Archive of Our Own

Failing Better

“Time is up governor, you release the fucking lockdown, now!”

Bridget watched Sean like a hawk, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she tried to regulate her breathing to show some semblance of control in front of the women.

After all, it certainly wouldn’t look good for the resident psychologist to break down right now.

Her eyes were kept trained on the gun as Sean’s hand shook. His palm was sweaty as he jabbed the pistol at the inmates, the now silent walkie talkie held to his cold smirk. He wasn’t in control of this situation, Bridget assessed quickly as she watched his actions; Sean Brody had certainly got them where they were right now, but he was just a puppet who was in too deep over his head. It was impossible to reason with the puppet, you had to go to the puppeteer.

Bridget’s gaze shifted over to Marie, who seemingly felt eyes on her and met Bridget’s level stare with her own unabashed and unapologetic gaze.

“Something to say?” Marie asked coolly, challenging her.

“Why are you doing this, Marie?” Bridget’s voice shook only slightly, her hands up in a conciliatory gesture to show she was not a threat. To let Sean with the gun know that they were in control here.

Marie looked around at all of the women.

“I didn’t want this,” she started, “the Governor just needs to release the lockdown and none of you will be hurt.“

“What do you hope to achieve?” Bridget asked. She saw Sean’s grip tighten as he listened to their conversation intently, ready to step in when he felt the need.

“I just want to get out,” came Marie’s exhausted response. Resignation. Bridget could work with that.

“Let me help you,” Bridget shifted slightly on her haunches, trying to get a bit more comfortable, “no-one needs to get hurt, Marie. You want to get out of here alive, yeah?”

Marie smiled sadly.

“Someone’s always going to get hurt.”

Her eyes flickered to Allie, who stared back with horror.

“Look,” Bridget tried to pull the attention back to her and inwardly sighed with relief when Marie returned her gaze, “let me speak to the governor, okay? We can negotiate here. You have control, Marie. Just let us help you-“

“-shut the fuck up!” Sean interrupted, now raising his gun to point at Vera who was seated just to Bridget’s right. He pushed the button on the radio, “release the lockdown, or I’ll shoot Vera.”

“It’s over, Sean,” came Will’s voice over the radio.

“Open the fucking airlock!” Sean snarled. The gun shook in his hand and Bridget heard Vera’s whimpers beside her. Bridget extended her hand blindly, clutching at Vera’s as she felt the woman beside her shake with fear.

“Sean-“

Bridget tried again, only to find the gun now shift and point at her own head. She thought she heard muted screams from the inmates around her, and a breathy “fuck” from Linda Miles, but couldn’t seem to quite connect them over the erratic thumping of her pulse, the noise roaring in her ears. Bridget’s vision narrowed to just the nozzle of the pistol as it shook slightly in front of her.

She could die right now.

I never told Franky I loved her earlier.

She’d been in a rush this morning, late thanks to Franky joining her for an impromptu session in the shower. Bridget had grabbed her lunch quickly from the side, delivered a swift kiss to Franky’s lips, before all but running out their door, with promises called out over her shoulder that she’d be home in time for dinner.

Now I won’t be… and I’ll never be able to tell Franky how much I love her again.

Bridget felt her throat start to close, recognised the beginnings of panic taking over as her body shook. Her wide eyes never left the gun, her mouth parted slightly as she struggled to draw breath. She felt the fearful gazes of everyone around her and, in response, lifted her chin defiantly. It was a weak attempt to show them all that she wasn’t scared. They could trust Bridget, they could follow her. She was strong-

She was fucking petrified.

Sean Brody pressed the button on the radio.

“Release the fucking lockdown now,” he seethed, “or I put a fucking bullet in Westfall’s head.”

The radio remained silent, mocking Bridget.

C’mon, Will, she thought desperately as her gaze remained on the gun, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

Time seemed to slow, the only sounds the faint whimpers of the women and the crackle of the radio as Sean rhythmically pressed the button. A nervous habit Bridget suspected, one that gave her the smallest hope.

“Sean-“ she tried again, but Sean merely jabbed the gun in her face causing her to flinch.

“Shut up,” he ordered. The radio crackled to life.

“You need to end this before anyone gets hurt. Put down your gun and-“

Sean let out a huff of laughter, incredulous. He nodded before hitting the button on the radio.

“Okay,” he responded, “you brought this on yourself.”

With that, he looked over at Bridget and the gun stopped shaking. Bridget refused to close her eyes; one last act of defiance. If he wanted to kill her, he’d damn well look her in the eyes as he pulled the trigger. Vera screamed out “no!” beside her, and Bridget thought she heard Boomer threaten to punch him, but she couldn’t be sure.

Seconds ticked by as Bridget stared Sean down, almost daring him to pull the trigger, to end this right now. Then suddenly the gun shifted once more, and Bridget winced as she expected the bloom of pain before darkness.

I love you, Franky.

A shot rang out, an almighty bang as the sound of the bullet being released echoed around the room and rang in Bridget’s ears. She braced for impact, but none came. Instead, Bridget sat dumbly as she felt liquid spatter over her, hitting the side of her face and white leather jacket.

There was screaming, so much screaming, dulled by the buzzing in her ears from both the bullet and the adrenaline rushing through her. Bridget looked down, blinking owlishly as she registered what had sprayed her. Deep red rivulets trailed down the smooth material of her jacket, standing out against the white.

Blood.

So much blood.  

Vicky Kosta stared up at the ceiling blankly, a look of shock still on her face and her body limp. Dead.

Vicky’s blood, Bridget brought her exposed forearm up and wiped her mouth, a dazed attempt to avoid tasting the bitter tang of her failure.

Vicky is dead because of me.

She’d failed.

Rationally she knew the drill. She knew that they’d no doubt have killed someone anyway out of frustration or as a threat to Will to open the airlock. However, staring blankly down at Vicky’s body, Bridget felt a suffocating guilt pressed upon her.

Why couldn’t I talk them down?

She’d failed.

The ringing in her ears started to fade, but still Bridget couldn’t hear anything. Her eyes, blurred and stinging, tried to focus on something, anything, to ground her and to keep her present. She concentrated on Vicky’s face… until it wasn’t there any longer. Bridget watched as Sean dragged Vicky’s body, a trail of blood left in her wake.

As she noted Sean bringing the radio once more to his mouth, Bridget’s gaze slowly tracked back over to Marie who now looked slightly shaken by the events. She was just as shocked by Bridget at the macabre turn of events.

Marie. There’s still hope.

Bridget felt a wave of clarity and everything came back into focus, from the muted whispers of the women and the controlled breaths of Vera to her right, to the acrid smell of blood and the unbearably bright lights of the laundry. Bridget pushed her bedraggled blonde hair out of her face and licked her lips, grimacing as she did so at the sudden tang of blood that she hadn’t managed to quite get rid of, and her voice shook as she called out:

“Marie!”

Marie looked over, startled. Bridget’s heard her voice shake, but she soldiered on anyway, loud and grating against the now silent laundry room. She didn’t have much time, she had to make this count. Had to make this work.

“What do you hope to achieve with all of this?” she asked plainly.

Marie smiled coldly, though it was a lot more hesitant than before.

“Hmm?” Bridget prompted again, “what do you hope to achieve? A life on the run?”

She looked down briefly at the trail of blood that signalled the departure of Vicky Kosta. She took a deep breath.

“This is crazy,” she shouted, “and you know it! Give it up!”

Sean turned around, dropping the radio slightly and waving his gun once more at Bridget. She didn’t flinch this time.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut!” he yelled, watching Bridget. Bridget ignored him, keeping her focus on Marie who she could sense was wavering.

“Marie,” she urged, her inner hysteria pushed behind professional blockades as she put her hands up once more to coax the woman, “look at me, yeah? Do you see what’s already happened here? Who else has to die? Please come to your senses. You have the power to end this!”

Marie opened her mouth to reply, but was pushed back as Sean stormed over, his patience at its end.

“I warned you, Westfall,” he pointed the pistol once more at her head as he closed the distance between them. Bridget felt the cool metal of the nozzle against her forehead and she bit back a cry, instead lifting her eyes up to meet his with quickened breaths, “you think you’re smarter than the rest of us, huh?”

Sean brought the radio up and hit the button.

“Yeah this one’s gonna feel fucking good, Will.”

Bridget opened her mouth but no words came out in time. She saw a flurry of movement, the gun pulling away from her head, the blur of metal and suddenly an intense pain blossoming through her skull. She saw Franky’s face, smiling, before blessed darkness.

****

“Fuck me, not this song again Gidge!”

Franky’s words were softened by her grin as she looked over at Bridget, fighting to push her hair out of her face as she did so. Bridget laughed lightly as she once again felt the weight of the world being shed from her, left behind in the dirt as the car further toward the coast. Franky pulled her sunglasses off and smiled as her arm waved out of the convertible and caught the rush of air as it hit them. They’d rented the car, the exact model that Bridget had driven to pick Franky up from Wentworth, for their weekend trip, a hint of nostalgia and a nod to their first “new beginning”.

“You can change the CD if you want, baby,” Bridget responded as she took her eyes off of the road briefly to glance at the woman beside her. Franky’s long legs were sprawled out in front of her and her seat was tipped back slightly. This was Franky’s first vacation since she had been released again, and as she relaxed back in her seat and watched the world go by, Bridget knew already that her plan had been worthwhile. 

“Nuh,” Franky smiled back at Bridget, her green eyes reflecting happiness, “driver controls the music, that’s the rule and you know it… but in two hours you better believe I am bringing us back in to this decade.”

Bridget laughed. Franky’s hand then came out, plucking at Bridget’s white summer dress as it fluttered in the breeze.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you in white?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Well, I do,” Franky murmured, her hand now moving down and tapping at Bridget’s thigh, “when you wear that white jacket, I just want to rip it off of you.”

“Well then that sounds like you actually don’t like me in white, if you want to take it off of me,” Bridget grinned, her eyes still on the road.

“Shut up!” Franky laughed, “you know what I meant!”

Bridget hummed in acknowledgement, feeling so content at the light flirtations and beautiful scenery. Franky’s hand disappeared from her thigh and she released a breath, knowing that Franky could be distracting at the best of times. She certainly couldn’t afford that while driving.

Then suddenly she felt gentle pressure on her hand as it rested on the gearstick. A warm hand encased her own, fingers entwining with hers. Bridget startled as she heard Franky chuckle, and took the opportunity to look down quickly, watching as Franky’s long fingers flexed against her own, loving the way their hands so perfectly fit together.

Like them.

Bridget smiled softly; she had never felt so much love for one person.

“Fuck, Bridget!”

Franky’s words caused Bridget to jolt, looking up in surprise. In front, a truck sitting: had there been a truck there a moment ago? She heard Franky scream, and she hit the brake as hard as she could. The car skidded, continued to skid, and Bridget reached out to grip at Franky, feeling clammy hands grasp her own.

The car would stop, it would stop, they would-

BANG!

****

BANG!

Bridget’s body jolted at the noise. Her head was pounding and, as she felt her eyes crack open and adjust to the lights (the truck lights, were they even brighter now?), a wave of nausea knocked into her and Bridget grimaced. Her head was cushioned on something soft and scratchy, though with an edge. A shoulder.

Franky.

 “F-franky?” she whispered uncertainly, trying and failing to focus on anything. Colours swam in her vision; white, teal, red-

Bridget gasped and tried to lift her head quickly, her arms sluggishly coming up in front of her as she inspected them for blood. So much blood on her white dress. Was it hers or Franky’s-?

“Shhhh,” a voice urged her reassuringly, and Bridget felt an arm slung around her, squeezing her tighter. Whoever it was, they didn’t smell like Franky, “Bridget, it’s me, Vera. Are you okay?”

Vera. Bridget’s head was nestled on Vera’s shoulder. Why was Vera here? She could hear screaming in the background, so many screams, and a woman shouting “that is enough! I said that is enough!” but she couldn’t quite drag her mind to the present.

“Blood…” Bridget murmured, trying to look down at her clothes. She was surprised to find no dress, and instead spotted dried blood splashed across her white leather jacket. Bridget’s confusion must have shown in her squinting eyes, as Vera gave her another gentle squeeze and leaned in closer.

“Shhh, it’s Kosta’s blood.”

Bridget nodded gingerly though it was still not quite registering, and then something caught her eye. A body.

Another body.

Franky.

Bridget tensed and she put a hand to her head, sighing. She certainly felt like she’d hit a truck.

“Psst, are you okay, Ms Westfall?” a small voice murmured from nearby. Bridget looked up, grimacing as she did so, and saw Allie looking at her, concerned. She looked around, confused, and noticed other women watching her too. They were sat in a semi-circle, scared.

It hit her then, like a thousand knives cutting into her at once with the surge of pain at the memories; the siege. Bridget couldn’t help but feel a modicum of relief because, despite her own dire circumstances, she knew that Franky was safe. It wasn’t real.

Bridget nodded over at Allie, smiling weakly, before looking back down at the body in front of them. That certainly explained the bang that brought her round.

“You’ve got one less prisoner,” she heard Sean say into the radio in the background, his voice filtering in and out as she continued to look at the face of yet another prison that she had failed.

Linda Miles threw a white sheet over the now dead May Jenkins, eyes closed as she looked like she now had finally found some semblance of peace. Boomer refused to look at the body of her mother, instead staring off as Liz (when did Liz get here? How much did she miss?) attempted to comfort her.

May Jenkins, an inmate who Bridget hadn’t even begun to help… and now she never would.

She’d failed.

“Gidge?”

That voice, had she really just heard...? A movement caught her eye, the flash of brown hair, and Bridget craned her neck, so sure that she had just seen Franky walk past the doors of the Laundry room. But why would Franky be here?

You’re hallucinating.

“Shit!” A sharp expletive from Vera caused Bridget to turn back to her, clutching her head again as she did so. Her fingers traced dried blood down her face and neck, a product of the vicious snap of the pistol against her temple earlier.

Vera was pale, her eyes darting around in distress before finally landing on Bridget. Her hand came out and squeezed at Bridget’s forearm, almost painfully.

“What is it?” Bridget asked quietly, careful not to draw the attention of Marie and Sean who were talking heatedly in the small guard’s room.

“I think my waters just broke.”

At that moment, Sean left the small room, his eyes alighting on a now awake Bridget.

“Good, you’re up,” he commented, tucking the gun into his belt, “we’re all going for a walk.”

****

Their slow shuffle down the corridors was excruciating. Bridget tugged at her teal hoodie (thrown at her by Sean for their walk to disguise the gunmen and Marie) with one hand, her other resting on Boomer just in front of her. They were moving in a pack, slow and steady, to avoid any of the gunmen, Sean, or Marie, being singled out over the security cameras. Vera, to Bridget’s left, was struggling the most, her quiet grunts as she pushed forward each step signalling her distress and the imminent arrival of her baby.

As they eventually reached a secure stairwell and after Sean had taken out the lighting and security cameras, Bridget, still slightly muddled from the hit to her head and likely concussion, slowed her pace and let go of Boomer to grab and support Vera, who was now doubled over.

“She needs to stop!” Bridget called out, “we need a minute, Sean, please.”

“We don’t have a minute,” Sean responded harshly, shoving Bridget aside and causing her to stumble before tugging roughly at Vera, “get a fucking move on!”

Bridget felt hands press against her, keeping her upright. She smiled gratefully at Allie as she held her, concerned.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ms Westfall?” Allie whispered.

“I’m fine,” Bridget responded, though the shove did her head no favours. She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, before once again shuffling forward amongst the group.

“Sure you’re okay, Gidge?”

Another flash of brown hair caught her eye up front but Bridget caught herself in time just as her hand reached out to pull at the unsuspecting person’s teal hood.

Franky’s not here.

“Times like this,” Allie murmured, moving next to her and catching her attention once more, “I ask myself WWFD.”

Bridget looked at her questioningly, mentally shaking herself free from the dregs of her hallucinations.

“’What Would Franky Do’,” Allie responded with a small smile, causing Bridget to let out a desperate huff of laughter, “Bea would sometimes say that to me.”

Allie’s expression turned wistful at the mention of Bea, and Bridget smiled softly in return.

Bea Smith, another inmate she’d failed.

“Tell Franky that for me,” Allie said, “when you get out of here.”

Bridget caught the statement for what it was; a reassurance. A guarantee that she’d make it out alive, if it was the last thing Allie did.

“Tell her to tell me herself on my next visit, the lazy cow.”

Bridget shut her eyes briefly at the spirited voice.

“Still, figured Red would say that. She always did have the hots for me.”

“You’re not here,” Bridget whispered wryly, though having Franky there in her head was a comfort to her, head injury induced or not.

“Ms Westfall?”

Bridget opened her eyes. Allie was watching her, concerned, no doubt because she’d just witnessed the psychologist talking to herself.

“I’ll be fine,” Bridget muttered back, though she knew there were no such guarantees really, “take care of yourself, Allie. Bea wouldn’t want to meet you again quite so soon, yeah?”

Allie nodded, though it was resigned, before she pushed Bridget forward into the pack once more so she could seek out Vera.

They shuffled through another door, Linda forced into the lead by gunpoint with her swipe card. Bridget couldn’t quite keep track of how many stairwells they’d gone up or even where they were, she’d never travelled toward the roof before, but she was starting to feel dizzy once more and her head was aching all over.

They walked through a dimly lit room, filled with pipes and valves, and it was at this point that Bridget saw Vera squat against the wall, her teeth bared and clenched together in pain.

“Hey!” one of the gunmen called out, brandishing his pistol, “keep moving!”

“I am giving birth!” Vera cried out angrily between breaths, “you want me to move, you can fucking carry me!”

The gunmen ordered everyone behind Vera to move quickly, and the women traipsed past the crouching woman apologetically. Bridget stayed behind, kneeling in front of her friend, and she heard one of the gunmen mutter to leave her behind.

“Bridget,” Vera choked out, her breathing laboured and her eyes pleading, “I need your help.”

Bridget knelt, once more petrified of what was before her. Except this wasn’t a loaded gun where only her life was at risk; it was a pregnant Vera begging for help. Her baby’s life was at risk, her life was at risk. Bridget knew nothing about delivering babies and the thought of being responsible for delivering Vera’s… what if there were complications? She could hardly see straight, what good was she? She’d fail them both too.

Bridget thought back to Allie’s words.

What would Franky do?

“Fuck sake Gidge,” Franky’s voice sounded as if next to her, and was equal parts endeared and exasperated by her fretting and caution, “no-one knows what they’re doing at any given time. If you don’t help at all, Vinegar Tits is defs going to be in trouble so you can only be an improvement. Put that big confident smile on your face, it’s fuckin’ sexy by the way, and do what you gotta do.”

Bridget smiled, and she could almost feel Franky tugging at her jacket to emphasise her words before pulling her in for a reassuring kiss. Vera smiled uncertainly at her in return, the question in her eyes: will you help me?

Bridget shook her head slowly, dispelling the image and trying to bring back some focus. The pain behind her eyes was getting worse.

She smiled at Vera, a big confident smile.

“Fuckin’ sexy, Gidge.”

“Don’t worry, Vera,” Bridget said, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

****

Bridget wondered how long they’d both been there for, in the dimly lit and cold room, keeping count of breathing and contractions. She’d heard a helicopter a little while ago, but the sound was now long gone.

Vera held onto Bridget’s arms tightly. She was now naked from the waist down, sweat clinging to her as she pushed at Bridget’s orders. Bridget had rid herself of the teal hoodie earlier and it was folded between them, awaiting the arrival of Vera’s little girl.

“Okay, keep going, Vera,” Bridget reassured her firmly, “keep pushing, okay? Yeah, good. You’re doing really well.”

“It hurts so much,” Vera cried out as she caught her breath once more, “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Bridget rebuked, “I can see her, just a few more pushes, I promise.”

“You can see her?” Vera asked wildly, her eyes darting over Bridget’s face, “you can definitely see her?”

“I can see her,” Bridget replied, “and you’ll be able to see her too soon, but only if you push. Okay? On the count of three… one, two, three.”

Vera pushed, a strangled noise ripping from her throat as her grip on Bridget’s arms tightened painfully. Bridget’s vision blurred, the outer edges a white vignette against the dark room. The pain was excruciating and it suddenly felt like she was outside of her body, floating, distant…

“B-Bridget,” Vera panted, seeing her eyes glazing over for a brief moment, “I need you here. Stay with me!”

Bridget felt herself return, an aching thud as she landed back, and acknowledged Vera shakily, though her head was a cacophony of pain. She couldn’t do this.

“Not going anywhere,” she said instead as she gritted her teeth, “now push!”

Vera screamed, Bridget screamed, and then…

A baby screamed.

“Thank fuck!” Vera cried out, exhausted, as she all but collapsed back against the pipes behind her. Bridget quickly wrapped the baby in the hoodie, careful with the umbilical cord that still attached the little girl to her mother. She softly stroked the baby’s head, once, twice, with a wide smile even as her head swam, before she handed the wailing bundle over to Vera.

Vera looked Bridget over, smiling despite everything.

“You’ll have to throw away that leather jacket,” she murmured, a giggle bubbling over and out of her.

Bridget looked down at her now completely spoiled white jacket and sighed. She grit her teeth as the pain overwhelmed her.

“Franky’s gonna kill me,” she replied slowly, feeling the words heavy in her mouth, “she loves me… in this jacket.”

“I think in these circumstances,” Vera said solemnly, “she’ll forgive you. After all, we made it out alive and that’s what counts.”

Bridget hummed in agreement and continued to watch through narrowed eyes as Vera gently coo at her daughter.

“What are you going to call her?”

Vera smiled.

“Grace.”

Bridget nodded, satisfied. Grace.

“I’m sorry,” Bridget whispered finally.

Vera looked over at Bridget, confused. She opened her mouth to ask, but it transformed to a cry of her name as Bridget’s eyes rolled up into the back of her head.

Protect Vera and Grace.

She’d failed.

She felt weightless, the pain in her head receding as the darkness greeted her. She thought she felt gentle hands on her arms as she fell backwards, a warm body pressing into her from behind and the softest whisper from a familiar voice;

“Shhhh, I’ve got you Gidge. You’re gonna be okay.”

****

A small crowd was gathering outside the prison, and Franky had pushed herself to the front over an hour ago.

She’d texted Bridget earlier in the day but hadn’t received a response, which wasn’t unusual in itself as Bridget often couldn’t get to her locker and phone until breaks. However, when her afternoon break had come and gone, and Franky hadn’t heard from her, she’d started to worry.

What if she’s been shivved?

Nuh, no-one would hurt Gidge. They all love her.

What if someone was on drugs and did it?

Franky had tried calling Vera then, but her calls kept going through to voicemail. She tried the main prison switchboard, but had received no response. What the fuck was going on?

She’d finished work early and had raced over to the prison, parking up as she watched media outlets filter in, all rushing around eagerly trying to find the perfect angle of the main entrance to Wentworth.

Something had happened.

Now an hour later, and armed with the knowledge that there had been some kind of lockdown hostage scenario playing out behind the solid concrete walls, Franky was craning her neck impatiently as officers and staff started to exit the building.

She spotted Will Jackson walking out, alongside several paramedics, as two gurneys were wheeled behind them. On one of them a smiling Vera was sat up, cradling a bundle in her arms, a baby swathed in pale yellow blankets. On the other was-

“Gidge!”

 Franky pushed past the crowd and security that were trying to hold her back. She felt a fierce grip on her arm and tried to shake them off but to no avail.

“Mr Jackson! MR JACKSON!” She called out desperately and sighed with relief as Will, his dark knit sweater and patches lending authority to his already imposing physique, turned his attention from Vera and her baby over to Franky. His eyes flickered over to Bridget, unconscious on the gurney, and nodded.

“Let her in!” he called out, “I’ll vouch for her, just let her through!”

The security released Franky and she pulled her arm back defiantly before running over to Bridget. She took her hand, clasping it tightly as she moved with the paramedics toward the ambulances.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked desperately, never taking her eyes off of Bridget’s slack face.

“Siege,” was all Will replied curtly as he turned back to check on Vera who was being wheeled in unison.

“Bridget tried to talk them out of the situation and was clocked with a gun,” Vera explained as they went, her eyes flitting between her baby and Bridget, “two women died in the process. We got separated from the others when my waters broke and she stayed with me to deliver Grace. I-I don’t think we’d be here without her.”

“So why is she unconscious?”

“He hit her pretty hard…” Vera trailed off for a moment, “I think she was seeing things at one point. The way she smiled… I think she was seeing you.”

It was the closest Vera had ever come to openly ascribing their relationship as anything positive, but right now Franky didn’t care and her eyes remained glued to Bridget.

“She’s okay, right?” Franky asked the paramedics near her as they pulled at Bridget’s eyelids, shining a light in to her eyes, “she’ll be okay?”

“We won’t know the extent of any damage until we get her to the hospital,” the paramedic explained, “She’ll need scans. Most head wounds superficially look worse than they are, but as she isn’t conscious it’s difficult to assess right now.”

“I’m going with her,” Franky squeezed Bridget’s hand tighter and thought she felt the smallest pressure back.

“Are you a relation?”

“She’s her partner,” Will cut in exhaustedly, still by Vera’s side, “Ms Westfall will want her there.”

Suddenly, the pressure on Franky’s hand increased and she watched as Bridget’s eyes cracked open. Bridget let out a soft moan as the light from the sun above beat down on her, and she tried to lift her arm to shade herself, but Franky stopped the motion.

“Gidge,” she exhaled, relieved. Her hand came up and rested on Bridget’s cheek.

“Am I hallucinating again?” Bridget whispered, her voice raspy. Her eyes scanned Franky’s angular face, memorising the dimpled smile. She seems real enough…

“Nuh, I’m here Gidge,” Franky replied tenderly, now moving her other hand and cradling Bridget’s face, “I’ve got you, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Only then, when she felt Franky lean down and press her forehead so softly against her own, careful of the dried blood, her hands cradling Bridget’s face so gently and delivering sweet assurances through her warm skin, did Bridget finally crumble.

There was no time for gentle tears running down her cheeks. Instead, grief hit Bridget like a wave and Franky was helpless to do anything but gently soothe her, one hand leaving her cheek and running through her matted blonde hair as she whispered affection and comforts

“Shhhh,” Franky whispered, rubbing their noses together sweetly, “I’m here now. You’re okay, let yourself go.”

I almost died, Bridget wanted to tell Franky, I watched two women die. They didn’t deserve to die. I was so fucking scared. I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t stay with Vera and Grace. I failed them all.

Every sentence that Bridget wanted to say aloud turned into a heaving sob, and her body shook as Franky continued to comfort her. Bridget couldn’t breathe, her head bursting as the pressure of her crying became too much, in turn causing her to cry more.

“I was so fucking worried when you didn’t answer your phone,” Franky whispered, feeling tears threaten her own eyes as she looked so closely at Bridget’s face, “I got here to pick you up and all the cops and paramedics were here. I thought the worst.”

Another dam broke and an agonised cry ripped from Bridget’s throat.

Franky was crying freely herself now, torn apart at seeing her partner in so much pain. She dropped and buried her face in Bridget’s neck, her arm reaching across and pulling Bridget into an entirely uncomfortable hug on the gurney. 

“I failed,” Bridget sobbed, her voice muffled as she buried her face into the top of Franky’s head, “I failed. I failed. I failed.”

“Shhh,” Franky soothed, refusing to let go of Bridget, “you didn’t fail, okay?”

“They’re dead,” Bridget continued to sob, “and I couldn’t… I fucking failed them.”

“It’s been a helluva day, Gidge,” Franky reassured her, thinking back quickly on Vera’s words: two women died. She must be feeling the weight of that, “but you helped get as many of those women out as you could. Vera and her baby are alive. You’re alive.”

Bridget shook in Franky’s arms, not taking in a word she said.

I failed.

Franky pulled away, her red, teary eyes looking around desperately for inspiration. Vera sat nearby, still in the process of being checked over before departure to the hospital. Perfect!

“Vera!” Franky called out, and Vera startled, looking over, “can I…?”

She indicated baby Grace, held tightly in her mother’s arms and looking at Franky curiously. There was a slight reluctance to be parted from her baby, but Vera realised her intention as she watched Bridget continue to collapse in on herself. She nodded stiffly, and Franky marched a few steps over, gently taking the weight of Grace in her arms.

Well this is a new experience. The things I do for you, Gidge.

Franky walked back to Bridget, the small bundle cocooned in her arms. She leant down slightly and Bridget caught sight of a cherub-like face, beautiful large eyes staring back at her from amongst the yellow blanket she was swaddled in.

“Look at her face, okay?” Franky pleaded, rocking the baby, “look at her. You didn’t fail her or Vera. This baby is alive and she is here because of you. You helped them, Gidge. In my books, you’re a fuckin’ hero.”

Bridget just watched as Franky rocked baby Grace gently, trying her hardest to convince Bridget that she had done something, something good, in all of this. Her sobs died down, though tears continued to track down her cheeks.

“Franky,” Will’s voice startled Franky from behind, “the ambulance is departing, Vera needs Grace.”

Franky sighed, handing the small bundle gently back to Will. She wiped tears from her face, knowing that Bridget had calmed slightly but that it may not have been enough.

“I love you,” Bridget finally exhaled between her tears, “I love you so fucking much. I saw you… you were with me every time I-“

“-Shhh, I know,” Franky grabbed Bridget’s hand one more, encasing it between her own, and leant down, placing soft kisses in Bridget’s dishevelled hair before delivering a swift kiss to her lips, “I love you too, yeah? I love you too. You didn’t fail them. You’re here.”

Bridget continued to cry, softer this time, and Franky continued to comfort her, every so often placing a gentle kiss on her lips, her cheek, her hair, knowing that this was a trauma that the psychologist was going to need time to overcome.

“Now, we need to get you to the hospital,” Franky whispered after a few moments as she saw the tears lessen, “They think you’ve got a nasty head wound, Gidge.”

“In a minute,” Bridget said, knowing that Franky was absolutely right. She could barely lift her head up, “I just want… to be with you for a little while longer.”

Franky squeezed her hand gently and nuzzled her nose in Bridget’s hair.

“My jacket is ruined.”

“I’m gutted,” Franky murmured, “but jackets can be replaced. You can’t.”

Bridget sniffed once, twice.

“It’s not my blood on it.”

“I know.”

“I failed.”

“You’re alive.”