Collaborative fic: TheSickenerHits (writing Alex), and cardiovascularlyshattered (writing Piper).

The backlight makes her head pulse and spin, eyes reduced to scrutinising slits as she pulls up her call history. It's a fresh wave of pain that rolls uncomfortably through her when all that's listed is Alex.

It's been a while since the last call. And Piper knows she's not even supposed to be thinking about it. Because it's over, right? Every thread stitching them together has been abruptly disconnected, and all that's left in it's place is pain. Piper traces through the call history, trying to recall the reason behind each one.

Stupid reasons, really. Like when Alex would call her to get ready for dinner before she came home. Or when she found herself somewhere cool in the city, and instinctively reached for the phone to tell Piper about it. But the last one makes Piper's stomach jump. Because it was hardly five minutes before everything happened. Before it all blew up.

It takes her a while to work up the courage. A very sketchy, anxiety-fuelled version of courage that makes an ever-present tension prick in her bones. Piper flicks her eyes to the time. It's late. She's not completely sober. Every damned piece of evidence points to the fact that this is a very, very bad idea.

But the urge in her gut, that unshakeable, coiling impulse; proves impossible to just shut out, and ignore. Trapped in the singular hope that it might just go away. But it doesn't. Determination ploughs on through, and Piper ends up hovering above the illuminated Alex far longer that she feels is allowed: safe, acceptable heartbreak territory.

Eventually, Piper presses down on the button. She doesn't think about the time difference. She doesn't think about who Alex might be with. She doesn't think about how much she really shouldn't be doing this.

It's impulse and instinct, strong and certain and utterly blindsided.

It rings. Piper's heart skips a beat. She takes a breath. Squeezes her eyes shut. Focuses on the dull buzz that repeats again and again. She fights the urge to count them, because surely there's been too many. Surely it's going to ring out. Surely she's going to have to face the humiliation of Alex reaching for her phone in the morning, seeing an abandoned call from the last person she would expect.

She casts it aside, swallows it down hard. Listens to the last few remaining rings, desperately trying to memorise the sound of the last time she calls Alex. Because she'll never do it again. There can only be one desperate, lingering call wedged between them. Piper releases a breath she wasn't aware she had started holding, but it gets stuck in-between, because it picks up.

It picks up.

Suddenly, Piper's not sure what to do. Despite the crushing disappointment that had started to trickle in at the dead end of rings, she was equally unprepared for the opposite. She listens to a soft rustle at the other end, a few seconds of deathly, dreadful silence. There's a crest of a sigh, and Piper knows immediately who it belongs to.

It scares her, because there's no more uncertainty to hide behind. It's definitely Alex on the other end. And now she's stuck, caught and conflicted and oh so unsure of why she's got herself into this. Somewhere, in some thing that she really shouldn't be.

Piper swallows hard.

Alex fumbles against the nightstand for several seconds before finding her glasses, brushing hair away from her eyes as she reaches for the blinking light of her phone. Her fingers find the mobile's accept button almost automatically and without hesitation, her mind slower to keep up as it stutters with somnolence.

The buzzing had been an intruder in her dreams, and Piper's name in stark black letters against the bright white backlight should have been a warning sign - the flashing red of an emergency vehicle in the gloom of a thick fog - but instead it felt like a lighthouse, guiding her home in the darkness.

She sighs, breath ghosting against the hard plastic in her hand, immediately regretting her sleep-induced idiocy for reasons she was unable to place. While it feels like a weight has been lifted from her chest, another has settled in the depths of her stomach, and it's several seconds before either of them initiate any interaction.

"Alex?" It falls as a whisper, suspended somewhere between the lines. Something in Piper makes her wish it doesn't quite make it through. But her voice is coated with a thick, impenetrable eagerness, and by the way Alex's breath catches, it held all too much clarity.

"Yeah, Pipes?" Alex curses herself for the term of endearment the second it slips from her lips, but it's beyond recalling by this point. It aches, how easily she fell back into the comfort of their companionship, the way the simple utterance of her name had made her wish for a hand to hold, a body to cradle.

Something about Alex's voice seems to dissolve all that wound-up tension from within Piper's bones. It's comforting and soft and oh so achingly familiar. It hits her, then. How far away familiar really is. Close enough for Pipes to still slip from her lips. Distanced enough that she knows it falls out of what is now allowed. Maybe they both can't help but cross boundaries. Maybe that's what they were made of. Maybe that's what broke them.

Say something, Piper inwardly curses.

"Should I be hanging up right about now? Pretending I called the wrong number?"

Alex can't help but smirk. It's so very Piper to backtrack like this. She wondered if now was the right time to remind Piper that she couldn't change what had already happened. Probably not.

"I don't know, Piper. Should you be hanging up?"

Piper adjusts the phone tucked against her ear. "I know I'm crossing boundaries. I know this probably shouldn't be transpiring…" Piper sighs, struggling to stop her voice from beginning to shake. "Will you stay on the line? Just for tonight? Just this time?"

Alex was tempted to leave. She could hang up under the pretense that she had somewhere else to be, or that she would need to be awake early, or something - anything - despite the fact that she knew either way she wouldn't sleep after this.

But Alex can't cut it off. Can't bring herself to end the call, to say goodbye again. It had been hard enough the first time.

"I can stay." In spite of every internal argument she could consider, it would always come down to this: she could never say no to Piper Chapman.

The comfort of those words wash over Piper in waves, but it doesn't last long, swiftly to be replaced by a blossoming, deadly pit of quivering uncertainty. This is uncharted territory, and Piper doesn't know where to tread. Especially after what she's done. God, Alex must hate her for that.

Piper knows all the things she wants to say. There's so many things. Too many, probably. So she shackles them down to something simple. Something that can actually be said.

"You okay?" It sounds so stupid, and Piper immediately regrets it. But it doesn't change the fact she's absolutely desperate for the answer, hanging onto the final threads of hope.

Alex's head falls back into the pillow, and the crushing of the feathers sounds like the crashing of waves around her. She covers her face with her hand, exhaling softly into the receiver as she toys with an appropriate answer.

Amid the grief of her losses, the dull thudding of a three-day hangover and the remnants of her last, quick hit still running rampant in her veins, Alex feels less like she is submerged under water than she has in weeks. It's as though she's been allowed to break the surface for the specific purpose of this respite, although it's almost worse above the waves than it was below.

"I'm just fine, kid." She's wound tight, and there's the snapping of sentimentality in her next statement. The implications attached to okay are almost offensive. "How the fuck are you?"

It hits a nerve, for no particular reason, and Piper finds herself scrambling to hold back tears. She tries to identify the reason behind it, or perhaps just try to decipher the emotion cornered behind Alex's words. Barricaded behind an almost impenetrable wall of self-preservation.

Piper chokes up halfway through her sentence, feeling white hot, burning tears whip away at her skin. "How can you be just fine? How can you be so calm? How-" Piper's throat collapses, and she fights to wrangle back control. "How can you do this? How can you even talk to me?"

Alex knows that there's no answer she can give. Nothing she might say could come close to the truth, which has become so twisted and tangled that she's not sure even she can unravel it. Her jaw works as her tongue forms phonemes, and she leaves several seconds of silence before feeling able to fill the void.

"It's..." No good. The drugs and the alcohol had helped, but nothing came close to erasing the existence of that gnawing feeling at the back of her brain, seizing her muscles every time she had a moment to herself. "It's complicated."

I'm complicated. You're complicated. Everything is so fucking complicated.

Piper wishes it wasn't. Wishes there was something that could be done, something that could be said, to turn back time. To scrape off the damage. Just, fix it.

But she can't, no matter how much Piper wants to, no matter how much it hurts. Her mind surfaces with an apology - a hopelessly inadequate bitch of a thing - but she bites it back. I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. But what good would saying it do?Piper closes her eyes. Feels the shallow silence sneak its way between their coaxed replies.

"I wish things were different."

"Yeah. Me too." Alex knew deep down that she should be angrier. Piper had left her. Yet here she was, calling and asking for a fucking favour: will you stay on the line?

The fingers of Alex's free hand curl into a fist, all white-knuckled futile frustration, but her heart isn't in it. Piper's departure had laid her low, sick with sorrow, until it eventually devolved into nothing more than bone-deep exhaustion, burying her beneath duvets for days at a time.

Alex glances at the bare sheets beside her, the emptiness of a double bed with only a single occupant. Hearing Piper's voice at the end of the line compounded her loss. She takes a deep steadying breath, grasping at the first question she finds, hoping to replace building resentment with something more productive. "Where are you, kid?"

"Back in the 'States. New York." Piper tries to hold back the bitterness dangling from the edges of her words. Because she has no right to be bitter about it, especially when she's the one that left. She's the one that blindly landed herself back here, off an exhausting, almost angry eight hour flight, propelled with nothing more than pure emotion. "You?"

"Paris. Again." Alex wonders how close their paths may have crossed when she'd returned for her mother's funeral: whether they had been entire states or mere miles apart.

She swallows down the impending bubble of a sob, stifling the soft sound, as she recalls the rain of New York, and the way it had darkened her already black funeral attire. She feels a stray tear trickle into the roots of her hair, unable to determine who she is crying for.

"Is it late?" Piper ventures, slipping carefully around am I keeping you up, and settling for something much less truthful.

"It's..." Alex moves the phone into sight for a second as she gauges the time, narrowing her eyes again the burn of the illuminated screen before emitting a quiet laugh. "It's three thirty."

Piper winces. Fuck. "Did I wake you up? I uh-" She pauses, trying to stop her breath from filtering down the line - all too uneven and shaky. "I didn't realise. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, really. I'm awake now." Alex pushes herself up a little in bed. "'Sides, I haven't been sleeping much anyway."

Piper's stomach seems to jump involuntarily at that. It's never a good sign when Alex hasn't been sleeping. But there's also an odd, unexpected comfort in that, too: because she hasn't been sleeping either. Not for days. And she's exhausted beyond belief, riddled with guilt and regret and too many goddamn pervasive thoughts that never really leave her alone.

And Alex is just the same.

"Neither." Piper mumbles, soft and shallow.

Alex's response is a hollow chuckle, devoid of any real emotion but automatic nonetheless. The irony is bitter in her mouth when she mutters her reply.

"Looks like we've still got something in common then."

Hah, Piper thinks. She considers making a joke out of it, because it's such a lie. They have so many things in common. Or at least...they did. But even if it's still there, there's some strange mutual acknowledgement to just pretend they haven't. Maybe that makes it easier to accept the painful reality that has frustratingly wedged itself between them. Or maybe it just makes it bittersweet enough to feel more a memory than anything else.

There's a question pulling at Piper. But the thought of bringing it up - the thought of what bringing it up might do is almost too much to bear. She doesn't have the right to ask. But it doesn't change the fact she's on the pounding edge of desperation to find out, because that protective urge is still very much alive. So Piper clears her throat. Builds up the courage. Hopes for an answer other than an emotional blow.

"Did you...uh…"

There's a pause as Alex waits for continuation before she pushes for more.

"Did I what, Piper?"

Alex's words were sharp, and having been woken in the early hours of the morning, was considerably less tolerant of Piper's self-preservational hesitation than she would have been otherwise.

There had been years where she'd loved her girlfriend's coy mumblings; the way she'd scuff her toe against the ground, worrying her bottom lip until the words would finally fall free - can we, have you ever, would it be okay if..? Now, with Piper as her distinctly ex-girlfriend, it was less amusing.

Several painful, drawn-out seconds of silence wedge between them, and Piper's voice is unmistakably apprehensive around the corners when she finally speaks.

"The funeral..." Piper halts, swallowing hard. "Did you…"

Alex can't be certain exactly what Piper isn't saying, although she is able to guess. "Did I go to my own mother's funeral? Is that it? You want to know if I was able to get my shit together after you fucking deserted me to attend my mom's burial?"

Alex can hear her voice raising, all sentimental softness gone as she realises that Piper called her in the early hours of the morning, only to completely withhold conversation or to conversely counter it with stupid fucking questions. Frustration fills her to the brim, ready to spill over, playing havoc with her hopes that perhaps Piper had called her to fix things, rather than engage in further fuckery.

"I just," Piper sucks in a sharp breath, fresh tears starting to streak over old trails. She knows she deserves this. She deserves all of it. Everything Alex is prepared to throw at her. But it doesn't change the fact that it hurts. Piper squeezes her eyes shut, running a nervous hand through her hair as she clutches the handset a little tighter. "I wanted to know if you were okay. I had to know that you were okay."

Alex is thrown by that. She'd been so caught up in the shock of Piper's selfish separation that she hadn't thought Piper could still care. But here was the evidence to the contrary.

"My mom died, Piper. My mom died, and then my girlfriend left me. You left me, Piper. Right when I fucking needed you the most." She can hear the telling tremble in her own voice, the major flaw in her phone-based poker face.

With a sigh and a heavy exhalation, the tension seeps from her muscles with little resistance. She's just so fucking done with everything. "I guess I'm saying I could be better."

"I know," Piper starts. "I know." She toys with the idea of an apology, but it feels so fucking inadequate right now. But her mind is still stuck on the fact that Alex went. She went through with it. Didn't run. And that must have been absolutely dreadful.

Piper knows she should have been there. She thinks back to Diane's intuitive, knowing glances from those few days she had been around, off the bat of a rather sheepish (and almost grudging) introduction from Alex. The undefinable feeling that seemed to see right through the pair of them. There was something expectant about that. That Piper should be there, forever and always. As though that was her place. As if that was where she belonged.

(Perhaps she did.)

But for Alex, it must have been so much worse. Piper finds herself with so many questions hovering against the tip of her tongue. She wants to ask them all. Find out every detail there is to be known. If she went back to the old house. Where they both found themselves cramped in that single bed pushed against the walls, listening to Diane move about downstairs, that one stretch of days over summer. If the funeral was everything it should have been. If Alex got through the day without breaking down.

Piper bundles it all up into a handful of words, trying not to sound like she's pushing Alex more than she knows she strictly should. "Was it okay?"

A small part of Alex wants to ball her hands into fists and pummel the pillows until there is nothing left but down and disappointment. This is not the part of her that wins. The victor is less expected; she is overwhelmed by a rush of love which blindsides her like a strobe light, flickering from nowhere and blanketing everything important in bright white before disappearing into the darkness once more.

"It was beautiful, Pipes." The words tumble out in a rush. Of the two women she has ever truly loved, only one survives, standing now in the same city they once shared, connected by a million memories and this lonesome late night phone call. "It was so fucking beautiful."

For some reason Piper can't locate, that hurts. She knows Alex frighteningly well, and her answer is so far from the truth. And that means it was horrible. That means Alex could hardly stand it. Piper's stomach twists up. She wants to press for details, but somewhere during the course of this conversation, she's started to entertain the spark of a hope that it's not the last call. The rational side of her mind seems to almost violently protest at that thought. Because of course it's the last one. That's not set to change. But Piper plays on that hope anyway, deciding to store the question of details for the illusory next time.

"I know I should have been there."

"Understatement of the century." The comment is cutting, but Alex is smiling in spite of herself. She knows Piper will hear both sides of the story. She has never been good at concealing her feelings from Piper, and has no intention of changing that now.

Piper gives a sigh. It is the understatement of the century. She wonders if Alex knows just how much she's constantly beating herself up over that rather fateful choice. To go. To leave. To break rank.

"Can I ask a rhetorical question?"

"If it's rhetorical, you can ask whatever the fuck you want, kid."

Maybe it shouldn't be said. But she's already started, and there's no safe territory of a backup to retreat into. "If the only thing changed was that I hadn't left...if I'd gone with you, would that have been...better?" Or worse, Piper thinks.

"This is rhetorical?" Alex raises an eyebrow, and hopes the expression will be evident in her tone.

"Please, Alex. I just need to know."

"You want to know if I think things would be better if you'd have stayed?"

Piper nods into the darkness, turning on her side and curling into the messy, half thrown-back sheets. "If I'd gone with you. For the...funeral. For your mom. If that would have made a difference. Better...or something..."

It's a stupid question, Piper knows that. But she needs the answer nonetheless. She needs to know this wasn't all just selfish circumstance - the fact that it was so painfully drawn and quartered - either you have it all, or you have nothing at all. With all of it boiling down to the fact that she let self-preservation win out. Piper needs to know there was something that could have been done different. Something she could have done. For Alex.

"I think..." Alex labours over the letters required to form a functioning phrase. "I think, if you wanted to leave, but you chose to stay instead - for me, or for you, or whatever - it would have been just as bad." Self-sacrifice had never been Piper's style, and Alex had always appreciated her for being direct in pursuing her desires. "Maybe even worse."

"Okay," Piper starts, exhaling an unsteady breath. "Okay."

It will hold her out for a while, at least. Before the next bombardment of doubts begins to bubble. So Piper leaves it alone. Accepts (or at least pretends) that she can't change what's already transpired. It leaves her in a difficult space, almost claustrophobic; torn between hanging up and staying on the line. But the thought of forgoing Alex's calculated breaths and spite-filled phrases - traded in for blinking into suffocating darkness - doesn't convince.

"I…" Piper gathers her nerve before trying again. She's softer this time, reduced to almost a whisper. "I don't think I can bear to cut communication with you, Alex."

There's a soft sigh that slips down the line, although in which direction and from whose lips, Alex can't quite tell. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts before she can confess to the truth, which had been curled inside her like a snake since accepting the call.

"Just because I said it might have been worse if you stayed, it doesn't mean I'm glad that you left, Piper." She feels calmer with each utterance, conversational catharsis providing the best kind of comfort. "I never wanted you to go in the first place. And I don't want you to go now, either."

Piper cradles the phone closer to her ear, pulling the sheets tighter around her body. "So let's stay like this. Because I need it, and I think you need it, too."

Alex smirks at that. "I'm not sure you're the best person to tell me what I need, Piper."

True, Piper thinks. I'm probably not. Piper considers taking it as a directive, and shutting down her request. Or stalling, at least. But she can already feel an instinctual flash of tears start to trace a delicate trail down her cheeks, and the thought of ending - the thought of hanging up - prompts her into asking all over again.

"Please, Alex. Please."

"Begging is a new one for you, Pipes."

Alex wishes she wasn't enjoying the turn of events; she would be fooling herself if she didn't admit that many hours had been wasted wishing Piper would grovel to have her back, and although this wasn't quite as Alex hoped for, it was close enough. "Maybe I'm not ready to say goodbye either."

There's a long, extended silence to fill the space when Piper's doesn't make it to replying. There is something in hearing that - sounding so much like a scrap of hope - that makes a tiny portion of her heart stitch back together. Piper's voice is just the shell of a whisper when she finally replies.

"I'm not ready yet, either. So not ready."

"Then..." Although Alex is so reluctant to let Piper maintain this connection, rather for her own sake than any petty reason borne from bitterness, she knew that they'd both be burnt by the fire either way. At least in this, she could keep hold of some semblance of control. "Let's not stop. Let's keep going."

"So," Piper starts, drawing a breath that seemed almost dense with hope. "This won't be the last time I hear from you?"

Alex wondered if she should commit to this. She had devoted so much time to ridding herself of the last vestiges of their sinking ship; to tie herself to the mast once more seemed illogical, verging on masochistic.

Nonetheless, she had always been a glutton for punishment where Piper was concerned, and this time was no different.

"No, kid. Far from it."

If there had been a desired outcome from this precarious call, this would have been it. It's nowhere close to a resolution, and Piper knows there probably isn't going to be one, either. But this is something - something she desperately needs to hold on to. For needs and selfish wants as basic as survival. It's the last link, the last thread of hope that only barely holds them together. Keeps them from spiralling uncontrollably out. Piper knows, with bone-deep certainty, that kind of outcome wouldn't be good. For either of them.

And it's through that twisted attempt at logic that Piper convinces herself that this is a good thing. That it's a somehow justifiable crutch. At least there'll be another call…

"Okay." Piper breathes.

The breeze of Alex's laugh is barely audible through the phone, relief in spite of her repose. "Okay."

Piper turns over, flicking her gaze to the time. It's late. And Alex is probably tired, and possibly even mildly annoyed at this call. Despite her complete lack of complaints when it came to Piper's subtly desperate late-night calls. An odd sense of nostalgia kicks at her when drowsiness begins to tug, because late-night calls to Alex always had that effect.

"I should let you go." Piper sighs, regretting the fact that this can't go on forever. That she can't make Alex stay on the line until morning, dropping into the shallowness of sleep just by listening to Alex's breaths even out. "But I'll hear from you, right?"

You already let me go. Alex is tired, but not so tired that she wants to voice that particular thought out loud. She yawns involuntarily, eclipsing the sound with an open palm before remembering to respond.

"Are we gonna replay the age-old cliché of I'll call you?" The affectionate teasing is thinly veiled, masquerading as a saccharine sarcasm that Alex had perfected during their time together. "Or would you prefer to schedule a time? I'd rather not be woken up in the early hours again." Not that I really mind.

Piper wants to jump at the opportunity to schedule a time, just to make sure it is put in some form of concrete. So there's some certainty. Something she can bank on, overthink, play out in her mind. But Piper doesn't want to risk severing the delicate established connection is - doesn't want to push Alex too far. So she changes her tack, and swallows the rest uncomfortably down.

"I'll leave it up to you, Alex. So you can always choose to leave it alone. And I'm sorry, by the way. It's late, and, well, stupid…"

"Hey, no." Alex is thrown at breakneck speed back to the times she'd hear Piper repeating the same sentiments to herself: having broken their toaster, or smashed a plate, or burnt their dinner - stupid, stupid, stupid.

"It wasn't stupid, Piper. Just, a little less convenient than I'd like."

Piper had never been anything as pedestrian as unintelligent, but for as long as her parents were an ever-present force in her life, she would only perceive herself as not good enough. It hadn't been Alex's job to rectify this misconception - and it definitely wasn't her fucking duty anymore - but she still hated hearing the words return. She worried that in her absence, Piper's self-esteem had begun to slip again. "How about I call you next week?"

Next week is an awful long time away. But these are Alex's terms, and Piper has lost the right to question them. So Piper nods against the pillow, as if Alex could somehow sense her assent. Piper's mind automatically spins to trying to count the days, despite the fact Alex hasn't narrowed it down. But it's nonetheless a decisive point, and it gives Piper a trajectory to fret or to fantasize over. She needs that.

"Please."

"Are you asking me for something, or are you confirming the time?" Alex didn't owe Piper anything, although she perhaps owed it to herself to find resolution, however it was offered. Maybe this would be the best way to get over Piper. And maybe she was telling herself what she wanted to hear.

"Confirming." Piper pauses, inwardly debating whether to add to that. "I'm just glad I get to hear your voice again."

"Next week it is, then." Alex has no idea what she'll be doing next week. Even her plans for tomorrow are scant at best, but perhaps if she can schedule this into place, she might be able to face wrangling her way back into work again. "I'll text you?"

Piper feels her lips curl into a smile. I'll be waiting for it all damn week, now. "You'll text me."

"Yeah, kid. I'll text you." Alex allows herself another brief glance at the time. "So..."

Piper picks up the hesitation in Alex's voice. She's already kept her up way too long. "I'll, uh, let you go." Piper bites back the bit about this phone call giving her a reason for living. She clears her throat, an automatic reflex whenever she knows a particularly hard goodbye is about to break.

Alex knows the trademark hitch of hesitation, and is checking in before she can hold herself back. It's inbuilt, intrinsic and instinctive. "You okay?"

Piper gives away a soft tumble of laughter. "Of course not, Alex. But I'll get there."

This was the answer Alex had feared, and hadn't wanted to hear in spite of her inquiry. Her heart whispered against her ribcage, worried about the truth if she probed any further. She opted to change tack instead. "What day is it?"

"Thursday, Alex."

"Thursday?" Fuck. She'd lost more time than she'd anticipated, wasted more than money in bars than she knew, and the irony was rich when she realised that the only thing she'd found was something she was probably better off without. "Then it's only seven days until we speak again. Reckon you can do that?"

No, Piper thinks. I can't. I can't do any of this. I can't stand to be without you. And now you're making me wait a week. "Yeah," Piper says, concealing her breaking voice with a cough. "I can do that."

Piper may be smarter than she gave herself credit for, but she couldn't hide her emotions for shit; seven days was evidently too long. Alex backtracked, her words the aural equivalent of approaching a wounded animal with arms outstretched. "Actually, you know, I think Sunday would be better for me."

It's a while before Piper manages to reply, her voice tentative and vulnerable around the edges. "Yeah?"

"Much better. Is that okay for you?" She can hear Piper's hope trickling down the line, and in spite of her instincts telling her the opposite, she wants more.

"Sunday's fine. Really, really fine." Piper tries not to sound hasty about it, but it's hard to conceal it, not when it's making her whole body vibrate in anticipation. Sunday. Yeah. Sunday.

"Sunday it is." Mission accomplished. "And Pipes?"

There it is again, Piper thinks. She wonders if they'll ever really get out of old habits. (She doubts it). "Yeah?"

"Sleep well, okay?" Alex knows it's only around 9pm for Piper, and knows she shouldn't say it, but she can't help herself. She can't turn off the caring.

Piper smiles at that. It's all too much like the last few months hadn't transpired. And just for that split second, Piper lets herself pretend that none of it had. "I will if you will."

"No promises. But," Alex has barely slept, and she's eaten even less, but maybe, just maybe she could do as Piper asked. If it would help. "I'll see what I can do."

Piper finds herself releasing a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. "Okay."

It is up to Alex now to cut the cord, to end the call, to curb the chaos running rampant in her hopeless heart. "Goodnight, Piper. Thanks for calling."

Piper doesn't want to say goodbye. She wants to say so many more things, play out so many more scenarios. But perhaps what she's dreading most is the prospect of having to end a call without saying I love you.

Because it's still so fucking true.

But Piper holds it back, along with a maelstrom of cloudy and unsuspecting emotions, and pretends none of it exists anymore. "Thanks for answering. Night, Alex."

"I..." Alex takes a deep, unsteady breath in. She wasn't ready for any of this - the call in itself was utterly overwhelming as a simple concept - but she'd kept her cool for this long, and saw no reason not to maintain the myth. She could be reckless with her own emotions, but not with Piper's. "Liked this. I liked this."

She exhales. The crisis, whatever it may have been, was averted. "Night, Pipes."

Piper chuckles against the receiver, taking Alex's wavering voice as comical, as though it were all that blissfully simple. As though none of this was of any real consequence. But it was. It always was, with the pair of them.

She mumbles a repeated night, clutching the phone tight against her, holding on to the last few seconds of connection. She eventually cuts it off, but she doesn't let go of the phone. Instead, she keeps it close, trying to keep the last remnants of Alex from escaping like uncatchable shadows.

Piper doesn't sleep at first. She just stays, suspended in the darkness, replaying it over and over in her mind - intent on capturing every little detail. The way Alex sounded - exhausted and weary, with an edge of anger that only really softened when it collided with the sentimental. Piper tries to picture the rest, imprinting the flickering images into her mind as they drift into dreamspace.

Her last conscious thought is of how goddamned glad she is that she made that call.

This work is permanently discontinued. Sorry.