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Despite what some might think, Joan Ferguson had not always hated Christmas. There was a time when she liked the holiday; in fact, it used to be her favourite time of year, not for the promise of presents or treats, but because it was the one day of the year her father and mother didn’t fight.
It was more to maintain appearances than anything else; Christmas brought family visiting, and Ivan had a reputation to uphold, which meant presenting as a good husband and father, at least once a year.
Whatever the reason, young Joan savoured every minute of the holiday, counting down the days till it came again almost immediately after it ended.
Of course, it had all been ruined when her mother had died or rather been murdered. And her father had relocated them to Australia. Leaving behind her last remaining ounce of childhood. They’d stopped celebrating Christmas after that, and Joan’s love of the holiday had grown to loathing.
If it were possible, her dislike for the day grew even more now that she was in prison.
It was Christmas Eve, and for some inane reason, the women were ridiculously cheery. Of course, there were a few, mostly newcomers, who were sombre about spending the holidays behind bars, but an overall lightness in the air greatly overshadowed their sadness.
The teal walls of the prison were plastered with homemade Christmas decorations, and Joan scowled at them as she passed by. Cheesy Christmas music echoed from the dining hall she’d recently exited. Joan hadn’t even bothered trying the slop they’d served this evening, having had less of an appetite than usual.
The music had long since faded when she finally reached her block, relieved to find it empty. She slipped inside her cell quickly, revelling in the false sense of security brought by the closed door and savouring the peace and quiet that was exceedingly rare in this hellhole.
She sat down on her bed and surveyed her cell. It was empty, barren, in fact; it barely looked like anyone lived there at all, save for the small collection of books, toiletries and clothes she’d accumulated during her months here. There were no posters, no drawings, certainly no photos on the walls. Joan liked it that way; she wasn’t staying here long, that’s what she always told herself. But right now, it made her feel unbearably lonely. The empty teal walls mocked her, serving as a reminder that she had no one, no one missed her, and no one cared.
For the first time since returning to Wentworth, Joan wished her father would appear. She wasn’t sure what kept him away now that she’d long since stopped taking the medication they’d prescribed at that cesspool of a psychiatric hospital.
She felt a wave of nausea at the thought of that place, and white hot panic laced through her, making her feel both hot and cold as unwelcome memories flashed to the forefront of her mind.
Suddenly, the silence of her cell wasn’t as appealing as it had been moments before, and Joan found her mind spiralling into darker and darker places. Thoughts of both her time in the psychiatric hospital and, more recently, the incident in the showers replayed behind her eyes and made her breath become erratic.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply. Her fists clenched, nails biting into the palms of her hands as she tried to banish those memories. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of anything else. It hardly ever worked, but tonight it did. Perhaps it was some Christmas miracle that she found herself recalling a memory she’d almost forgotten.
It had been around this time of the year, and her father had been out on business, so her mother had taken her to see The Nutcracker. Joan could still recall the music filling her ears; she’d been entranced from the moment the ballet started, and despite her young age, had sat still the entire time as she watched the magnificent performance. Her mother had bought Joan the record for Christmas that year, and the young girl had played it constantly. So much so that by spring, her father grew fed up and smashed it in front of the little girl.
Joan remembered years later, as a teen, already jaded and weary of the world, learning a piece from the ballet on her violin. She remembered crying as she played and longing for the mother she’d lost too young.
Now locked away behind bars, Joan found herself mimicking playing her once beloved instrument. In her mind, she could hear the soft music of “Waltz of the Flowers” as her fingers moved in the air, feeling a tremendous amount of calm wash over her.
A soft knock interrupted her reminiscing, and her hands flew to her sides.
Who could that be?
“Ferguson?” Vera’s soft voice answered her question.
Joan grit her teeth. She really wasn’t in the mood for their verbal sparring tonight, but she was left with little option; clearly, the younger woman knew she was in, and she was in no position to turn her away.
As if to taunt her, there was another knock, and the soft voice asked again, “Ferguson?”
“You may enter,” she responded tightly.
Vera opened the door, the twinkle of amusement in her eye that usually accompanied these interactions had been replaced with a look of uncertainty as she stepped into the small cell, closing the door behind her.
Joan raised a sculpted brow at the action, noting that Vera had something tucked behind her back. Had it been anyone else in the prison, she would have been worried, but it was Vera, and so it only spawned intrigue. Her dark eyes sparkled with curiosity as she observed the smaller woman, who shifted awkwardly on her feet.
“Good evening, Vera, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She drawled.
“It’s Governor.” Vera snapped
“Governor.” Joan corrected herself, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.
“You weren’t at dinner.”
“I was, but I left. The atmosphere in the canteen made me lose my appetite.”
“You mean the women embracing the holidays and being cheerful for once?”
“Precisely,” Joan replied, twisting her ponytail around her long, pale fingers.
Vera scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking as if she was questioning why she’d come to the cell.
“Is that why you’ve come all this way, Vera?”
“Governor.” She corrected Joan again.
“Is that why you’ve come all this way, Governor? To question my whereabouts at dinner?”
Vera rolled her eyes again, looking up at the ceiling. Finally, she produced something from behind her back, stretching her arm out towards Joan, and revealed a tin full of Christmas cookies.
Joan’s brow furrowed, looking from Vera to the tin and back.
“What’s this?” She asked dumbly.
“Christmas cookies,” Vera replied, stating the obvious and pushing the tin forward once more.
“I can see that, Vera, but why are they here? Why not bring them to your officers? Or have you forgotten that I am now a prisoner here, not your colleague; there’s no longer a need for such niceties.”
Vera scoffed again, no longer bothering to correct Joan on her title and dragged her free hand across her face in exasperation.
“God, you make things so difficult.” She muttered before taking a seat beside Joan on the thin, prison-issued mattress. “I already gave the staff theirs, these are for you, they’re a…gift.” She stated awkwardly, once more shoving the tin forward towards Joan, who finally took them reluctantly.
The older woman looked down in awe at the collection of delicious-looking cookies decorated with icing sugar Christmas trees. She wasn’t usually one for sweets, but so much time spent locked away without any indulgence seemed to have changed that, and she found her mouth watering at the sight.
“They’re shortbread.” Vera said shyly, “dairy-free.”
The look of awe Joan wore was now directed at Vera. She opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. She swallowed against a lump in her throat, looking down once more.
“…thank you,” Joan said quietly. Trying to ignore the strange feeling in her chest. “But… why?”
Vera was quiet for a while, looking around the cell, anywhere but at Joan. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and finally looked up, much to Joan’s surprise; tears shone in the smaller woman’s eyes.
“It’s Christmas and…we were friends once… before all of this.” Vera gestured vaguely around them. “…Weren’t we?” She asked, so quietly that Joan barely heard her, her voice shaking as if she were afraid of what the answer might be.
Joan looked into those blue orbs to find a look of desperation that would usually disgust her. Now it only filled her with regret, knowing she’d put that there, that she’d ruined their relationship, that she’d hurt the woman she cared so deeply for.
“Yes… Yes, we were,” Joan nodded, trying to ignore the tears welling in her eyes. “Vera I-“
“At dinner…you said you wanted to be…more than a mentor to me.”
Joan nodded again, but remained silent.
“Did you mean a friend? Or…or more than that?” Vera asked quietly, her lips trembling slightly, desperately searching Joan’s dark eyes for answers.
“I…” Joan clamped her mouth shut, shocked to find she was about to answer her truthfully.
“I wanted us to be more…more than friends,” Vera replied in a choked voice.
Joan’s mouth fell open in shock. Vera’s blue orbs shone with such sincerity that she was transfixed. She simply stared into those eyes, taking in the beauty of the younger woman. Reluctantly, reminiscent of that fateful dinner so long ago, she took Vera’s hand gently and squeezed it.
“Me too,” Joan replied shakily.
Tears finally fell from Vera’s eyes as a broken sob escaped her lips. Joan felt her heart clench, and she swallowed thickly, wishing she could take away all the pain she’d cause the younger woman. Without thinking, she leaned forward and gently kissed those soft, full lips like she’d imagined doing so many times before.
As quickly as it started, Joan pulled away, shocked and frightened by her actions.
“I’m sorry.” She sputtered, eyes wide.
Vera stared back at her in awe. Joan desperately wanted to look away under the weight of the gaze, but for some reason, it felt like a betrayal to the shorter woman. So she allowed the blue eyes to look into her soul, one that many thought didn’t exist, a feeling of vulnerability growing with each second.
And then Vera was kissing Joan, her lips moving against the older woman's, a tanned hand coming up to cup a pale cheek as the kiss deepened. Their tongues met briefly, and Joan inadvertently let out a moan. Her hand found the small of Vera’s back, moving up towards her shoulder, before she froze as she felt the shiny crowns that now resided there. The moment shattered, and they broke apart, breathing heavily.
“We… we shouldn’t,” Joan murmured, looking away guiltily.
Vera nodded in agreement, looking disappointed. “You’re right… I’m sorry I-I shouldn’t have come here I-“
“Vera, hush,” Joan said softly. “I’m… I’m glad you did.” She added, smiling shyly.
Vera smiled back at her, brushing away her tears.
“Would you like one?” Joan asked, gesturing to the tin.
“Oh. No, those are for you.”
“I’d like to share them with you.”
“Alright.”
Vera agreed, smiling as she took a cookie and bit into it. Joan did the same, and they ate them in comfortable silence.
“These are good, very good,” Joan remarked.
“Thank you.”
Vera cast a glance at the small window to Joan’s cell before resting her head against the older woman’s broad shoulder.
“I miss you.” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Now free from the younger woman’s gaze, Joan finally let a tear fall as she once again tried to swallow against the lump in her throat.
“I miss you too.” She croaked, discreetly wiping away the treacherous tear. If Vera noticed, she didn’t say anything, and Joan was grateful for it.
They sat in silence once more, enjoying each other's presence.
“It’s quite barren in here,” Vera spoke after a while, looking up at Joan, still resting against her broad shoulder.
“Hmm,” Joan replied, as if this was the first time she’d noticed.
“I could… I could bring some things from your home for you, if you'd like? Photos or…” she trailed off as Joan tensed before shifting slightly, prompting Vera to move.
“That’s quite all right, Vera. I won’t be here long, there’s no need.” She replied haughtily.
The younger woman’s face fell, and her brow furrowed with concern.
“Are you sure?”
“Perfectly,” Joan snapped. “Vera, perhaps it’s time you leave. We wouldn’t want anyone to come looking for you.”
Vera nodded, frowning. “Alright.” She stood, straightening her uniform as she did, casting a worried glance at Joan as she made her way to the door.
“Thank you for the cookies,” Joan said softly, eyes on the tin she held in her hands. “They were very good.”
“You’re welcome.” Vera smiled. “Merry Christmas, Joan.”
“Merry Christmas, Vera,” Joan replied, looking up finally, her dark eyes filled with longing and regret. “For what it’s worth, I’m…sorry, for everything.”
“Me too,” Vera replied, voice sounding choked. She pushed the door open and made to leave, only to turn back. “I’ll see you again soon, to pick up the tin.”
A small spark of hope ignited in Joan’s chest at the prospect of another meeting like this, and she smiled slightly, nodding.
“I’d like that.“