The cab ride to the Townsville jail was rather uneventful, as far as Blossom was concerned, but it was very noisy. The seat squeaked every time the cab hit a bump, the engine groaned whenever the accelerator was pressed, and in the distance Blossom could hear the firing of missiles. The military was fighting back a monster on the other side of Townsville, Blossom assumed. In the streets, not a soul was phased by the ruckus, because the Townsville Municipal Guard had never let a monster inflict more than a few thousand dollars of damage to the city in its entire existence. That was more than could be said of the former Powerpuff Girls, even in their glory days.

Though the cab ride was bland, it wasn't all too boring, because it was very short. In fact, Blossom probably could have saved herself a few bucks and walked to the jail. She would have to be out of her damn mind to expose herself in the streets of Townsville so soon after her screw-up that morning, but she could have.

Blossom paid the driver, entered the jail, and asked to see the chief of police in an unremarkable fashion. She had never thought about who the chief of police was, though, until she read the unexpected name on his nametag upon his arrival.

"Mitch?" Blossom squinted to make sure she was reading the nametag right. She was. "Mitch Mitchelson? It's really you?" God, she hadn't seen or thought about him in ages. He was tall and burly and in uniform, with calloused hands and a gruff but well groomed beard.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied in a deep voice with the tip of his nonexistent hat. "And what may I do for you, Ms…" Now it was his turn to squint. "Blossom?"

Blossom had to smile a little; sure, Mitch had been a jerk in kindergarten, but they were five years old then, for crying out loud. Just little kids. Besides, there wasn't a hint of nastiness in the way he was acting now. "I'm her, the same Blossom you went to school with."

For a split second, it looked like to Blossom that Mitch was going to move in for a friendly hug, but instead she found her hand firmly shaking his. "Blossom! Long time, no see! What's it been, like, twenty years? I mean, I hear about you in the news sometimes, but I haven't actually met you in person, have I? How are things?"

"Fine, just fine." When someone asks you how you're doing, they rarely want to know your life story. Usually, they just ask out of politeness, as a common courtesy. "How about you?"

"Great here too." Mitch paused, and continued with a bit of tension. "So… what are you doing here? In jail… did Buttercup-"

"No, no," Blossom quickly assured him, "nothing like that." The pressure relieved instantly. "I'm just running an errand for Mrs. Bellum about cell quality reports. I have the paperwork, and she said you'd help me out with it."

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "She sent you over?" he asked as Blossom unlatched her briefcase. "I thought the mayor was supposed to come for herself. You lost the election, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Blossom couldn't help but feel a little indignant. She tried to hide it, but Mitch caught on.

"Oh, sorry, Blossom. I didn't mean it like that-"

"It's fine. I'm her assistant, and she told me to come." Blossom freed herself from the need to say more by handing Mitch the documents. He took them in his giant hands and skimmed them.

"Okay, Blossom," he tilted the forms so that Blossom could see where he was pointing. "This is a pretty standard form. You just have to check off if each of these three randomly selected cells meets city specs. Just go through the list: proper bed, proper toilet, sanitation, meal frequency and content. Standard stuff. I just need to walk you around, so you know where each cell is. Should we start?"

Blossom closed her briefcase and set herself up to take notes. "Of course. The first one is Cell 106."

"Let's go, then."

It had been a while since Blossom had to know the layout of the jail. She still sort of remembered the floor plan. However, she couldn't just bust through the ceiling at just the right place this time, and so followed Mitch through the cement-walled hallways.

Blossom broke the awkward silence with a genuine question. "So, Mitch, how'd you get to be chief of police?"

Mitch chuckled a little bit, in a kind way. "Well, Blossom, it wasn't easy. You know, after kindergarten, and elementary and middle school, my high school years weren't all too glorious. I was drinking, smoking, among… other things, that I don't think I should mention. I never graduated high school, technically. But then, right around my eighteenth birthday, I turned my life around. I went cold turkey on all drugs and alcohol, and made it a point to get into a police academy. I learned discipline there and… well, look at me now!"

Hmm. Who would have thought? "What made you turn your life around?"

Blossom could have sworn that she saw Mitch blush. "That's a little too personal." He put his hand on the back of his neck. "I don't even like to admit it to myself, sometimes. But hey, it worked."

"I understand. That's great though, that you brought yourself up like that." Blossom was walking to the left of and behind Mitch, so she couldn't see his face. You get used to that, being around Mrs. Bellum as often as Blossom was. She could look in the general direction of his face, so she did.

Mitch asked the same question in reverse, half out of politeness, and half to avoid another awkward silence. "Mrs. Bellum hired you as her assistant, then?"

"Well, as a secretary, technically. But I think she promoted me to assistant not even an hour ago, for no reason at all."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Mitch looked back at Blossom, and Blossom looked up at Mitch at the same time. "Mrs. Bellum always has a reason. She's really smart about that sort of thing."

Blossom would have had to reply if they weren't already at Cell 106. There wasn't actually anybody inside the cell, so the inspection was going to be pretty easy. Blossom let Mitch open the gate for her and went through the list.

"You can skip all the stuff about meals and everything," Mitch clarified before Blossom even got to that part on the checklist. "Just make sure to say the cell is uninhabited."

"Okay." Blossom continued silently inspecting the cell. It looked like the cell had been in use recently, but was cleaned up after its last occupant was released. It wasn't cleaned up very well, though. There was gunk around and on the toilet, the bed stank of urine, and a rat or two had definitely crossed Blossom's path during the inspection. Not the best first impression, in shorter words. She checked the proper boxes and left Cell 106 without a word.

"What's next?" Mitch asked as he closed the cell gate behind Blossom.

Blossom turned to the next form. "Cell 109." She picked up her briefcase, which she had left leaning against the wall outside the cell, and walked with Mitch three cells down the same hallway.

"Hmm. They usually don't pick cells so close to each other." Mitch unlocked the gate and let Blossom in.

It was the same story, unsurprisingly, as the last cell. It was vacant – Blossom noticed, later, that all the cells in the 100s hallway were empty – and rather unclean. Mitch asked the same question he did last time when she was done inspecting.

"Cell 213 is the last one." Blossom picked up her briefcase again.

"Let's go, then. That's all the way over in the other hallway." Mitch made his way to the 200s hallway. Blossom followed him.

"How come both of those cells are empty?" Blossom asked Mitch, because neither of them wanted to prolong the silence that had grown while Blossom was inspecting Cells 106 and 109. She actually did want to know, though, because she found it strange.

"All of the most hardened criminals stay in the 100s hallway." Mitch stared straight ahead, and walked a little faster. "About a week ago, a motion was passed to send them all to a state prison to serve the rest of their terms. Most of them were for life, anyways."

Blossom vaguely remembered seeing that in the news a few days ago. "Did you pass that motion?" He was the chief of police.

Mitch expelled a heavy sigh. "I can't say I did anything useful to stop it." Then, he stopped abruptly in his tracks, and swiveled around to look Blossom straight in the eyes. Blossom, caught off guard, almost ran straight into him, but caught herself in time. "I really didn't want those people to be sent off Blossom. Those people are not like the monsters that Townsville has to fight off every day, Blossom. Those people are people. People, just like you and me, that need to have their lives set straight again. Not condemned to slowly wither away behind bars, left to steep in their own sense of guilt or hatred for years on end. They-"

Blossom realized that her dropped jaw had shanked Mitch's rant in the back.

Mitch turned around again in embarrassment and began walking. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He tried to mutter to himself, but was still audible. "I'm the chief of the goddamn police. I'm the reason those bastards even got sent to jail. Besides, she doesn't want to hear that from a-"

"Wait, Mitch. It's fine." Blossom stumbled forwards and grabbed his arm. She wasn't planning on actually grabbing his arm, just tapping it, but she had leapt forwards so quickly that she something to keep her from face-planting on the cement floor. "I didn't mean to gape like that," Blossom continued when Mitch was forced to stop walking. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. But I still value your opinion."

Mitch probably raised an eyebrow. Blossom couldn't tell; he still had his back to her. "Really? Because until a few minutes ago, you had no clue that I was even still in Townsville."

It finally struck Blossom just how easy it was to talk with Mitch. He was right; she didn't even consider his existence until she entered the jail. Sure, in the few times they had spoken, it was to avoid an awkward silence. But the things they said… they were honest things, weren't they? Not just small talk about the weather. And most importantly, the openness was more on Mitch's part than on Blossom's.

"Well, Cell 213 is right down the corner." Mitch pointed to indicate his desire to move onwards. "Let's go."

Blossom realized that she was still grabbing his arm, and quickly jerked her hand away from his. Maybe she had held on a little too long. "Yes, let's." They made their way to the cell.

This cell was a little different than the last two, because there was an actual person inside. He was green in the face and hunched over in a corner, staring at nothing in particular.

"Here, stand back," Mitch instructed Blossom. "This one's a dangerous one. He was about to be moved into the 100s hallway, but just barely missed the cutoff. There's a reason he's all alone in that cell." He called to the man in the cell before unlocking it. "Mr. Gribberish, I am about to enter your cell with a friend. You are to remain seated the whole time. Is this clear?"

The man spat with the tongue that was already hanging out of his mouth.

"Stay close to me," Mitch said as he opened the cell door cautiously. The man showed no intention of moving, so Mitch stood in front of him and motioned for Blossom to come in.

Blossom checked the same things she had in the other two cells, except she kept flicking her eyes to the convict. Gribberish… Blossom thought about the Gangreen Gang for the first time in years. That man was Grubber, wasn't he? He certainly looked and acted the part. And he was in jail. Blossom came up to Mitch at what in the other cells had been the end of her inspection.

"How do I ask him about meals and all? He'll just respond with spit."

Mitch looked back at Blossom. "How do you know?"

"Same way you do. I had to teach Grubber here a lesson or two, back before-"

"Right, right," Mitch stopped Blossom from saying 'the Incident.' Nobody used the term outright if they didn't have to. "Well, try anyways, for formality's sake. Make the legal system happy. Just write that the responses were unintelligible."

"Okay…" Blossom trusted that Mitch knew what he was doing. She stood beside Mitch, so Grubber could see her. "I have a few questions for you, Grubber."

Mitch bumped Blossom's arm. "Call him Mr. Gribberish. It's more professional."

Blossom glanced at Mitch, who kept his gaze steadfast on Grubber. Blossom was quick to look back at the paper and begin reading out loud. "Mr. Gribberish, do you receive three meals per day at this facility?"

Spit.

"Do you believe that the meals you receive are of adequate nutritional quality?"

Spit.

"Do you believe that the meals you receive are reflective of the choices you made that brought you here?" Who the hell came up with these questions? They were terrible.

Grubber didn't spit this time, but shook his head no. That's how terrible the question was.

"Well, Mr. Gribberish, I that's all I have for you. Good day."

Two spits, as if he was trying to say "good day" back.

Blossom left Cell 213 first, followed by a Mitch who kept an eye on Grubber until the cell door was locked once again. He walked her back wordlessly to the front of the jail, where they had originally met.

"Is that it?" Blossom clarified, so as to not leave a form unfilled or something.

"That's it." Mitch put on a smile as wide as the one he had first greeted her with. "Just give those to Mrs. Bellum. I have to go back to the police station, so the jailer can go back to work."

There was an awkward pause. There was a shared hatred between Mitch and Blossom of the awkward pause. "Listen, Mitch," Blossom began in an equally awkward attempt to fill the silence, "about what you said earlier-"

"Don't mention it." Mitch leaned in a little with a smile and whispered in only a half joking voice, "Seriously, don't mention it. I would kind of like to keep my job." He pulled back to normal position. "Well, Blossom, hope I'll see you around."

Blossom slipped the forms into her briefcase. "Yeah, I'll see you around." Involuntarily, "Maybe we can have lunch sometime" slipped out of her mouth immediately afterwards.

Blossom was as red in the face as she was in the eyes, but Mitch just had a good-natured, hearty laugh about it. "Yeah, maybe we can. Until then, Blossom."

"Until then." Blossom left the jail with those as her last words. She hailed another cab, still not wanting to risk being mobbed in the streets of Townsville, and rode back to Town Hall.

Lost in thought on the way there, she noticed that Mitch had not once mentioned her screw-up that morning. Surely he had seen or heard of it, because he was pretty much there, but he never mentioned it. What he had mentioned, though, were his innermost thoughts on incarceration.

Though the Mitch Mitchelson of the past had been a pest at best and a curse at worst, Blossom decided that she liked the man he had become.

She wished it was that easy to decide whether or not she agreed with his opinions.