Your heart is like my hands: some days all they do is tremble.

I am like you. I too at times am filled with such fear—

but like a hallway, must find the strength to walk through it.

So walk through this with me.

Walk through this with me.

- from "Come Closer," by Anis Mojgani

Piper dreams of snow and forgiveness, of Alex alive and still loving her, and just like that the nightmares are gone. No more shattered glass or spattered blood, no more standing helpless while Alex lies dying in front of her. Instead Piper starts sleeping through the night, dreaming of nothing and waking up a little stronger.

Still, it's not enough. She's made a mess of herself these past few months, scattering hopes and fears like a trail of breadcrumbs through own psyche. They're a map back to the version of herself she misses most—the Piper that Alex fell in love with—but her mind is a dark, crooked hallway and she's walking through it blind. All she can do is feel her way forward, arms outstretched, treading softly on the floorboards of her own architecture.

On the second morning after the dream she reports to her work assignment as usual. The other girls in the Whispers sweatshop stopped talking to her weeks ago, which suits Piper just fine. She doesn't want to discuss the abandoned panty-smuggling enterprise. She doesn't want to feel anyone's anger, or worse—anyone's pity.

What she does want is to steal a swatch of fabric—the good quality, skin tone, stretchy kind—and make herself an armband. If nothing else the panty scheme has turned her into a quick seamstress, and she has the contraband cut and sewn before the guard on duty can notice.

Later, in the bathroom, Piper yanks the band up her forearm. It covers the bottom half of her tattoo, mercifully hiding the worst of the white ink.

When she looks in the mirror all that's visible is the word trust.

She wants to.

Because it's so hard to find her way back, to know which thoughts are truly her own and which are just the internalized echoes of someone else's criticism. There are foundations somewhere at the core of her being; there are walls and pillars and doors that swing open, but she's so deep in her own darkness that she can't make out the shape of them. All she knows of herself are the words that resonate in the empty spaces—

'You're a bad person.'

'You're a manipulative little person.'

'You ain't worthy of nobody's love.'

—and Piper feels made of those sound waves.

But she also knows they are not her is more than the sum of her worst moments. She is better than her bad deeds and stronger than the stones that have been thrown at her, even if she can't always see it for herself.

So she turns to the one person who has always known her for exactly who she is, and just like in the dream, she lets Alex guide her.

Piper gets up in the morning because Alex would want her to. She takes refuge in her favorite books because her love of literature is something Alex always liked about her. She starts speaking again in case somehow Alex can hear her, and she meditates constantly on what the angel said in her dream: I want you, Pipes. I want you whole.

For better or worse, making Alex happy is now Piper's sole imperative. She tries to knit the pieces of herself back together, not because it feels good but because it's what Alex would want for her—from her.

Piper takes Alex's hand in the dark hallway of her subconscious, and somewhere a door opens to let in a thin seam of light.

Trust, the tattoo on her forearm demands.

Piper surrenders it freely.

::::::::

.

It's early afternoon on the day of one of Red's famous family-style dinners.

She and Piper haven't been speaking. There isn't much they can say to each other without reopening recent wounds. Red knows all about Stella and the panty business and the tattoo, and has made her opinions quite clear. Piper would rather not discuss them. They opt for detente instead, rarely interacting unless they have to.

Piper is therefore reasonably surprised when an invitation lands on the bed beside her—an entrance ticket for that evening's dinner.

She glances up, puzzled.

"It's by lottery," Red says gruffly. "Luck of the draw. Besides—" she looks Piper up and down "—you don't eat these days. You could use the calories."

Piper carries the invitation around with her, debating whether or not to accept it. She's wary of crowds still, wary of laughter and camaraderie because she doesn't think she deserves them.

But it's not her call—it's Alex's. And Alex would want Piper to go because it will be good for her, so she does.

The food is real food, vegetables that crunch and bread that's still soft from the oven. Piper sits between Sister Ingalls, whose easy presence keeps her calm, and Taystee, whose humor manages to make her crack a smile once or twice.

Boo, her temperament softened by the hooch Poussey provided, clinks cups with Piper halfway through the meal. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Chapman," she toasts, and Piper murmurs a quiet thank you.

It feels surreal, to be sitting among all of these easy-going people and celebrating the simple fact of a good meal, when a week ago Piper could barely get herself out of bed. The food and the hooch have a soporific effect on her, and by the final course she's feeling pleasantly drowsy.

That is, until Jones suddenly appears at her shoulder wearing an expression of uncommon urgency.

"Chapman, you better come with me."

"Why?"

"It's Vause."

Piper isn't aware of anything she does after that. She doesn't stop to register whether the look on Jone's face indicates good news or bad, just scrambles out of her seat and flees the room. Jones points toward the chow hall and Piper takes off like a rocket, completely ignoring the CO who threatens to give her a shot for running.

She bursts through the double doors, scanning the room—and there she is. There's Alex, standing at the end of the food line, bruised and sewn-up but perfectly alive.

Piper steps toward her tentatively. After all this time, she feels afraid. Her eyes are wide with wonder, both seeing the injuries and not seeing them, too overwhelmed by the simple fact of Alex's presence to register how different she looks.

She breaths out Alex's name.

"Hey…" Alex says, uncertainly.

There's a moment where their eyes meet, a silent asking—and then they're reaching for each other, open arms and frantic fingers.

They kiss right there in the cafeteria, and somewhere inside of Piper the door at the end of the hallway is flung open. Light bursts through, warm as sunshine and blindingly brilliant, turning all the dust motes to glitter. The fear disappears beneath the steady pressure of Alex's fingers, the rhythm of the pulse beating beneath her skin.

And the long walk is over. Piper Chapman has come home.

Notes: So that's it. Thanks for reading! I neglecting to mention at the start of the fic that the name was taken from an Anis Mojgani poem, so I included it as an epigraph since the imagery was relevant. Highly, highly recommend that you listen to the piece. Just search "anis mojgani, a strange brand of happy" on youtube and it'll come up.

Please do let me know what you thought of the fic, either by leaving me a review, sending me a message, or getting at me on elsewhere such as tumblr. Much love to you all for reading.