stewart. Teach me about American football.”
Uncurling her legs, Helen took a swig of beer and turned to her partner. “What do you want to know?”
Nikki shrugged and looked at the television. “Since I know your favorite colors, Dallas is in the blue … who are the bumblebee-looking bubbleheads?”
“That’s the Pittsburgh Steelers.”
“Pittsburgh has an ongoing felon problem, does it?”
Helen chuckled. “No … S-t-e-e-l. Back in the day, apparently the city produced quite a bit of it.”
“Well, color me enlightened.”
“If you’re going to just be a smartass about this …”
Holding her hands up in mock surrender, Nikki smiled. “Sorry, I’ll be good … I promise.”
“Okay, so there was coin toss and Dallas won it, so they elected to receive the ball … meaning they have the first chance at scoring.
“Clear as crystal, so far,” Nikki chimed in.
Helen grinned back and continued, “So, Pittsburgh kicked off and Dallas caught the ball and now they are trying to get up the field to their end zone.”
“Their what?”
“End zone … it’s where they score.”
Smirking, Nikki raised an eyebrow and winked at her partner. “Scoring in the end zone … got it.”
Helen rolled her eyes at the insinuation but nevertheless, continued, “Anyway, they have four downs …”
“Huh?”
“Downs … um … chances,” Helen clarified. “They have four chances to move the ball down the field and if they move it ten yards, they get four more chances … and if they reach the end zone, they score.”
“Don’t we all,” Nikki quipped.
Giggling, she swatted Nikki’s leg. “Behave!”
“You said it … I didn’t.”
“Do you want to learn about the game or not?”
“Sorry … please go on.”
“What else do you want to know?”
Nikki looked at the television for a minute, then her eyes widened and she blurted, “Whoa! Did you see that?”
Helen peered at the screen, “What?”
“That bloke just stuck his hands between that guy’s legs!”
“Which guy?”
“The one in the middle.”
“Oh, you mean the center?”
“Middle, center … what’s the bloody difference!”
Chuckling, Helen explained, “Sweetheart, the man in the middle … his position is called ‘the center.’”
“Well, whatever the hell he’s called, that other bloke just felt him up!”
Helen laughed out loud. “No, he didn’t, sweetheart … he was just getting the ball.”
“Exactly my point!”
“No,” Helen giggled. “Nikki, he snaps the ball to the quarterback that way.”
“The quarter what?”
“The quarterback,” Helen began as she looked at the TV. “The man who reached down to get the football, that’s the quarterback. He’s the key to the offense. He gets the ball and then either hands it or throws it to another player on his team.”
“Can he give it to anyone?”
“Well, no not exactly. You see that row of guys in the front?” she asked, pointing to the screen. “They’re there to protect the quarterback, so he has time to get the ball to someone else. Then the other players, they either carry or catch the ball.”
“So he can give it or throw it to anyone he wants?”
“No … the running backs or the fullbacks carry the ball and the receivers catch the ball and … oh yeah, and the tight end can do both.
“The what?”
“The tight end.”
Nikki started to chuckle, causing Helen to frown. “What’s so funny?”
“The tight end?” she leered. “You sure this isn’t a gay game?”
Helen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before glancing in Nikki’s direction, “Can we get past this?”
“Well, you’re the one that said …”
“I didn’t name the bloody positions, for Christ sake … it’s just what they’re called! You know what … forget it … you’re not listening, you’re just making fun of me …”
Absolutely loving the fact that she was winding Helen up, she tried desperately to keep her grin concealed as she blurted, “Helen … I am listening. The quarterboy …”
“QuarterBACK!” Helen screamed.
“Right … the quarterback gets the ball from the guy in the …uh … the center and then he dances back a few steps and either hands it or throws it to a player. They move down the field ten yards at a time and when they reach the end zone, they score.”
“Well color me surprised …you were listening!”
Nodding her head, Nikki glanced at the television as she took a swig of beer. “And by the score, they get seven points when they get to the end zone… because my team is leading, seven to nothing.”
Quickly, Helen looked at the television for the score. “What do you mean your team?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“Why the hell are they your team?”
“They’re in black, aren’t they?” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
She took a deep breath and shook her head; arguing with logic that matched her own would be pointless and she knew it.
“Fine … but touchdowns are only six points, not seven.”
“Touch what?”
“Touchdowns … it’s what they call it when they reach the end zone and score, but they are only worth six points – the seventh is an extra point.”
“Okay … now I’m confused. What’s an extra point?”
Slipping easily back into her teaching mode, Helen explained, “After they get a touchdown, the ‘special’ team comes out and tries for another point by kicking the ball through the goal posts.”
“They have handicapped players on the team? Well, that’s mighty nice of the Yanks.”
Nikki’s misinterpretation caused Helen to giggle and her mood lightened instantly. “Sweetheart … they aren’t handicapped. The ‘special teams’ is what they call the players who run very specific plays, that’s all. And if they make it through the uprights, they score!”
A tiny blip of laughter escaped Nikki’s lips as she raised an eyebrow and grinned suggestively to her partner. “Scoring through the uprights, eh? Sounds like something I’m familiar with … yes?”
Helen’s cheeks flamed and the temperature in the room seemed to increase dramatically. “What has gotten into you?” she blurted angrily.
Seeing Nikki’s sexy leer, and realizing what she had said, Helen quickly added, “Do not answer that question.”
Nikki laughed out loud and Helen’s cheeks darkened. Living together for almost a year, she had seen Nikki in playful moods before, but never like this, and although she didn’t want to admit it, her partner’s suggestive remarks were working … in all the right places.
Running her fingers through her hair, Helen fought to get her mind back on the game of football and finally asked, “Where were we?”
Nikki giggled to herself and glanced at the television. “Okay, so what’s going on now?”
Helen looked over and studied the screen for a minute before replying, “Oh, there was an ‘illegal use of hands’ penalty against Dallas.”
“See, I told you that quarterback was feeling up that guy!”
Having had enough of Nikki’s attempt at comedy, Helen exploded. “Jesus Christ! What is your problem? Why are you making everything sound sexual when it’s not?”
Where she was getting the strength to remain seated, Nikki had no idea. Helen was fired up, her accent was thick and by her rosy cheeks, Nikki knew she wasn’t just hot under the collar … she was getting warm somewhere else.
“Helen … I’m not trying to, but you got a bloke sticking his hands between another man’s legs, they score by going between the uprights, you got a player called a tight end and there’s a penalty for illegal use of the hands!”
Helen flashed a death stare in Nikki’s direction, but when she saw the twinkle in her lover’s eyes, a thought crossed her mind and tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you winding me up on purpose?”
“Moi?” Nikki asked with a grin.
Picking up her empty beer bottle, Helen stood and glared at her partner, whose long legs were the only thing blocking her path to the kitchen. Annoyed she was missing the game, she growled, “Move your bloody legs.”
“Why?”
“Nikki, will you please move your legs. I want to get a beer and then I want to watch MY football game. I’ve had enough of your games … now move your fucking legs.”
Without saying a word, she casually swung her legs to the floor, but when Helen tried to pass, Nikki grabbed her by the hips and tossed her on the sofa, quickly straddling her to prevent her escape.
“What the hell are you doing?” Helen snarled, trying her best to stay angry with her obviously playful partner.
“I believe it’s called ‘blocking below the waist,’” Nikki quipped as she slipped her hands under Helen’s sweatshirt.
“Well, that’s a penalty … so get the hell off me,” Helen snapped as she grabbed Nikki’s hands, removing them from under her top while she continued to struggle to get up. Outweighing her lover by a few pounds, Nikki continued to chuckle as she held Helen in place. “Of course, it could also be considered ‘holding.’”
“Either way, they are both penalties, so let me …” Helen stopped mid-sentence and her eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute … what did you say?”
Nikki leaned back, smiling ear-to-ear as she began to pull the zip of Helen’s hoodie south. “What do you mean, darling?”
“How did you know those terms?”
“I know lots of things, Miss Stewart. You, of all people, should know that,” Nikki answered, releasing the zip and allowing the hoodie to fall open. Smiling, she leaned in and unsuccessfully tried for a kiss.
“You know about American football, don’t you?” Helen said, quickly turning her face to the side so Nikki’s lips landed on her cheek.
“Yes, I do,” Nikki replied as she tried again to kiss the woman she adored.
Pushing her away, Helen asked, “How much?”
“Enough.”
By the look in Nikki’s eyes, Helen knew where they were heading and she stopped struggling. Eight months of living together had confirmed what Helen already knew the day she showed up at Chix, after Nikki’s release from Larkhall. She was totally and unequivocally in love with the woman, and all Nikki had to do was look at her with those delicious brown eyes and her heart, as well as another part of her anatomy, melted.
With a sigh, she asked, “How much?”
Reaching down, she opened the snap on Helen’s jeans and said, “Tony Romo is the quarterback for the Cowboys and Ben Roethlisberger is the Steelers; Dallas has won the Super Bowl five times and Pittsburgh has won it six … and the Cowboys cheerleaders have great rah-rahs.”
“You mean pom-poms,” Helen said with a giggle.
“No, I don’t,” Nikki replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
Helen chuckled and when Nikki again tried for a kiss, her reception was warm and wet. They kissed long and hard and then light and playful, and when Helen felt her hand slide the zip down on her jeans, she asked in a whisper, “You going for a touchdown, sweetheart?”
In a low, sexy purr, Nikki whispered back, “No, darling … I’m going for the extra point.”
The End
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