Bad Girls Fan Fiction -->

A Pragmatic's Approach to Falling In Love
Genre: Helen/Nikki
Rating: PG-13
Teaser: Missing Scene- After quitting Larkhall, Helen's got some thinking to do.

A/n: Having just recently discovered the beauty of Nikki and Helen, I thought I'd give it a go.
Spoilers: S2, Ep 02
Comments: Missing Scene- After quitting Larkhall, Helen's got some thinking to do.


"Nikki, I need you to understand. You've turned my life inside out. I thought I knew which way I was going. I was doing the job that I wanted to do. I was committed to the man that I loved. There's no sign posts anymore. I don't know what to expect. Except that it won't be normal."


Her father hadn't been at all surprised when he was informed that she had resigned her governor's post.

"Didn't even give a notice, then?" he told her, in that disappointed, flat voice, that told her, as always, he had come to expect no better. "Gave you the sack?"

She bit her lip, an instinctive reaction, an attempt to keep her short temper in check, and found she didn't even have the energy for the tiresome rows that happened so frequently with her father. In the empty house, telephone pressed against the crook of her shoulder, staring out at the garden that needed weeding, Helen was exhausted.

In her father's eyes, she was a failure, but she would expect nothing less.

"No sir, I wasn't given the sack," she answered, biting off her words with an edge that she couldn’t help. "It's very long and complicated. But I don't expect to be out of work for very long."

"I see. And that fiancé of yours. He aware of this?"

She paused, distracted from staring at the disheveled appearance of a previously immaculately trim rosebush, now looking out of sorts, thorns jutting out defiantly. Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she took in a haggard breath, and considered how to reveal her broken engagement, whether to say it now, or drop bits and pieces, until her father put it together for himself.

A small, sadistic part of her did admit to wanting to doing it in person, imagining the look on her righteous father's face: "You see Father, I took a special interest in an inmate, and she took a special interest in me. Yes, da, it was a woman, a convicted murderer. Because of her, I quit my job and my engagement. Sean's moved out, I'm on my own, and still, can't seem to get her out of my head."

A rueful smile slipped over her features, and she pressed her lips together, holding her tongue. "Quite," she answered distractedly, and while her father mumbled on, she managed to cut him off before any further damage could be done. Placing the phone in it's cradle, she reasoned that the news about Sean could wait a few more month. Far be it from her to deny her father the right to think any less of her, particularly when he seemed to take such pleasure in it, but Helen reasoned, in a small bout of self pity, she had put herself through enough of her father's good will for the day.

Crossing her arms, she stayed at the window, staring at the garden, Sean's garden, his little bit that had had seemed determined to make his, growing scraggly and unkept, as if the plants were mourning the loss of their caretaker.

In the corner of her eye, she could easily picture loving hands, manipulating the foliage, green jumpsuit covered with a black and white, standard issue prison jacket, short dark hair and soft brown eyes, moving from her garden to the potting shed.

Sucking in her breath, Helen closed her eyes, and moved away from the window.

She was determined to get absolutely pissed.


"You don't give up, do you?"

Some people wallowed for days in their own self pity, doing nothing at all to improve the situation.

Helen Stewart was not one of those people. Ever since she was a child, she had resolved to make her own way. She told herself often enough it didn't matter if no one believed in her, because she believed quite enough in herself, and for the most part, she believed her own propaganda.

There was a peculiar consequence that had resulted in a rather healthy liquor bill, but Helen attributed that simply to her Scottish heritage.

The first week, she sat down at her coffee table with a notebook, determined to gather her mind together, face her prospects, and consider what was to be done about the situation she had found herself in.

All that had come out of that, had been a note to Nikki Wade.


"I know the prisoners are important to you, Helen, but that one's becoming an obsession."

Helen had analyzed it to death, staring up at her ceiling, trying to decipher when this... affair with Nikki had begun. Truth be told, she wasn't quite sure if it had happened all at once or gradually, so gently and unassuming that when the truth of it struck her, with a burning palm on Nikki's left breast, she had already sunk so deeply there was no hope of climbing out.

She had sorted and analyzed, in the previous crazed months, as Sean had gone on and on about his blasted wedding and Nikki waited for her on landings, with either a kind word or a confrontational one, depending on the day. Helen hadn't ever felt this sort of thing for women before. The connection with Nikki had been intense, but sexual?

When had she started to recognize the ache that grew inside of her, when she stared into luminous dark eyes, when she felt the breath of her charge against her cheek, until all Nikki had to do was lay her eyes on her and Helen wanted to run for the safety of her office, hide behind her title and her power?

It had angered her at first, frightened her next, and left her jolted somewhere in the middle of the two fevered emotions, unable to stay away from Nikki because of that intense connection.

She had craved it as much as she had tried to abhor it, and truthfully, Helen was as flummoxed by her failure to contain it as she was by the actual feelings that had grown inside her.

It had been easier to hide behind her ideals, to resign and walk away from the prison, than to stay and deal with what it meant.

To give up a title for a burning kiss, than stay for a lifetime of heartache, fighting against the need that had begun to consume her, tear her life apart.

Helen had never run away from a challenge before, but honestly, deep down, she understood.

Denying Nikki and what she brought inside her had been a battle Helen knew she couldn't ever win.


"Look, I'm not saying any of it's going to be easy, but it's not impossible, is it? Not if we both want to try."

There hadn't ever been anyone like Nikki before. Helen liked her men practical and passionate, but controlled.

Nikki was fierce and combustive, smart and loyal, tall and slender, with feminine hands and diamond earrings, designer labels, and a crooked smirk. Nikki wore her heart on her sleeve, and never backed down from a fight, not if it was for something she believed in.

Nikki read tragedies, at heart she was an incurable romantic. She had killed for the woman she loved, and hadn't once said she regretted it.

Nikki was stubbornly narrow minded, when she wanted to be. She could be spoiled and bratty, and once, when Helen was trying hard to make her see reason, Helen was considerably sure that Nikki would have threatened to hold her breath until she turned blue, just to get Helen to admit to her own feelings.

She was angry, volatile, and female.

She was an inmate, serving a life sentence for murder.

She was noble and beautiful and when she kissed her, Helen's insides quivered and the world fell away.

Helen knew, she would never forget her, not when just closing her eyes could bring back every touch, every glance, and every smile.

Helen missed Nikki terribly.


Helen, you can't leave me like this. This is shit.

Passion overrides reason, it was simple enough.

Helen approached things pragmatically, with no road map ahead of her.

She had wanted kids one day. She had wanted a wedding, with a groom and a white dress. She had secretly wanted her father's approval, just this once, and despite her fierce protestations, she had hoped he would have walked her down the aisle.

She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to leave the world better than she left it.

And she wanted Nikki Wade. Wanted her so badly.

Reason and logic were her friends, but passion was what drove her, to push aside the doubts and fears and normalcy in favor of her truth.

She left the garden purposely unweeded, and it gave her a purpose, every day as she drank her tea, to stare at the climbing vines, the little weeds poking their way between Sean's flowers, waiting for their caretaker.

It was a silly, sentimental gesture, like nothing she had done before, and it made her flush with sincere embarrassment to imagine even trying to explain why she refused to hire a gardener.

Phone calls were made, interviews were booked, and Helen Stewart had a plan, shaky and surreal, but she had beaten the odds before.

Acceptance had filled her with confidence and calm, and when she came home one day, after an extended meeting with Area Management, arms full of proposals and carefully worded 'perhaps' ringing in her ear, she came across a note and a visiting order.

A sentimental fool, she nearly dropped everything in her hands, staring at that little note, thumb creasing over the signature as if by extension, she could touch her.

Nikki had sent it on faith, on hope, and Helen smiled suddenly, eyes brilliant with unshed emotion.

Reaching into her things, she retrieved the card she had picked up only the day before, scrawling on the other side quickly.

Have V.O.


C.U. soon

Glancing up, Helen craned her neck, looking out toward the garden.

In the corner of her eye, she could easily picture loving hands, manipulating the foliage, dark trousers and a soft blue sweater, short dark hair and soft brown eyes, moving from her garden to the potting shed.

The thought made her smile.