As much as I like the Warden and the Mistress as a pairing, I'm largely examining in this fic why having them together wouldn't work. Opposites attract, but not all the time. Autumn refers to the Mistress, as she is in her prime, but she thinks ahead of her current age by focusing on logic and reasoning. The Warden, by contrast, is spring, having the mental state of a child.

The Mistress smirked at the red minus sign as she threw the second pregnancy test into the bathroom garbage can. Her reaction to the first had been much less dignified, consisting of a half-satisfied frown, and a slight leaning forward on the sink. The result had been the same, but now that it had been supplemented, she could stand dignified, and say it: she would not be bearing the Warden's illegitimate child.

The rod of her whip came down on her hand to emphasize her point as she entered her adjoining office. At least she could be thankful for that little piece of good news. There really wasn't a need to add insult to injury, a quite painful injury at that. She neatly pulled out her desk chair, and placed herself down on it before tugging it back in with her foot. Of all people she could have had intercourse with, not to mention for the first time, why the hell had it been the Warden?

The Mistress reached out, and pressed a button on the desk's side control panel. A moment later, Charice's nervous face, partially concealed by her clipboard, appeared on the screen. The shaking item the accountant was holding, as well as the waving of her red hair, further betrayed her nerves. "Y-yes ma'am?" She asked nervously.

"False alarm," the Mistress replied in a business-like tone, "All can be resumed as normal." Technically, not very much had changed at Ultraprison for the past couple of weeks, save for the demeanor of the Mistress herself. She had been more on edge. As a domino effect, the prison had suffered. She flew off the handle on occasion with Charice, causing the smaller woman to develop a sort of fearful attitude around her. She had also ordered Bruce to drill the inmates even harder, resulting in a rather disquieting lack of background noise in the prison yard during free hours due to the women's exhaustion. Even the massive janitorial staff had taken a blow, with their boss forcing them to scrub out all areas of the prison thrice in one day.

True, the Mistress had taken the pill the first chance she got, and she hadn't displayed any early symptoms of pregnancy, but that hadn't completely extinguished the dread of what might happen. At least she'd managed to bury part of it in paperwork, and in receiving hopeful statistics from Nova as to her success in remaining without child. Only Nova and Charice had known. Bruce had thought that the change had been due to the loss of the bet. "I suppose an apology is also in order. I admit I should not have treated you that way," the Mistress added without breaking the briskness of her voice.

The clipboard was lowered. "Oh, uh, thank-you, ma'am."

"Good, now that that order of business has been handled, I'll inform Bruce."

The Mistress was about to cut the transmission when Charice quickly asked, "Um, ma'am?"

She paused. "Yes?"

Visibly gulping, she inquired, "Do you think you should inform the Warden of Superjail?"

The Mistress frowned, causing her accountant to shrink back. "Of course I will," she gestured toward the phone, "although I'd rather do it this way, for obvious reasons." Charice's face fell even further, and her boss resisted the urge to groan. The last thing she needed to deal with was an office romance between Charice and Jared. Her assistant's face disappeared as she offlined the screen. She would get over it.

Telling Bruce about the change was easy, somewhat. He wasn't thrilled about going easier on the inmates, but at least he didn't go through such a range of emotions as Charice. That left the desk phone, resting just past a stack of paperwork she needed to complete later. She wanted to get it over with quick, but at the same time, she loathed it. After the slap on the ass, the last thing the Mistress wanted to hear was the man child's voice.

She rose suddenly to bring down the whip on the desk, rustling the papers. Her teeth were gritted. How dare he take advantage of her when she wasn't in control of her own functions! This was exactly why she had abstained from such a thing in the past. Then what was to be expected from him? The Warden as a father? Ha! What an idea! He'd be too busy looking out for himself. She wouldn't do the same, but Ultraprison needed her leadership. If the child had in fact existed, its only "parent" would either have been Nova, or that outdated hunk of junk, Jailbot. It was definitely for the best that that hadn't come true.

Despite the Mistress' refusal to accept it, however, there was another hand to this, a very small hand at that. The Warden, although this was probably in an attempt to flaunt his worth, did offer her staff, her inmates, and her a shelter after their ship crash landed. He could just as easily have attempted to kick them out, or worse…Speaking of which, even when she had been fully exposed to him, he didn't physically assault her, save for the slap on the rump afterwards, and a rather embarrassing hickey beneath her right breast. Hell, he even cuddled with her afterward. Still, the lack of a condom was unforgiveable, as was his calling her a "loser."

Oh, how she would love to have him visit Ultraprison, just one time. She'd switch out that little bowtie of his for a dog collar and leash, attach the latter to her desk, and discipline him accordingly. The Mistress lifted the whip back up, tapping it against her hand. That was a fantasy, and she had to let it go. She closed her eyes and breathed in to compose herself. Once the breath was released, she picked the phone up and dialed, balancing her whip in the crook of her arm. As the phone began to ring, she drummed her fingers impatiently on the receiver, and hoped that this would take ten minutes maximum.

XXXXXX

Careful, careful…

The Warden squinted, placing his chin parallel to his desk. He slowly raised his gloved hand, his thumb and forefinger forming the shape of an O. He bit down hard on his tongue, but not without suppressing a grunt of frustration. A split second later, the soft pinking noise of one marble hitting another was heard. The Warden practically pounced on his desk, his chin just barely resting on the tips of his fingers as he watched with eager anticipation. He rose up on the balls of his feet as he repeatedly whispered, "Come on, come on," at a rapid tempo.

The blue marble, having been struck by the now-stationary yellow, careened in a diagonal pattern toward the green. It was at just the precise angle to either guarantee success or failure. Unfortunately for the Warden, the latter occurred, with the blue stopping on the black game mat just short of scraping the green. "DAMMIT!" The Warden roared, rising from his chair, and bringing his fist down on the desk, rattling the marbles. "Why the hell does this have to be so hard?" He yelled, swiping the marbles clean off the desk with one sweep of his arm. They effectively bounced all over the office, ricocheting off the floor, walls, glass, and door.

The Warden absent-mindedly watched as he calmed himself down, his interest growing as the marbles continued their little dance. His chin hit his hands, his elbows propped on the desk. Now, this was entertainment. The initial purpose of these objects had been only to infuriate him. Speaking of infuriate…A small smile curled on his lips. It would be ten times more fun to watch if the marbles were filled with screaming inmates. He went over to one of the now-stationary marbles, a red one, and picked it up with a grin. He rolled it from one palm of his hand to the other in contemplation. It was simple. All he had to do was encase the prisoners in gigantic, clear orbs, and bounce them off of each other in a massive basin. The splatters of blood and vomit would provide the colors for the marbles. Of course, a few added features, such as spikes within the spheres, and catapults built into the basin itself at odd intervals, would make things quite interesting.

The Warden's attention was caught by the creak of the door swinging open. He looked over to see Jared's little form popping into the room with a hurried "Sir!" A moment later, Jared took a plunge due to the mess of marbles.

The Warden managed to make it halfway over to him before the shorter man bit the dust. His thoughts had still been lingering on his rather graphic fantasy, and therefore had distracted him from catching his poor employee. Pulling the whimpering accountant up by the back of his shirt collar, he admonished, "You really should be more careful, Jared."

Rubbing his head, he replied, "Sir, it's a little hard to that while those are all over the floor!"

Rolling his eyes, the Warden responded, "I have no trouble moving around, but if you insist…" He bent at a ninety-degree angle to pick up a few one-by-one.

"Um, sir?" Jared asked tentatively.

With a huff, the Warden straightened himself up, turning. "What is it?"

Literally taken aback by his irritation, the accountant speedily answered, "The Mistress is on the phone. She wants to talk to you." The Warden's reaction was a simple shrug before returning to collecting his marbles. "Um…" His employee began after a few moments.

"She can wait." His words were off-hand.

"But," Jared's voice cracked, and as a result, his employer stood up again, this time to loom over him while holding a handful of marbles.

"Well, what're you waiting for?" The Warden emphasized his words by pointing his free hand at the open door.

Jared put on a pleading look. "Sir, can you consider taking her call now, instead?"

The Warden switched the marbles to his other hand, and placed them firmly on the desk. "You just had me pick up something, and now you're making another demand," his eyes narrowed. "You seem to be forgetting who is running this jail."

Jared's face turned sheet white, and he cowered. "No, I didn't mean it like that! She's yelling in my ear, and I'm trying to go over the books!"

The Warden's face morphed into a more calmed sort, and he smiled. He bent down to get on the shorter man's level. "Well, Jared," he began in a soothing voice, putting his arm around his still-nervous employee, whose shoulders were shaking, "that's what ear plugs are for." Jared only had time to gasp as in one swift motion, the Warden utilized his arm like a stage crook, and swept him out the door.

XXXXXX

"I'm surprised you actually picked up," the Mistress' voice dripped with sarcasm, "Here I thought I was going to be speaking with your accountant for the duration of the call. He at least would have provided worthwhile conversation."

His response was a laugh as he pulled out Jared's desk chair to sit down, his free arm haphazardly waving about and colliding with a stack of paperwork. Jared, however, wasn't there to have a heart attack over the disruption of the barely-kept order on his desk. He was taking advantage of the rare silence in the Warden's office to finish his task. The Warden reminded himself to call the marble idea to the financial floor after this was taken care of. "You're surprised? Oh please, who would want to talk to a savage like you?" The Warden's questions were flippant as he leaned back in Jared's chair.

"Obviously, the one who lacks the sense to keep a phone in his own office," she retorted.

He waved his hand. "I don't have one for the simple fact that I don't need one. Unlike you, I run an efficient prison."

"Yes, that was made perfectly clear to me by the blood of a stray body splattering your windshield," the Mistress returned, not missing a beat.

He held up a finger. "Says the loser who straddled me."

The slap of skin hitting skin, as well as her audible groan of frustration, was heard. The Warden grinned, cradling his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow on Jared's desk. It had by all means been sexual assault on her part, but it had worked to his advantage in the end. Being a control freak, and a wild one at that, she'd clawed his back in the fight for dominance. Of course, she hadn't been counting on his literal and figurative flexibility. Still, she'd been a challenge, a welcome break from the prison inmates, and the result had been damn good sex. As much as he disliked her, he had to admit that it had been an above satisfactory first experience.

"Oddly enough, despite your typical mindless dance from subject to random subject, you have brought us to the point of this rather time-consuming call." Her voice wavered between superiority and weariness.

The Warden yawned, his eyelids drooping. "That's good. I'm bored enough as it is."

"Well then, I hope this is significant enough to hold even your minimal attention," she replied sharply, "I'm not pregnant."

It actually took a moment to register in the Warden's mind. The Mistress truly sounded shaky in her delivery, her words coming fast. Still, her voice had been too uplifting for her to be called nervous. If anything, she was greatly relieved. To be honest, he found that laughable, so much so, in fact, that he took hold of the phone with one hand to keep it to his side, and leaned as far back in Jared's chair as he could while releasing that very same laugh. It was high-pitched and hysterical, chorusing with the squeals of the protesting chair. The Warden used his other hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. A moment later, he fastened it around the desk to keep himself from falling backward. All the while his body trembled, sweat dripping on the surface of his skin. Once his episode ended, he pressed the receiver back to his ear.

"Are you quite finished?" Inquired the Mistress in a stern tone. An undercurrent of uneasiness rippled through her question.

While removing his glasses to wipe the steam from them on his coat, the Warden replied, "For now, anyway. It's a shame because that was a great laugh. I think I might've actually pulled something." He let out an overdramatic groan of pain before replacing his glasses. A chuckle followed soon after from him, and then he fell silent.

"I wouldn't call that a 'great laugh.' If I was a gullible child, I would have called that demonic possession." She needed to try harder. He could hear the uncertainty even more so this time.

He decided to exploit that. "Did I scare you, Mistress?"

"Warden, I run a maximum security prison. Even when my ladies lost control of themselves that night, I neither felt nor displayed a trace of fear, even though I am more used to order."

"No, you just pounced on me," he responded cheekily, further disturbing Jared's papers by putting up his feet.

"You repeat yourself more than your robot's gramophone," she shot back, "but getting back on topic, no, you do not, in any way, shape, or form, scare me. If anything, you somewhat worry me."

The Warden jerked himself out of his contemplation of different forms he could morph himself into in order to contradict her statement of not having fright of him. "You worry about me? I guess even you have a motherly instinct."

Her reply was terse. "It amazes me how you can milk even the smallest compliment dry of life in a minute. Bravo, your parents must be so proud."

Outrage burned inside of him, causing him to grit his teeth. What right had she to continually take a condescending tone with him? Before he could release his clamped jaw in order to make yet another comeback, she added, "I guess you, in your self-absorbency, are probably dying to hear what about you is bothering me," her voice lost its sarcasm entirely to be replaced by incredulousness, "It just shocks me that you weren't the least bit afraid of me dumping your child on your doorstep."

The Warden sniggered. "What the hell is so funny?" Snapped the Mistress. He threw his head back for another short bout of explosive laughter. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself. "This isn't amusing, Warden. I'm this close to putting the phone down," she warned.

"You're the one who called in the first place," he replied smugly, swinging his feet down in order to place his elbows on the desk. He linked his hands with his eyes closed.

"Try me," she hissed, "I have paperwork that deserves more attention than you."

"Oh dear, I have to prove my worth against a stack of papers." At that, he reached out, and knocked over the remaining pillar of Jared's organization. There was neither an answer nor a click on the other end. The smirk grew wider. "Well, I guess I should educate you," he began, his voice oozing with self-worth while he put a hand to his chest, "I wasn't afraid for the simple fact that we weren't going to conceive." A second period of silence began, and he relished it with a triumphant twirl of his cane, which had been propped up against the desk's side.

It was broken by the Mistress, her voice rising steadily in volume, "There's a problem with that, Warden. In case you didn't know, SEX MAKES BABIES!" Startled at her intensity, he squeezed his eyes shut, the cane slipping from his hand to clatter noisily to the floor. "I expected even someone like you to know that!" Her yell cracked like the whip she brandished.

The Warden, having adapted himself immediately, was ready for it. Instead of flinching again, he held the phone away from his ear as got down on his knees to search for his cane. Her scream was reduced to a mere squawking. Once it had subsided, he counterbalanced her fury with calmness. "Of course I know that. You simply didn't hear me out." He slid out from underneath the desk, taking care not to bang his head.

"If you're continuing to make these pauses in an attempt to be cute, knock it off," the Mistress returned in a barely-contained voice as he found his place on Jared's chair again, "Out with it."

He grinned before replying, "If you insist. It didn't happen because I didn't want it to happen. When I said I was the owner of Superjail, I meant it in every form of the word. Whatever I wish to occur becomes reality," he snapped his fingers, "just like that."

A third pause followed, the Mistress ending it with a strangely quiet "What?"

"That's all you need to know," he reinforced, putting his arm behind his head. Three times in a row he'd left her grasping for words, not bad.

"I highly doubt that," she answered, still curiously neutral, "If that was so, why do you have an accountant, and a head of security? For that matter, why even have a staff?"

"I already gave my answer. You're just thinking too much." His eyes closed again.

She ignored him. "You would have had complete control over all within the prison, but that certainly wasn't the case. Your accountant still cried when he was separated from Charice." Her tone took a slight edge to it, a sort of bite. The Warden was well aware of it, but he left her to her own devices, allowing her to dig herself into an even deeper hole. "Then again, that would explain my sudden attraction to you," the edge hit a venomous peak, and relinquished, "But I highly doubt your capability of controlling others like machines. You're too sporadic."

He chuckled, leaning forward on the desk. "You call me absurd. Look in the mirror, Mistress."

The sharpness returned immediately. "No, I am not. You, however, have absolutely no concept of reality. I'm not entirely familiar with your bastardized form of a prison, and I don't intend to be. Even if your severely twisted way of thinking is true, you're forgetting that that little incident wasn't just about you. As much as I despise it, I was involved, too. It was pure luck that I came up negative."

The Warden burst out into laughter again, his head swinging from side to side. Ironic, she of all people was a riot. "You still don't understand, and I spelled it out for you!" He exclaimed after taking another deep breath to bring himself back under control.

He was expecting another irate retort from her, and as a result, was caught off-guard again by that almost mechanical voice. "I told you I worried about you, Warden, but that has changed."

"Do tell," he replied eagerly as he perched on the edge of the chair.

"I pity you," she stated coldly. A click was heard a second after.

XXXXXX

The Mistress grimaced, her hands gripping her desk like a vice as the last of her anger wore itself out. She'd been kidding herself when she'd thought she could get through that quick. She eyed the stack of papers, her hand shooting out to grab one. Back to the safety and routine of reality at last. Yet, as she read over the text, her eyes darting back and forth, the repulsion rose back up within her.

She lowered the paper. The man child still plagued her. She was now doubly thankful for not becoming pregnant. If the Warden couldn't accept responsibility for his own doing, she couldn't imagine what he would do to the child. Her other hand poised itself above her whip. That gave her even more of an initiative to punish him, but at the same time, it wasn't whole-hearted. Why further wound an animal when it was better to put him out of his misery? Her hand fell back to her desk, and the paper was lifted again. The Warden clearly needed help, but she couldn't, wouldn't, be the one to provide it. She scratched her signature across the bottom of the paper. His welfare was out of the Mistress' hands, and she was perfectly content to not care less.

XXXXXX

Upon seeing the destruction of his organization, Jared sunk to the floor of his office in a damaged, eye-twitching heap. The Warden, however, whistled a merry tune as he returned to his office. He was happy to find the remaining marbles still on the floor. Jared knew better than to disturb his possessions.

Well, that had been quite fun. The Mistress had certainly proved herself to be worth the disturbance with her yelling, her moot points, and last but definitely not least, her hanging up first. For the sheer hell of it, the Warden swiped the marbles back onto the floor. Once Jared was done placing everything back in order, he could voice his plan to him. He frowned. If it hadn't been for the Mistress' interruption, that would have occurred sooner.

The frown faded to make way for one last chuckle. He'd told a one-night stand the core importance of Superjail. How foolish. It was better that she didn't understand. He got down on his hands and knees, his face inches from the floor, lining up his thumb and forefinger up with the purple marble.

Still, it would have been nice to truly wow an outsider with the inner-workings of his jail, to painstakingly hold back such wonders, and then unleash them, causing the viewer to fall to her knees, and look upon him like a god. It would just be an added bonus that he'd already established sexual dominance over the Mistress.

The purple marble struck the pink, sending it flying a few good inches. As intriguing as that prospect sounded, the Warden knew he didn't need its occurrence. He already was a god in his own right and that was, at the very least, acceptable for his vaulted standards.