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It was Erica who made the mistake of sitting down first at the small prison library table.
Quick as a whip, Franky had slipped deftly into the hard plastic chair directly next to her, not opposite as Erica had come to expect. The closeness of the other woman’s body impressed upon her like a force, pitching her balance. She had sworn to herself that she was going to get through this meeting without this rush of feelings. It looked like she was off to a bad start.
Their eyes met, briefly, Erica attempting to keep her face both impassive and mildly disapproving at the same time. It was a permanent veil she needed to stand behind, or else it felt like her whole life could come crashing down around her. She tried to mentally will Franky to realise her mistake and take a step back from that thin line between professional and a way too personal relationship. As usual, the dark haired woman returned her gaze unflinchingly, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that lit up her whole face and simultaneously flattered and mocked. It was a question, a challenge.
Erica sighed.
'What have you got to show me today, Franky?', she asked, immediately regretting her poor choice of words as the smile on Franky's face deepened, revealing her perfect teeth and a sparkling light in her eyes.
'...Depends what you wanna see...?' She bit her lip and grinned, leaning forward.
Erica looked away, clearing her throat and taking a fistful of papers in front of her with both hands, fiercely settled down to work.
They sat side-by-side, Erica’s eyes firmly on the notes and readings Franky had made over the previous fortnight. The subject was statistics, a topic Erica had found inordinately dull in her own studies. But she had a job to do, and Franky’s notes were thorough. And insightful. The prisoner was excelling at her studies, not that anyone should be surprised. It seemed as though no one had ever given her the chance and support needed to express her intelligence, and in doing so, to shine...
Fifteen minutes in, and Erica’s thoughts had drifted. She was thinking more about the woman sitting an inch to her right than the tome of paper before her. It was the closeness that bothered her. Or was it the fact that she knew Fletch was lingering on the other side of the room behind them, keeping watch over their study session? She was too anxious to steal a look over her shoulder at the man, to see how much he was seeing. She did glance at Franky, who seemed like she had settled in to the session and was now making notes over the draft of an essay.
Erica relaxed palpably. She took a deep breath, suddenly realising she had stopped breathing some time ago. All too quickly, she became aware of the warm scent of Franky’s body so close to her. She smelled like clean laundry and, inexplicably, the clear, heady smell of skin warmed by direct sunlight. Erica stopped breathing again as a heat grew through her chest and a pressure bloomed low in her stomach. She felt a feather-touch along her leg, which had abruptly become warm. She realised then that Franky's thigh had pressed sideways against hers. She breathed in again, glimpsing in her periphery only one bare arm of her ward stretched out over the papers on the table.
Franky's fingertips running gently up Erica's thigh where their bodies met seemed too light a sensation for the Governor to ask her to stop. It seemed somehow more appropriate to ignore it. But now she had an uncontainable need to look up to her right. Franky's eyes were fixed on her papers, face almost neutral but for a practically imperceptible smirk, and that same damn light in her eyes. By all appearances, she was really into the collection, analysis, presentation and interpretation of data.
Erica's lips parted as she tried to force air into her lungs. A voice flared in her mind, demanding, 'That'd be you in denial...'. Something which had been said to her, that continued to echo in her thoughts.
Erica's eyes panned around behind them to Fletch, six rows of tables behind them, who was intently alternating his attention between some invisible dirt under his fingernails and the view from the second storey window he was standing at. She turned back around to the desk, picked up her pen and closed her eyes.
Franky felt the smooth fabric beneath her fingers and watched out of the corner of her eye as Erica’s body stiffened, and then relaxed. She forced herself to breathe, and stay looking straight ahead. The feeling of the woman’s body touching hers overwhelmed her, she was aware of her heart kicking her chest, and a pounding that came lower in her body. She felt the Governess look behind them, and the way she settled back in her seat was all the permission Franky needed. She saw Erica quietly bite her bottom lip as fingers slipped upwards the slender waistline of her skirt, catching the satin fabric of her blouse. Pressing harder now, Franky felt the gentle rise of the woman’s hipbone and heard the quavering breath inches from her cheek. She risked a look now at the stunning woman beside her, and found her forehead furrowed, eyes closed and lips parted. If she hadn’t known better, Franky would have said she was in pain.
The white satin of the Governor’s shirt where it tucked into her skirt was the softest thing Franky had touched in years. Her hand slid gently back and forth along Erica’s hip, all the time pushing towards the centre of the woman’s body, feeling the heat of her skin beneath the cloth. The shirt seemed to come untucked by itself, and abruptly, strong fingers found themselves pressed against smooth white skin beneath the woman’s waistline, their first real touch of skin on skin.
An explosion of fire seemed to ignite in Erica’s stomach, whorling up the back of her throat and down over her skin. She curled forward involuntarily, eyes pressing out a sudden tear.
A moan somewhat more akin to a whimper escaped into the air, its origins unknown. Franky’s eyes flashed to the place where Erica had been sitting, and then to her face where she now stood nearly two metres away. It seemed to Franky that the sound of the chair grating backwards followed a heartbeat after their eyes made contact. She was breathing raggedly, and her fingers felt more empty than they had ever been. Erica was flushed and breathless too, pressed against the wall looking from Franky to Fletch and back again. The guard had not even turned around, though it was clear from the prisoner’s eyes that it was Erica who had softly cried out.
Looking down at the raven-haired woman, Erica was struck with the realisation of what she saw reflected back at her. A desperation, sadness, fear. She could distinguish quite clearly in Franky’s gaze what she hadn’t allowed herself to guess at: the woman loved her.
With shaking hands she straightened her clothes and brushed at her face. Their eyes remained locked until Erica broke the gaze, and glanced at Fletch’s back.
‘We’re going.’ She said steadily, marching past the guard and the prisoner left trembling in her chair.
‘Isn’t it...early..?’ Fletch mumbled to the room in general, turning first to look at the clock high on the wall, and then from Franky to the retreating form of the Governor and back again.
Franky’s mouth lifted at the side as she shrugged, ‘some meeting...or something. She must've forgotten. What can you do?’.
Fletch stared hard at the bright eyes of the suddenly small-looking woman in the otherwise empty room.
‘Hm’, he muttered, and followed his superior out into the hall.