AN- Hey guys, I've been on vacation and just got back. School's starting up and I have several auditions coming up, BUT I will try to keep upating as much as possible. I already have the chapters in my head so this will end up being a completed story.

Also, love my two reviews :) And, of course, all of the follows and faves. They mean a lot. Anyhow, expect this and maybe 2 or 3 more chapters in the next couple days!

WARNING- This chapter contains drug use! If you don't like, don't read.

Kestrel lay on the ground for a long time. Till her sobs quieted, till her body stopped shaking, till even the tears stopped leaking from her eyes. Stryker raised himself on his hind legs and pushed at her shoulder, trying to gauge some reaction from his owner, mewling pitifully all the while. It was some time before Kes felt like moving again, and the first thing she did was get up and quickly locked her door again. Then she gingerly lifted the half eaten morsel and threw it in the trash. She padded around her small kitchen, picking up a metal teapot, before emptying the old water and replacing it with more from the faucet. It was 5 in the morning, and time to start her "other job."

Kestrel had a plethora of odd jobs, to one- pay the rent for her fairly decent apartment and two- to keep her mind busy in the many hours she did not sleep. It was a bit Fight Club, she knew but it kept her sane. Now, she had to bake. Kes was no ordinary baker, what she did was make special goods, laced with THC. She tried not to sell to children, but to target those who needed it, and to college kids who wanted to have fun. There was a strict code of ethics she lived by, and one that she intended on never breaking. Yes, she was a drug dealer, and yes what she did was illegal, but her goods helped people who were in pain and that's what she tried to focus on.

While the pot was boiling, she walked to her room. It was big enough, with its desert tan walls and red and scarlet scarves draping from the ceiling. She had mural of Istanbul across from her bed that she was working on, but abandoned because she felt too uninspired to finish. A metal clothing rack held all of her clothes and she had a wall of boxes that held her shoes. Her closet held containers upon containers of marijuana, each one categorized and labeled. She grabbed the nearest one and then strode back into the kitchen to start cooking. While she baked, Kestrel tried to compromise with her building guilt. It wasn't as if she were selling meth, or crack, or prescription pills or even opiates. Weed, though an addictive drug wasn't that bad for you. It relieved pain, helped those going through chemo and those who were anorexic and bulimic. The hard truth was that I'm a criminal, Kestrel conceded to herself. I'm breaking the law, but that law doesn't have to be right.

Kestrel nuked 2 cups of cannibutter in her microwave, and then mixed into cookie and a brownie batter. Pouring the brownie batter into a glass rectangular pan, and making heart shaped cookies on a cooking sheet, Kes put both containers into the already hot oven and waited, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. The events from the past hour kept playing and replaying in her mind, fraying her nerves a little bit more until she found her eyes darting back towards the door every couple of second.

This would not do. She strode back to her room and grabbed her Zippo along with her favorite glass blown pipe. It was a purple elephant she got at some junky tobacco shop down by the Narrows when she first moved to Gotham, before she knew of the infamous reputation of that part of town. Selecting a nug of her highest grade, Kes went back to her living room and collapsed onto the sofa before plugging the carb with her finger, lighting the bud and inhaling as much as she could. The acrid smoke filled her mouth, snaked its way down her throat and into her lungs. Kes held her breath, trapping it there and waited to be taken by the high. Exhaling, she then lit up again. Stryker, the little ginger terror, leapt up and snuggled against her lap. Kes smiled to herself, and rubbed his sweet spot on the back of his neck, causing him to rumble like an old truck. Burrowing himself further, if that was even possible, he flipped over onto his back and presented his fat belly for her to massage. He mewled pathetically, begging her with his large green eyes.

"Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile." Kestrel muttered before acquiescing, scratching his belly. Stryker bounced, or her would have if gravity didn't reign supreme, but it did, so he handed up landing on his side on the ground. Kestrel chuckled.

"I thought all cats landed on their feet?"

Stryker replied with an indigent glare. He was saved from further embarrassment when the kitchen bell gave a 'ding' signaling that her baked goods were done. It really did smell heavenly and Kestrel's stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. Grabbing her small charge be the scruff, she gently plopped him down on her shoulder where he balanced himself by slightly clawing her collar bone and his tail curling around her neck for extra security. She grabbed a mitt and opened up the oven, fully releasing the glorious smells from within. She allowed herself to inhale the intoxicating scent and her eyes briefly rolled to the back of her head. She stomach gave another obnoxious growl. Quickly grabbing each tray to cool and setting them on top of the stove, Kestrel then went to the box of pastries and seized a cinnamon roll from its depths. She sat down and held it in front of her kitten, which was still perched on her shoulder, and he took a small bite. They sat and shared the cinnamon roll, before sharing another one. Kestrel glanced at the clock,

"7 o'clock? Bath time!"