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She Sends Kisses	By : Prophecy Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > FemmeSlash - Female/Female > Buffy/Faith Views: 3032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy and I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Part Two: All's Well in Hell

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It was almost time for lights out after that phone call, which meant that, thankfully, no one saw me crying. My cellmate, Jay, came in and didn't even look twice at me before climbing up to her bunk and passing out. Lucked out on bunkies, I guess, 'cause Jay's deaf, so no one bothers talking to her. Story goes that she was dating her translator and he cheated on her with her sister. She found out and took a knife to him in his sleep. He lived, but he ain't gonna be breeding anytime soon.

Anyway, Jay ain't gonna tell anyone about how big bad Faith was sobbing into her tanktop.

Early the next morning, I pace back and forth in my cell. She really got to me. I mean, *really*. It was hot at first, all those sounds she was making.. I mean, damn. I thought I was gonna bust a nut right there at the phone.

I replay the conversation in my head over and over again, trying to figure out when exactly I crossed the line between horny and pissed. But it's completely blurred, which just makes me even more pissed off.

*I'm* the one supposed to be blurring the lines and fucking with her head. Yeah, maybe we've both done our share of mindfucking, but I'm supposed to be better at it than her. Lifetime of practice and all that. But if we're playing a game, it's pretty obvious she won the last round.

The morning bell goes off the minute the sun peeks through the building's windows. No windows in my cell, of course, but I've got a pretty good view anyway. I reach up and slap Jay's leg, and she sits up sleepily and signs 'Thank you', which is one of the only signs I know. And only 'cause she wrote it down for me. Before that, I figured she was flipping me off.

I sign back 'You're welcome' and she smiles a little bit. Maybe it's corny, but I'm trying to learn as much sign language as I can from her. As much as it sucks being in here, it must suck even more to be completely ignored.

We take our place just outside the cell door as the guards come by to do inspection. While they poke and prod around all our stuff, my mind wanders to that phone call again, and I get lost in it until I feel a sharp jab in my ribs.

I come to and realize I've got my fists clenched and my jaw set, and I must look like I'm about to blow. The guard who poked me with his billy club, a really hot black guy a little older than me named Ricky, just frowns a little and raises an eyebrow. "We gonna have a problem today, Lehane?" he asks, but it's not that mocking tone you get from some of the guards. Ricky's dad's a lifer, that's why he went into corrections in the first place, and he kinda has this crazy idea that even though we did some fucked up things, we're still human.

Go figure.

I shake my head. "Nah, I'm five by five."

He just looks at me seriously. "Carol wants to see you today."

Carol is my shrink. I dunno what her qualifications are, but she's gotta be pretty gutsy to stroll in here the way she does in a pair of heels and a business suit and not even bat an eye at the obscene catcalls. I frown. "I just saw her."

He shrugs. "You know how them damn bleeding-heart therapists are."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Not that I don't like Carol, but if I gotta hear about my inner child one more time, I'm gonna scream.

Ricky taps his club against the bars. "Better get to the showers, or you're gonna miss breakfast."

I nod and sign 'shower' to Jay, who looks a little confused, which probably means I've got the wrong sign. Instead, I mime scrubbing my arms and she laughs--weirdest sound ever, by the way--and we grab our towels and head towards the shower with her showing me the right sign. Apparently I was doing the sign for dumb, which is kinda fitting anyway.

We shower without incident, which is a nice change. Usually someone's gotta go getting handsy, but I guess everyone's too hungry to fuck around today.

Once we get to the cafeteria, I feel better. I'm not even thinking about that blonde bitch and her bony blonde fuckpuppet. I'm thinking about oatmeal, pancakes and eggs. All the things you hear about prison food is bullshit, let me tell you. Yeah, it's like school lunches, but it's hardly the worst thing I've had in my mouth. I grew up on stale Cheerios in a bowl of orange juice 'cause we had no milk, and uncooked pasta when the water got shut off.

This place is like the fucking Hilton, if you ask me.

Me and Jay load up on everything we can before we hit our usual table in the corner. We don't have a "full house" right now, as the warden puts it, so we pretty much have the table to ourselves. Usually we're crowded with fresh meat who figure out pretty quickly that I'm the one to hang out near. I'm not exactly a knight in shining armor, but I got sick of watching the newbies get pounded on every week. I put a couple girls in the infirmary, word got around, and now it's impossible to get a second alone outside my cell.

A few of the newer girls are sitting at the other end, picking at their food and avoiding each others' eyes. Stupid kids. If you can't crack skulls, the next best thing is making friends. Strength in numbers and all that.

I start chowing down, but the white noise of the cafeteria gets my mind wandering. What does Carol want? I know she's pretty into that touchy-feely crap, but we just had a session a couple days ago. I'm not due 'til next week.

Sometimes they make you have an extra session right after visitation, but, shit. No one's been to see me in months. Angel came pretty regular at first, and then it just kinda fizzled out. I got a call not too long ago, Cordy if you can believe it. She was asking all these weird questions about if my Watcher (my real one) had ever mentioned anything about pregnant vampires. I told her to quit sniffing glue, things got awkward, then we hung up.

Those people get weirder and weirder every year.

The only thing I can think of that Carol might wanna talk to me about is if some kind of bad news came down the pike. Shrinks get the awesome job of giving us bad news when no one else cares enough to do it at visitation.

Now I'm wracking my brain while my eggs get cold, trying to figure out what the news could be. Angel came to tell me when Buffy died, and came back a few months later to tell me she was back, which totally redefined the phrase "job hazard" for me. Obviously she hasn't kicked the bucket in the past twelve hours, so who else?

My mom's dead already, my dad's in prison and I don't think anyone would notice if he died. Or care enough to tell me.

Oh, shit. What if it's Angel? I can't see Cordy or Wes driving five hours to tell me Angel fits in a tupperware container, but Cordy might call. Maybe. That'd explain the lack of visits.

The more I think about it, the more paranoid I get. If Angel's gone, what shot do I have? Guy's like, my Yoda or something. I hate to admit it, but I've kinda depended on him to keep me on the straight and narrow.

"You gonna finish that?" I look up and this chick Lissie's standing over me, pointing at my plate. I pick it up and dump it on hers, and Jay looks at me like I've lost the plot. Usually I'm the one collecting leftovers to keep my Slayer metabolism from starving me to death overnight, but I suddenly don't have an appetite, at all.

"Thanks," she calls after me, as I head up to dump my tray. I wait impatiently while my plastic silverware's counted out, then haul ass to the door.

"Yo, Ricky told me I got a meeting with Carol," I tell the guard at the door. Must be a new guy, 'cause I don't know his name. "My therapist," I clarify.

He frowns. "What's your name?"

"Lehane." He glances down at his clipboard and flips a few pages, slowly scanning them. "L-E-H-A-N-E," I add, and I practically see a lightbulb go on over his head.

"Oh, yeah. Hold on." He picks up his walkie and speaks into it. "I've got Lehane here, for Carol Atkins."

The garbled voice comes through the line. "Send her up."

He nods--like whoever's on the line can see him--and says "Ten-four. You know where to go?"

I nod, and he steps out of the way. I practically jog through the hall until I hit the common room. Ricky gestures for me to follow him, and we walk in the opposite direction than usual. "We're not in visitation today?"

He shakes his head. "Warden's office." Oh, shit. I go a little pale, and he must see it. "I don't think you're in trouble, they just wanna talk to you."

You don't get pulled into the warden's to talk. You get pulled in there because they found a shank, or a ballon of coke, or because a visitor for you tried to bring you something you're not supposed to have. Or if you've got a court date or parole hearing, which isn't likely unless someone convinced Cochran to represent me.

Which means that someone probably panicked and planted something in my cell. If that's the case and they don't believe me, my sentence will be extended. I'm already doing 25 to life, but something like this, and I'll never be eligible for parole.

Shit, shit, shit.
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She Sends Kisses