A/N: sorry it's taken me so long to update. I suck. Thanks for your patience x

Nicky gets glasses. Lorna gets a therapist.

It sounds easy. It sounds like that's the tallest hurdle jumped. When Lorna sticks the note on the fridge to remind herself of the date, time, address, she thinks it should feel like this monumental moment, a turning point for them both, for her as a person.

It doesn't, and it isn't.

The doctors appointment was uncomfortable. In fact, that's over-selling it. 'Uncomfortable' doesn't describe the effort it took to get out of bed that morning, the way she had to stand outside the building for twenty minutes just to get the courage up to go inside, the way she sat in the room twisting her hands in her lap whilst Nicky spoke to the doctor, the way she refused to speak even when she was spoken to. 'You have to want this for yourself' he said, and Lorna nodded because she did want this for herself, she did want to get better, but wanting something and actually being strong enough to go through with it are two different things.

Still, she had done it. She had gone to the appointment and she had come home with a meeting with a therapist, and even if it's a baby step, it's still a starting point.

Lorna's reluctance about therapy is matched by Nicky's reluctance to wear her glasses.

"They look good! Y'know the whole glasses thing is really a turn on for a lot of people, you see those girls in the movies, and in the magazines... I ain't saying you weren't smoking hot beforehand but... they add a whole new level, y'know? Something geek chic or whatever. Insanely hot," Lorna rambles, thrusting the black rimmed glasses back onto Nicky's face after she's taken them off for maybe the tenth time.

"A fucking hipster, is what I look like," Nicky grumbles, but there's a smirk in the corner of her mouth that tells Lorna that maybe she's only being stubborn because she likes the way the compliment sounds on Lorna's lips.

She knows Nicky's eyesight problem isn't a massive issue, that her wearing or not wearing glasses isn't anything serious, but she pretends it is because having it there to compare to her own problems is comforting. Nicky's NA meetings are probably a better comparison, but that's also what makes them sort of terrifying, and why Lorna doesn't delve too deeply into that side of Nicky's life, especially with that one nightmare continuing to lurk in the back of her mind. It's a constant reminder that she's not the only one fighting an uphill battle. She has to think of Nicky as strong and well and not capable of being broken into a thousand pieces, or she won't have anything to cling on to, to keep herself upright and grounded.

She lies to her parole officer. She knows that isn't what you're supposed to do, that she could just as easily land herself back in prison, but the words slip off her tongue so easily. She talks about job interviews she hasn't been to, even hands over paperwork that's forged in her own shaky handwriting, and when she doesn't have all the right checks, all the right bits of information, her officer doesn't question it because she's pretty and sweet and not like any of his other ex-cons. She hates how easy it is to go back to that lifestyle, to drip lies instead of sincerity, but she can't stop herself. The most important parts are true – she has a stable roof over her head, she has support, she hasn't broken any of her parole agreements. She's being a good girl, she promises, and if she slips in a white lie here or there who can blame her? She doesn't want to tell her parole officer that she's half a picnic short of a sandwich or whatever because that's none of his damn business, and she only has to keep up this nonsense for a few months more before she's free of it all together.

Nicky wishes she didn't have to work. She wishes she had time to keep an eye on Lorna. She wishes, most of all, that the minute she walks in the front door every evening, she didn't have to do so with a tight feeling in her chest that she has quickly begun to recognise as dread. She hates that even when Lorna's well, she's worrying about what kind of a mess she will come home to.

She does everything she can to get Lorna's first therapy session off work, but the asshat who sorts the rotas out mislays her request form, and what do you know, there's no one to cover her when it comes to it. She hates the thought of Lorna having to face it all by herself, but she also knows it's not her battle to fight, and sticking her nose in isn't going to help.

Lorna insists she'll be fine and even though there's a hint of a wobble in her voice, and the red-lipped smile she offers isn't a hundred percent confident, Nicky believes her because she wants so desperately to. Besides, Lorna has been doing better. Baby steps, but it's been weeks since a full on panic attack or a breakdown, even if Nicky does still feel like she has to tip-toe around her half the time.

When she gets home and Lorna's not there, she feels almost relieved. And then she feels guilty for it.

The light on their completely out of date answering machine is flashing red, and Nicky presses the button to retrieve new messages as she struts into the kitchen to get a drink, fully expecting a rambling, unnecessary, over-sweet message from Piper to greet her ears. When it doesn't, and it's a man's voice instead, she freezes, almost drops the carton of juice that's halfway to her mouth.

"I should have known you would pull some kind of fucking stunt like this. I know it's you. I'm not an idiot Lorna. Clearly your time in prison did absolutely nothing to deter you. I don't know how the fuck you got this number, but if you dare come anywhere near me, or my wife, I will fucking kill you, you hear me? I. Will. Kill. You. You can expect to hear from your parole officer. Just get the hell out of my life you psycho bitch."

She recognises the voice immediately. Placing the juice carton on the kitchen counter with a shaky hand, she moves back to the answering machine, replays the message. Her hands ball into fists without her realising it, but it isn't Christopher she's angry at; it's herself for not being more cautious, for not keeping a better grip on what's going on with Lorna. She feels disappointed, and dread is settling in her stomach. Actions have consequences. She can't brush this under the table and pretend it never happened because if Christopher tells Lorna's parole officer, she's going to be in all sorts of trouble, and, selfishly, Nicky can't deal with losing her. She doesn't think Lorna's strong enough to go through Litchfield all over again, either.

Waiting for Lorna to come home feels like an age. Nicky paces the kitchen, can't stay still, itching to do something but knowing she can't, not until Lorna's back. She contemplates leaving her a message, but there's no point; she won't pick it up until after her session, anyway. And at least she's gone to therapy, at least she's starting to seek out help, at least she's started the path away from this destruction that seems to be the only thing she's good at lately. (She knows that's not fair, but it's so fucking frustrating; making progress and not making progress, feeling like you'd be better off hitting your head against a wall). She had never once, not for a moment, considered that Christopher would come back into their lives, and here he is, a glaring angry red light on an answer machine, a reminder of everything they've been through together. Everything she thought they'd at least begun to leave behind.

She has an overwhelming urge to smash something, to put her fist through something, but she knows coming home to a smashed up flat and Nicky's bleeding knuckles isn't going to make Lorna open up to her, so she fights it. She blasts the radio full volume, but she isn't listening to it, just needs the noise.

When Lorna walks in, she's smiling, and it only falters when she takes in Nicky's appearance, the loud music, the endless circles she's walking in across the tiled kitchen flooring.

Nicky turns the radio off.

"Bad day?" Lorna asks, uneasily, dropping her keys into the bowl on the kitchen table and immediately going to Nicky. She goes to tangle her hands in her hair, to kiss her, but Nicky lightly pushes her away, wriggles out of her grasp.

When she looks in Lorna's direction, sitting at the table, she can see her eyebrows furrowed, her bottom lip wobbling.

"How was your meeting?" Nicky says, trying to keep her voice steady. She's not angry with Lorna, or that's what she keeps telling herself. It's the situation. It's not something Lorna can help. (She can't help but think that's not entirely true).

"Fine," Lorna's reply is non-committal, but her eyes narrow a little, and her gaze won't focus on Nicky.

"Uhuh... did you tell your new doctor about your little phone call to Christopher?"

She looks as though she opens her mouth to deny it, but swallows whatever she was going to say, quickly looks away. There's tears in her eyes already, and her hands are awkwardly fiddling around on the table.

"I- I'm so sorry," she says quietly, and a tear slowly trickles down her cheek. She wipes at it furiously, and for the first time since she came in, Nicky feels her resolve melt a little, feels a pang in her chest reminding her that aside from everything else, she loves Lorna, and this isn't her fault.

She moves a little closer, "why did you do it?"

"I just-just wanted to hear his voice. That's all."

"You know it breaks your parole agreement, right? The restraining order? Shit, you could get in serious trouble over this, kid, did you think of that?" Nicky runs her hands through her hair. She went over and over what she was going to say before Lorna arrived, but she didn't factor in the heartbreak that was going to come with it.

"It was just a phone call. I-I didn't even- I mean, I didn't even say anything to him," Lorna whispers, looking up at her with wild, scared eyes, "they won't take me away again, will they-?"

Nicky softens, strokes Lorna's hair, wipes away her tears, "I don't know. But you can't fucking do that again, okay? How did you even get his number?"

"It doesn't matter," Lorna says quietly, closing her eyes. She presses against Nicky's touch, and Nicky draws her closer, kisses her forehead, wraps her in her arms.

"We'll fix this," she whispers into Lorna's hair, but even as she says it, she has no idea how she's going to do it, and it's just more empty promises she desperately wishes she could keep.

Nicky calls Christopher back, plays dumb, demands an explanation for the offensive message on her answering machine (is, not for the first time, grateful that she never got round to changing the message from the default one). He is very apologetic. Polite. Completely different from the deranged, yelling man she's encountered twice before.

She wipes his message and tries to forget that it happened.

Lorna goes to therapy once a week. Nicky drives her to a big glass building and watches her walk through to the front desk, disappearing into an elevator, and then she drives away. She doesn't want to baby her, or look like she doesn't trust her. When Lorna gets back in the evening, she's quiet and doesn't want to talk about it, so Nicky doesn't press her. It's not really any of her business what they talk about, so long as she's getting help.

She can't tell whether Lorna is actually getting better, or if it's a placebo affect. Not so much on Lorna's part, but Nicky's. She sees Lorna go to see her therapist, and she expects there to be a change. When she returns she stares at her, tries to see if there's anything different about her, like somehow her appearance is going to tell her everything she wants to hear. Of course, Lorna looks no different, and Nicky drags her eyes away, tells herself that it's still early days and there's no use pushing for a change. She doesn't know exactly how long Lorna's been the way that she is, but she knows it isn't something that started overnight, and that finding a cure for it is going to take more than just a few sessions with a therapist.

One day, when she gets home from work, exhausted and sweaty and definitely not for the first time wishing it wasn't part of her damn parole agreement for her to have a job, Lorna is in the kitchen, baking. She recalls Lorna's version of helping in the kitchen being carving faces into vegetables, hadn't really thought about her cooking. And she's certainly never baked before. Nicky goes straight to the bedroom, sheds her disgusting work uniform, slips on a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts, and heads into the kitchen.

"Somethin' smells good."

Lorna twists to look at her, and she's smiling, "oh, hey, I didn't hear you come in."

"What is all this?" Nicky asks, immediately sticking her finger into a bowl that's sitting on the counter and drawing it to her lips, ignoring Lorna's protests as she hits her with a spoon.

"I felt like making a cake. You shouldn't be eatin' that, it's got raw eggs in,"

"Alright, Red," she smirks, licks her lips, dipping her finger in a second time, "tastes pretty fucking good though. If this is a cake, what's in the oven?"

"Cookies," Lorna says, and she looks embarrassed. It's adorable, and Nicky abandons the bowl of cake mix, favouring a taste of Lorna's lips instead.

"I didn't know you cooked," she continues, after Lorna pulls away to continue cooking.

Lorna shrugs her shoulders, glances at Nicky over her shoulder, "My mom taught me how to cook when I was little. It was kinda our thing... cakes, especially. I guess I stopped when she... well when she got sick..." Lorna trails off, looks away, and Nicky feels a lump forming in her throat, suddenly wishes she hadn't said anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely, not really knowing what else to say, and when Lorna looks at her again, she has teary eyes, but she's smiling.

"Anyways, the cookies should be ready soon, and you can help me with the cake, if you want?"

Nicky ends up eating more cake mix than cooking it. Once it's baked and cooled and iced, she painstakingly draws two figures holding hands onto the top, and she pretends not to notice the tear that slides down Lorna's cheek when she shows her.

"Hello, this is a message for Ms. Morello from Nicole Davis' office. We have on our records that you were supposed to have an appointment with Ms. Davis at 2.15 on the 7th and didn't show. If you would like to rearrange your appointment, please do give us a call. If we don't hear anything in the next 14 days we'll erase you from our records. Thank you."

Nicky plays the message three times just to make sure she's heard it correctly.

A sick feeling settles in her stomach as she wonders what on earth Lorna has been doing for hours every week, if she hasn't been going to her therapist, and why she would continue to lie about it.