"Reznikov!"

Red jumped about a foot in the air, almost falling off of her narrow bunk. Cautiously, she turned away from the wall—the same one she had been staring at for the last hour, for lack of anything more stimulating to do—and peered out. The CO whose face greeted her at the bars of her cell was unfamiliar, but then, they all were. She had been in Max for just a little more than a week; she'd yet to learn names. All she knew were faces, and which ones had been pointed out to her as guards that she shouldn't, under any circumstances, cross.

Once, the very idea of not crossing the guards would have been ludicrous to her. She'd known all of them down at camp, all the faces and the names, and the weaknesses and who was most easily manipulated. She had gotten too comfortable, made the mistake of thinking that she was invincible, and so when the new regime had come, she'd not had the good sense to keep her head down. Red had been arrogant, and she had paid for it.

Reflexively, her right hand went to her head. There was hair there now where there had been nothing before. She'd lost count of the days when they'd tossed her in the SHU, still had no idea how long she'd been in there, but had apparently it was long enough for a half-inch stubble to take the place of the locks that had been shorn off. When she arrived here, Gloria had been the first familiar person she'd seen, and it had been Gloria who, on a mission of mercy, took a handmade shiv to what remained of Red's hair, cutting it down until it was all one length. It had been a hack job, but at least now all of it would grow back in more or less the same.

"Get your ass up, inmate!" the CO bellowed. Red obeyed, mutely and without question. Her three cell mates, none of whom she had said more than a couple of words to, stared after her as she emerged from her bunk and went to meet the guard at the door to the cell, stepping through when he opened it and coming along when he motioned for her to follow him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, cautiously and without any expectation that he would actually tell her. She hadn't yet learned the rhythms of this place, but she knew that lunch had already passed and it was still too late for dinner, and it wasn't her block's yard day.

"You got a visitor," said the CO.

She stared at his back, not comprehending. Red hadn't had any visitors since she'd been processed in last week; her entire family was trying frantically to rearrange their schedules so that they could make it up here, but so far nichego. Not even her lawyer had come to consult with her, despite Yuri's insistence that he had called and spoken to him. Red was beginning to feel forgotten.

She tailed the CO into the visitation room, briefly shaken by the layout. Instead of everything being open like it was at camp, this room was composed of a few booths, a few of which were occupied by other inmates speaking into telephones. Red was led to the one at the farthest end, and her eyes flicked over to the glass separating her from the other side, expecting to see her lawyer, or one of her sons, perhaps even Dmitri.

Instead, her heart almost stopped when she saw the familiar face of the man who, in another life that now seemed centuries away, had been her counselor. Red sat down in her appointed chair without feeling its firmness underneath her, or her own weight as she settled into it.

"Sam?" she asked, in a voice not much higher than a whisper. The man behind the glass frowned, then picked up the telephone on his side, pointing to it. Red followed his lead, picking up her own phone and putting it to her ear.

"Hi, Red," Healy said. His voice was softer than she remembered it, but still wonderful to hear. It was familiar, it was something that she could latch onto.

"Sam," she repeated, surprised by the sound of her own voice, and the tears that seemed to be threatening for no good reason that she could think of.

"How are you?" Healy asked. For a moment, Red was tempted to lie, the way she would have if it had been one of her boys or her ex-husband sitting in Healy's place. But, she reasoned, if Healy was here, then there must have been a damn good reason for it. He'd come here on purpose to see her; he deserved the truth.

"Terrible," she replied, "What about you? You look like shit." She instantly regretted that, but after all, she had promised not to lie to him. Healy looked worn down, and older than he had when she'd seen him last, which was remarkable, really, because the last time they were together, he was fresh off of trying to drown himself.

"You don't look too great yourself," Healy said. His voice held no malice, though. Red met his eyes, and she could see that he hadn't meant to hurt her; instead, he looked sympathetic.

"What in the hell happened to your hair?" he asked.

"My hair was…" Red turned away, looked around the room to see who might be listening, and contemplated just how much she should—or could—tell him, before turning back and finishing, "It was a casualty of the riot."

"Jesus," he said, "Did someone do that to you?"

Red pressed her lips together, fighting the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. She only nodded, and Healy sat back in his chair, cursing underneath his breath, clearly not knowing what else to say or do.

"How much do you know, Sam?" Red asked, "About what happened down at camp?"

Healy shrugged. "Not much," he admitted, "I…I did what you said, Red. For once in my life, I took your advice. I checked myself into the loony bin, and the first few days they kept me so drugged…it's like it all happened in a dream. I didn't even understand half of what was going on around me, much less anything from the outside world. But I've been reading the news, I've been scouring every source I could find. I wanted to know…what happened to you."

The corner of Red's mouth twitched involuntarily, and now she thought she really would cry.

"How did you even find out I was here?" she asked.

"Your file. As soon as I got back to work, I started hunting in the database for you. That's how I found out you'd gotten transferred."

Red took a few moments to chew on that; it was too much information to process all in one go. Healy was back at work, so that meant that the camp was up and running. And she was still here, so clearly they had no intention of downgrading her back to minimum security, at least not anytime soon. And Sam had looked for her. There were so many questions she had for him, about what the press was saying about the riots, what had happened to her girls, what was going to happen to her, but somehow the only thing that resonated with her in that moment was that Sam looked for her, and that he'd found her.

"Sam, I…" A booming voice interrupted her, that of the CO who had brought her here, announcing that visiting hours ended in ten minutes.

"I have so much I want to ask you," Red said.

"Later," replied Healy, "Look, before I go, have you been in touch with your family? Have you gotten a chance to talk to your lawyer?"

Red shook her head. "I've talked to my son, but there's been no word from the lawyer."

"Okay," Healy said, "I'll see what I can do. I'm not technically your counselor anymore, so it might take some finagling, but I'll see what I can do." His eyes darted to the clock on the wall, and then to the CO at the far side of the room who, thankfully, was examining his fingernails instead of watching the inmates or their visitors. Healy leaned forward, and then whispered into the receiver, "I'm not going to leave you alone here, Galina. You understand?"

Red nodded, and now she was crying, and she knew she couldn't go back to her cell looking like she'd been weeping so she quickly dashed the tears away, but still she focused on Healy's eyes beyond the window that separated them. The CO announced the end of visiting hours, and Red put the down the phone, not wanting to find out what happened here if she disobeyed orders. But before she turned to leave, she put her palm to the glass, just for a brief moment, and mouthed the words "Thank you" to the man on the other side.