Chapter Text
At first Erica’s not even sure it’s her; the place is dimly lit, and Erica’s all the way on the other side of the room, stood by the bar waiting for her drinks, so it’s difficult to get a good look. It’s just… despite the haircut—still the same length, but a little neater around the edges—and despite the suit—perfectly tailored and even from behind, Erica knows it looks jaw-droppingly good—there’s just something about how the woman holds herself. It’s the flash of a smile when the woman’s head turns slightly and she leans towards her companion that has Erica’s mind made up.
They’ve not seen each other in six years. Erica left Wentworth shortly after she married Mark and tried her best to forget the place (Franky) even existed. It didn’t work, and neither did her marriage.
Unsure what to do, Erica hesitates for just a little too long after the bartender hands her her drinks. The look of surprise on Franky’s face when she turns and catches Erica staring quickly morphs into something else—something a lot like hurt, and Erica’s not at all prepared for how it feels to have that look directed at her again, and after so much time.
She feels ashamed, something she’s not used to feeling—at least not in this context. She never meant to hurt Franky, there was just no way she could put herself in the same room as her day after day and not give in again to her desires—her feelings, which were almost worse. But however she might have felt about the things Franky did to her, there was no excuse for leaving the way she did. She justified her actions by reminding herself that Franky was just a prisoner, that she didn’t owe her anything, but that was never true, and she wonders now how Franky felt when one day she was there and the next she wasn’t.
She wants to go over to Franky, say something, anything, but there’s nothing she thinks she can say.
~
Her friend accepts the drink Erica places in front of her with a smile, and Erica puts her own down opposite before gesturing in the direction of the ladies room.
“I won’t be long,” she says.
~
The tepid water she splashes on her face does nothing to clear her head. She hadn’t expected it to, but she’d needed a few minutes alone.
The sound of the door opening startles her seconds later, and Erica turns, already knowing who’s there.
“Franky,” she says. Her eyes sweep over Franky, and she’s not sure if the way she’s finding it difficult to breathe is due to how amazing Franky looks, or that other, more dangerous thing—the thing that sent her running straight into a marriage that was doomed from the start. But that was then, then when there were rules she was breaking, just by letting Franky kiss her, when there were bars between them, when giving in could mean losing everything.
When Franky doesn’t seem like she’s going to say anything, Erica continues. “You look well,” she says.
Franky smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Being a qualified lawyer looks good on me don’t you think? You should see me in court. I’m amazing.”
Erica doesn’t doubt that for a second, and she smiles faintly, about to say as much, but before she can get the words out, Franky’s stepping closer, and even though there’s still a good few feet between them, Erica stills, all words drying up in her throat. She wonders (hopes) if Franky’s going to reach out to her. She still remembers vividly the feel of Franky’s hand closing around her arm, pulling her into the corner of her office. She remembers the other hand, Franky’s lips, Franky’s body against her own, and the rush of heat spreading through her is familiar, if not exactly comforting.
But Franky doesn’t come closer, doesn’t reach out. Instead, she holds Erica’s gaze, says, “I hated you for leaving.”
“I didn’t—I couldn’t—” Erica stutters out the words, but there are no excuses, and finally, she draws in a breath and settles on, “I’m sorry.”
“I hated you, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about you—missing you—every day.”
“Franky, I—”
Franky shakes her head, cutting Erica off. “I’m meeting with a client,” she says. “I should probably just go back out there and forget I ever saw you.” Despite knowing Franky’s almost certainly right, Erica’s whole body stiffens at the thought, but then Franky continues, “Or I could give you my number. We could talk.”
~
It takes her over a week to call.
Franky’s voice is all business when she picks up the phone. The way she says, “Francesca Doyle speaking,” sounds so unlike the Franky she remembers that Erica hesitates for a second before she answers.
Finally, she says, “It’s Erica.”
“Oh,” Franky replies. “What took you so long?”
And Erica really doesn’t know.