Chapter Text
The office is cold and a metal chair is hard and squeaky beneath her. Goosebumps trail up her arms, but she hardly even notices them, busy fending off the pounding in her chest and the looks her counselor is giving her. He coughs, annoyed, and obnoxiously clicks his pen. It's the exact opposite of a welcoming and open environment.
Sitting with her head in her hands, eyes clenched tight, Allison is sure she looks the very definition of pathetic.
“Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to sit there?” Harris asks finally, after ten minutes of Allison's moping.
The face Kira had made when Allison had told her who her counselor was could only be described as apologetic. Allison hadn't taken the expression to heart, and now regrets it.
A single tear runs down her face and Allison's quick to brush it away, sniffling as she hollowly lets out, “I need a transfer. I can't- I can't stay here.”
“Sure,” Harris scoffs, “I'll get right on that. Hey, kid, you understand that this isn't a hotel right?”
Allison sits up in the chair, the uneven legs rocking slightly and sending her off balance. Fighting the urge to snap, she carefully says, “My aunt is here. Kate Argent? The daughter of Gerard Argent? She's going to kill me.”
Harris sighs obnoxiously and roots around for a file on his desk. Allison's still and silent through his search, mind running over the many possible deaths Kate could inflict on her. She remembers when she was seven and Kate took her to the fair, remembers her aunts familiar laughter and love. The memory is old and distorted now, the warm, happy memories of her youth replaced with the cold dread running in her veins.
Allison kind of wants to throw up.
Finally, Harris pulls a green folder out from under the stack and flips it open, mumbling to himself as he reads it over. Allison can see her name in the top corner and twiddles her thumbs.
Harris hums as he turns to face her, “It seems to me like you might actually be the danger to her, grandpa killer.”
“It was an accident,” Allison snaps on reflex, her lawyers voice in her ear insistently coaching her weeks before her trial. The words sound empty even to her, and all she can think about is the feeling of Gerard's blood on her hands. She looks down at her palms only to see her pale skin and clenches her fists.
“Look,” Harris flips a page in the folder, “I don't really care if you got tried for manslaughter or not. I've got girls coming in here everyday telling me they're innocent. I don't want to hear it, especially from someone who plead guilty.”
It's like a slap to the face and Allison glares at him, “I'm not asking for a retrial. My aunt, who was put away for attempting to kill the family of her fifteen year old boyfriend, is in the same prison as me, and, like you just pointed out, I killed her dad!”
“Hey!” Harris' palm slamming into the table edge is loud in the silence of the room, making Allison's spine snap straight, “You watch your tone with me, inmate!”
Allison sits quietly, stunned. She hadn't even been- She was just- Allison grips the end of her shirt tight in her hands, righteous fury making her skin crawl. She bites her lip to keep in the petulant reply on the tip of her tongue.
After a beat, Harris sighs and rests his forehead in his palm.
“Did she say anything to you?” He asks, “Threaten you or anything?”
Allison shakes her head minutely, still recovering from his sudden outburst of anger. Her voice cracks as she says, “No, she hasn't.”
Harris shrugs, “I'm afraid there's nothing I can do unless one of you provokes the other, and even then the most is sending one of you to solitary for a couple of days.” He sighs, as if Allison's concern for her safety is silly and unjustifiable, “Look, I can talk to the Warden, but I don't see it going anywhere.”
It's the exact opposite of what she wants to hear. Allison gulps, “But-”
“Argent,” Harris grunts out, laced with a warning, “You're going to be late for orientation.”
She takes the dismissal for what it is, despite the fiery urge to stand there and demand a transfer. It feels wrong to get up and march out the door, to not stubbornly insist on what she needs goes against everything Allison was raised to believe. Victoria taught her to be strong, to speak her mind and demand justice.
Allison looks down at her orange shirt, wonders what her mother would think about the justice being served to her now.
It was worth it though, she reminds herself. This hell, it's worth it to know that Gerard is dead. Satisfaction curls in her at that and she holds it close to her heart. She got her mother's justice, even if the police didn't.
The broken system that refused to look more into her mother's death and just ruled it as a suicide despite Victoria never having been depressed in all of Allison's life. The bottle of pills that wasn't even in Victoria's name, shoved down her throat by the very same man who smiled at her over dinner.
It was no secret to anyone the grudge Gerard held for Victoria, how he blamed her for calling the cops when she found his daughter in the guest room with a student. Years of resentment and hate and thinly veiled comments over dinner mounted and mounted until one day Allison came home to find her grandfather sitting next to her mother's lifeless body. She doesn't know how he did it, but he got away, danced out of his handcuffs with a smile and a few charismatic sentences.
Allison's knife made sure he didn't get far, though.
She's shocked out of her reverie by a harsh grip on her shoulder. Allison practically jumps out of her skin, only to see Erica and Cora trading mildly concerned glances.
“How'd it go?” Erica asks quickly, dropping her hand from Allison's shoulder and letting it fall awkwardly between them.
Allison eyes the empty space, only just noticing how much she misses her father hugging her. It hasn't even been a day, she reminds herself sadly.
She shakes herself and spits, “He wouldn't let me transfer.” Allison clears her throat, praying it doesn't crack, “Says Kate and I would have to hurt each other to even get one of us sent to solitary for a week at most.”
Cora scoffs, “Seriously? Jesus, it's like they don't care if we get killed in here.”
Allison's inclined to agree with her.
“You ran out of there like you saw a ghost,” Cora comments, “Erica and I had to flirt with a guard to make sure he didn't chase after you to give you a shot.”
“He was pretty cute,” Erica shrugs, “So it's not like it was a chore.”
Cora gives her a quick, hard look, “You be careful. Don't let your girls hear you talking like that.”
Allison raises an eyebrow as Erica scoffs, “Chill, Hale, like they want anything to do with me. Half of them think I'm too blanca to be Latina.” She hurries on, “He's a guard anyway. I can look all I want.”
“Which guard?” Allison asks, trying to remember who she ran past.
“Boyd,” Erica shrugs, and Cora rolls her eyes behind her, “Tall guy? Muscles bigger than my skull? Dreamy eyes?”
“Yeah,” Allison says, “You don't have a crush at all.”
Erica shrugs uncaring, just as a familiar looking girl rounds the corner. She's as tall as Allison with a strong jaw and hard eyes, and it isn't until the girl makes eye contact with Cora that Allison recognizes her. Erica, seeming to have put it together as well and is quiet at her side, and they watch in rapt silence as Cora gives a wounded expression to her sister's shrinking form.
“Wow,” Cora says dryly after a beat of awkward silence, “Prison is just about the best family reunion ever.”
Orientation is a boring, two hour long hell in which Allison thinks she would rather slowly peel the flesh from her bones than sit in this hard, metal chair for another second.
The first forty five minutes is a cheesy video with elevator music and a woman with a too soothing voice prattling on about all the benefits the facility has to offer. It talks about the GED program, all the activities to do in the prisoner's free time, and job opportunities.
At that point, a CO took the time to butt in that they would get their job and bunk assignments tomorrow. Allison could barely contain her excitement at the prospect.
After the cheery video ends, a guard named McCall, but not the McCall from possessing, stands in front of the AV cart. He's cute, Allison notes objectively, with a crooked jaw and puppy eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Erica slowly gives him a once over and trades flabbergasted looks with Cora.
“Does anyone have any questions about the video?” McCall asks lightly, grinning at them like they all aren't convicted felons.
Erica, of course, raises her hand and asks if McCall has a wife.
“That's not about the video, but no, I don't.” Before Erica can get too excited, McCall grins brighter, “I am engaged to Officer Stilinski though. He works around here, I'm sure you'll meet him later. Thanks for caring about me, Reyes.”
Allison is mildly taken aback by just how sincere McCall sounds about it and wonders to herself if he's been working in the prison for long. It can;t have been a long time if he still looks so hopeful and happy. The older guards shuffle around the hallways with an air of defeat, cringing back from the hoard of girls like they're going to swallow them whole.
Erica looks as if she's torn between being upset that McCall's taken and happily picturing the possible positions McCall and his mysterious fiance could get into.
“You're hopeless,” Allison whispers to her.
Erica grins cheekily at her in response.
A girl in the front row asks if the GED program is still open and McCall is happy to tell her that it is. Allison's only half listening as she goes on about the program and restlessly crosses her legs and fidgets.
More CO's wander in, explaining different part of prison procedure as the clock ticks by. They go on about showers, about the prisoner's handbook, about their rights, and lack there of, and more. Allison tries to pay attention, but she didn't sleep well the night before and her nerves are shot from the day's events. She just wants to go back to bed and sleep.
The anxiety living under her skin gets worse when a CO who calls himself “Just Ennis is fine,” goes on and on about the truly astonishing amount of weapons one can make in prison. The number of ways a hairbrush can kill someone is creative, yet horrifying.
Allison spends the entire presentation white knuckling the seat of her chair, determinedly not thinking about Kate using any of these weapons her.
“Anyway,” Just Ennis says in conclusion, “Anytime one of you ladies makes something like these,” he holds up a shiv made out of a tooth brush and ambition, “The CO's have to sit through a really boring presentation about inmate safety and have to do a shot quota for three weeks, so please don't try to kill anyone while you're in here, okay?”
No one has questions at the end of it, and Just Ennis leaves with everyone looking a bit green and a whole lot scared. Allison thinks she sees him smile sadistically on his way out.
After the orientation, Allison, Cora, and a few of the other girls that came in with them earlier this morning are lead to a back office by McCall to get their ID's made. Erica is lead out the door with the rest of the girls, presumably to watch TV or continue to shamelessly flirt with guards.
On the walk there, Cora sticks close to her side, sending shifty looks to anyone who gets too close, and Allison pretends to ignore the bubble of warmth that grows inside of her at it.
After McCall leads them to a single file line in front of the camera, he leaves them with Ennis to go and sit on the edge of another guy's desk. He's pale with dark moles, and Allison and Cora watch as McCall plants a casual kiss on the other guy's cheek before giving him a high five.
“Guys are so weird,” Cora remarks, and Allison just nods in agreement.
Allison's picture is horrible. The flash is too bright and the wall behind her washes out her skin. She looks like a wide eyed meth addict who hasn't slept in a week. Her only solace is that Cora's looks just as terrible, if not more so, and they both complain about them within ear shot of Ennis as they stick them on their shirts.
“Seriously? You're in prison and you're whining about your picture?” Ennis looks over to McCall and Stilinksi, “Is this high school? Did I show up to the wrong place for work today?”
“It's not their fault you're a shit photographer,” Stilinski snorts.
He and McCall are now holding their previously high fived hands. Cora and Allison trade a look.
McCall gives them an apologetic look over his shoulder and tells their group, “Since none of you have work assignments, you can spend the rest of the day with free time.”
Allison takes the dismissal and heads back to the holding bunk, hoping to get in a nap before Kate jumps out of the shadows and kills her with any of the objects Ennis laid out before her. She's a hundred percent sure she's going to have a nightmare, but since her entire life is a nightmare, she can't find it in herself to care all that much.
Watkins is snoring loudly when Allison enters the room and Padilla and three of the other women are missing, so Allison doesn't have to make small talk with anyone. She unfolds her extra blanket and falls asleep instantly.
It starts off the same as it has for the past two months.
She's kneeling on the a plush white carpet, watching as it slowly turns red from the blood pooling out of the body to her right. Her hands are covered in it, and slow rivets roll down her arms and drip from her elbows.
There's blood on her dress. She thinks distantly of how she'll have a hard time getting that out.
Her entire body feels numb, like when she sits too still and her foot falls asleep. She's afraid to move, afraid of the pins and needles that will come when she reawakens, where everything will hurt and be horrible.
Here, in this moment, with red stained palms and a corpse next to her, Allison feels more calm than she has in months.
She doesn't hear the door slam open or the foot falls on the stairs, but suddenly her father is in front of her, grabbing her hands and his panicked voice is in her ears, demanding what she's done.
Allison's mouth opens to answer him, to tell him that she avenged her mother, that she did it, but then she sees it.
“There's something around your neck,” she says, and her voice is thick like cotton and childlike.
Chris stops in his horrified outburst to look down, and when he does Allison sees her.
“You killed my dad,” Kate says, tightening the noose around her father's neck. Allison screams, but Kate's voice is like an alarm in her ear, “Now I'm going to kill yours.”
Allison opens her eyes to see Cora's face twisted in a frown, wet hair slung up in a bun to stop from dripping all over her orange shirt.
Allison's breathing heavily but she tries to hold it in, keep the panic swelling in her at bay. Her skin feels itchy and tingles all over and she feels like she's going to barf.
“You okay?” Cora asks her, voice gruff like she isn't used to being concerned about people.
“Sure,” Allison says easily, even though her chest is heaving and she swallows back the vomit sliding up her throat.
Cora doesn't press the issue, which Allison is seriously thankful for.
“The water pressure in this place is shit,” Cora complains, “The juvie I went to in Ventura was way better than this place. They had these little travel sized shampoo bottles.”
Allison scoots over and pats the space beside her, and Cora takes the invitation. The bed squeaks in its metal frame as she sits but Watkins doesn't even stir.
“You've been to juvie?” She asks when they've settled down.
“Of course, what self respecting Hale would I be if I hadn't?”
Allison shrugs at that. She doesn't know much about the Hale's and Cora hasn't been very inclined to give up much in their day here. All she knows is that her mom is apparently really mad at her for getting in here, and she can't imagine she was much happier with Cora in a juvenile correctional facility.
Cora leans over and snags a hairbrush off of the counter, even though it belongs to neither of them. Allison is sure that Padilla isn't afraid to make a double edged hairbrush knife, Ennis' presentation will haunt her for weeks, but Cora doesn't seem as concerned as she is.
“So,” Cora stars as she undoes her bun, “I was talking to Laura-”
“Who?”
Cora gives her an annoyed look, “My sister, dumb ass. Shit, Argent, keep track of prison drama that isn't your own.”
Allison doesn't know how it's her fault for not knowing the name of the sister Cora hasn't said two words to her about, but Allison apologizes anyway. “Hey, I thought your family was ignoring you?”
Cora shrugs and says, “Laura found me in the showers and- look, it's really complicated. And, hey, if my mom finds out that Laura isn't pretending that I don't exist then I'm going to have to stage an accident in which you break several bones, capiche?”
She says it so casually that it makes Allison smile, especially when she remembers how Cora looked out for her earlier and asked if she was okay after her nap. She remembers the regal woman at that lunch table earlier today and tells her, “You look like your mom when you threaten people.”
Cora smiles big at that, as if Allison has just paid her the highest compliment. “Thanks, Argent. Anyway, so we got to talking and Laura told me that this girl, Lydia, she can make practically anything happen in here. Laura says she has a cellphone, for fucks sake, and she has an in with the Warden Assistant, Blake? So if you kiss her ass hard enough, maybe she'll be able to get your aunt transferred.”
Allison is too stunned with the amount of hope swelling in her chest to say much other, “I think I want to marry you.”
“I appreciate that, Argent, but the idea of romance disgusts me. Come on, let's track down Martin.”
They find her in the rec room, sitting at a table with a large woman.
Lydia, as it turns out, is not the gun toting, gravely voice, 'I'll-cut-your-face-off-if-you-look-at-me' girl that Allison had been lead to believe during her and Cora's search.
She's actually tiny and delicate looking, with soft features and wide eyes. Her lips are full and pouty, stained with red lipstick that Allison is sure is contraband. A long, ornate braid wraps her fiery red hair like a crown across her head, and Allison is sure she carries the grace it represents.
Her grin is wide and wicked as she lightly places a hand of cards on the table, eyes sympathetic as she congratulates her opponent on such a good game. The other player glares at her and tosses something down on the table between them, which Lydia is quick to hide between her waist band.
She looks positively dangerous, in an innocent sort of way. There's a flush of excitement to her cheeks and Allison hates herself for admiring it.
Cora nudges her forward and says, “I'm gonna go find Reyes. Make sure she isn't shacking up with some guard. You be safe, okay?”
Lydia's smile is still stuck on as Allison slides into the seat across from her, her only facial tick is the slight wrinkling of her nose at Allison's orange suit.
“Can I help you?” She asks, voice falsely sweet and it makes the hair on the back of Allison's neck stand on end.
Allison wills her voice not to shake, “From what I hear, you can.”
Lydia actually smiles this time, with her teeth, and Allison very carefully does not compare her to a wolf eying a snack.
“You must have friends in high places to know that on your first day,” Lydia comments dryly. She shuffles the deck of cards in her hands idly as she sizes Allison up. She must find what she's looking for because she quickly says, “I require my payment upfront. ”
Allison blinks at that. When her silence stretches on too long, Lydia begins dealing cards. She watches her, flipping cards like it's second nature, until Allison realizes Lydia's setting her up to play poker.
Lydia flips the final card and says, “Talk and play. If you win, I'll do what you need for free.”
Allison knows enough about prison, and life in general, to know that what Lydia is saying is huge. She eagerly picks up her cards and ignores the bitter memory of playing with her family on Saturday nights when she was younger. They haven't played since she was fourteen, and Allison isn't confident in her skills.
When Kate's trial started, the tradition kind of fell apart.
She quickly sizes up her cards, looking between them and Lydia's expression quickly. She checks for everything her father taught her to, shallow breathing, eye contact, facial ticks, but Lydia's face is practically made out of marble and she smiles at Allison with that same, calm grin.
Lydia slides a packet of Oreos across the table and says, “You can eat them, but they're your chips so I would suggest you don't.”
Allison, not knowing what to say in the face of such ingenuity, unwraps the packet and quickly lines them up.
“The ante is two Oreos.” Lydia says over the rim of her cards, “Start talking. This is going to be a short hand.”
Allison tries not to scoff at the confidence Lydia is displaying and slides two Oreos to the center of the table.
“My aunt's in here. Kate Argent?”
Lydia hums distractedly and slides two more Oreos next to hers, “Yes family support is great. What of her?”
Lydia burns a card and quickly throws down three more.
Allison bites the inside of her cheek and rushes out, “I need her gone.” Lydia pauses at this, stilling in her slide of three more Oreos forward, and peaks up at Allison from under her eyelashes. “I don't know if you've heard, but I got convicted on manslaughter of her dad.”
Allison ignores the smirk that plays at Lydia's mouth at her careful wording and adds, “Hale says you have connections with the Warden's Assistant.”
Lydia looks away and hums, “Someone who has a connection with the Warden's Assistant owes me a favor. There's a difference. The question here,” Lydia burns another card and pushes more Oreos into the bot, “Is if I'm willing to use that favor on you.”
Allison doesn't know what to say to that, can't think of any way to plead her case that Lydia will feel sympathetic to, so she does the only thing she can do and continues playing.
She meets each bet that Lydia makes and pretends there isn't sweat sliding between her shoulder blades. It's stiff and quiet, the rest of the block moving along in a muffled roar. The world is silent and there is only Lydia and this game of cards. She plays viciously, upping the ante with a wild desperation she's never felt before. Lydia seems to sense how badly Allison needs this and plays just as hard, smile still firmly in place.
Lydia goes all in on the final hand and Allison bites her lip before doing the same. She needs Kate out, can't risk dying in prison and leaving her father anymore alone than he is.
“Three of a kind,” Allison says, head feeling light with a pleasant buzz as she places down her hand.
Lydia's face slips for a minute, almost looking proud at Allison. “You're pretty good, Argent,” she says, and Allison's heart stops as Lydia shows her hand.
A straight flush. Her mouth drops open at the neat line of cards. Who gets a straight flush that quickly? Who has that kind of luck? Allison's eyes widen and she looks between the cards and Lydia's face, crinkled, filled with fake sadness.
Then, she grins, “But I'm better.”
“I,” her mind is blank, “How?”
Lydia hums and Allison watches numbly as she cleans up the table, shuffling the cards neatly into a deck and taking the last of Allison's hope with them.
“I've been in here nine months. It's a lot of time to practice.” She says with a shrug. Lydia pauses and looks over her shoulder, throwing a look to the wide radius people keep around her table. When she turns back, her face is relaxed. She leans forward and winks, “Plus, I count cards.”
“That's cheating,” Allison says without permission, thankful her tone isn't a petulant whine.
Lydia shrugs, “I'm aware, but I couldn't just let the new girl beat me at my game, could I?” She smiles at her and admits, “In here your reputation is everything. If it makes you feel better, you're the first person in a long while I had to use that trick with.”
Allison's stomach is lined with vicious butterflies that want nothing more than to tear her guts apart, anxiety like acid as it pumps through her veins. Her voice is bitter as she grits out, “Yeah, lots better.”
Lydia laughs at her tone, “Look, I like you, Allison. I don't want to hear that you got shanked in the shower by your insane auntie,” Allison shudders lightly at the mental image, “But I'm also not in the business of handing out favors for free. What's this worth to you?”
The answer comes out before she can think about it, quick and desperate, “Anything.”
Lydia raises an amused eyebrow at her and whistles, “Anything, huh? First rule of dealing, sweetie, don't let the other person make the stakes. What if I asked you to start a fight, hmm? What if I asked you to kill someone, huh?” Allison looks away at that, staring at the table edge, “That's what I thought. Come on, I'll let you try again.”
“I don't have anything,” Allison says bitterly.
“Everyone has something, Argent, even in here.” Lydia shuffles the cards between her nimble fingers, “Think harder.”
Allison bites her lip, suggesting softly, “I have commissary.”
Lydia's hands still and she grins at her, “See? That's a good start, but not for this type of deal. Come on, I know there's a brain in there.”
Desperation claws at Allison's throat and tears form in her eyes. It's like Lydia's just jerking her around at this point, and Allison snaps at her, “I don't know, okay? I can't think of anything.”
“There's not a cunning bone in your body is there, Argent?” Lydia asks softly, as if she's speaking to a child, and shrugs, “Fine. I'll do it, but you have to take a note to the kitchens for me- and you owe me a favor.”
Allison's not sure if she likes the sound of that favor, not when she knows Lydia will be cashing in one to get someone else transferred.
What if Allison can't fulfill her favor? Lydia doesn't seem like the type of person you get away with crossing, but every time she sees a head of blonde hair she wants to jump out of her skin, and Allison finds it harder to say no by the second.
“A note?” She clarifies.
“Yes,” Lydia nods, “Just a note. I promise.”
Allison bites her lip, “Will I get in trouble for it?”
Allison doesn't know if she's asking about the note or the favor, but Lydia smiles, “Allison, when you hang out with me, there's very little you can get in trouble for.”
It's easy to agree when Lydia's eyes soften and her grin is so confident and collected. When Lydia slides a piece of paper into her palm, Allison takes it.