2. Just Another Band-Aid

The entire place still reeked of fresh paint.

Any visitors might well have been impressed by the attention to upkeep - but only if they didn't know it had been a hasty band-aid job to cover the mess left behind in the aftermath of a wholescale prison riot that had left two correctional officers dead. To say nothing of the inmate who'd had the life squashed out of her as if she were no better than a bug, sparking this clusterfuck in the first place.

"Clusterfuck does not even cover it," Dallas Ford sighed, as she stood in the doorway of one of the dorms with her hands in the pockets of her fitted black blazer, trying to get her bearings. She couldn't help thinking any inmates with a predilection for getting high were bound to be loving the paint fumes. Personally, all she was getting was the early onset of a headache.

"Spanish Harlem?" came a gruff voice from beside her, having clearly overheard her musing. "It ain't that bad. Most of the time."

Turning to find a CO with a greying walrus moustache eyeing her up and down, she managed a smile. "I was kinda looking at the bigger picture. Tragedy on a Shakespearian level."

"Ah. You must be the new counsellor. Joe Caputo," he said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Dallas Ford. And yeah, I was just on my way to the break room. Thought I'd say hi to the staff and then see about setting aside some time to go over any specific concerns about inmates' needs …"

"If you ask me, it should be the damn staff getting the counselling," Caputo groused. "No, no, spare me the corporate explainer – I've heard it all before. And no, I don't begrudge the women some help, before you go getting the wrong idea. Christ knows if MCC had given a damn about their care sooner, this shitstorm might actually have been avoided!"

Having riled himself up, he halted to take a deep breath and rake his hands through his thinning hair.

"Sorry," he relented. "Not like it's your fault, is it? And you're gonna have enough to get to grips with on your first day without me blowing up straight off the bat. Come on, I'll show you to the staff room. Christ, it's a miracle any guards still show up for duty at all, all things considered."

"Hey, Joe? For what it's worth …" Dallas started, unsure whether to mention the proverbial elephant in the room and deciding she might as well get it out of the way early. "I know you were in charge here and ending up back in uniform must suck for you, but … Well, after hearing the stories, I'm glad the women have at least one decent CO trying to look out for them."

"Yeah?" he said, brightening just a little, even if it was only for a moment before he lapsed back into brusque sarcasm. "Well, I'm sure their gratitude will be overwhelming."

Emerging from their hidden spot just around the corner, Flaca Gonzales and Maritza Ramos shared a look that somehow managed to be half shocked, half not at all surprised and scuttled back to the dorm in a fit of giggles.

"Yo, Maria, have you seen?" Flaca called, desperate to share the latest gossip with a wider audience. "The rumours are true – Caputo's totally just a guard now."

"Annnnd we're getting a replacement for Healy," Maritza chipped in, just as eagerly. "Like, finally! Hello, we've all been through so much and only now they're actually getting round to sending someone to listen."

"Shit, you're kidding?" Maria Ruiz groaned, flopping back on her bunk after having propped herself up to listen to the news from the excitable duo. "That's all we need. Caputo on our asses for losing him his nice office job, and another Healy spouting some psycho-babble at us like it's supposed to help."

"Oh, she won't be no Healy," Maritza said, with a confident swish of her long dark hair, finally getting back to her usually bubbly self now that she had been reunited with her best friend. "She's a she for a start. And she's not like a guard. She ain't stuck in one of those nasty-ass uniforms. Chica actually looks like she got taste – did you see those shoes? Red stilettos, four-inch heels, matt not patent. Sexy, but still, y'know, real classy."

Flaca nodded, mirroring the enthusiasm. "Oh my god, I was so jealous! You think maybe if we tell her how all this grey and beige like puts a total downer on our mood, she might help us get better outfits or something?"

"Hey, maybe!"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure. You two should probably have your measurements ready for when they come to hand out the Versace."

But instead of dampening the girls' spirits, that only drew squeals of glee as they practically skipped off to their bunks hand-in-hand.

"We have to be realistic," Flaca could be heard advising. "They're totally gonna want to stick with sombre tones, but something in maybe an olive would suit my complexion so much better. And, like, more fitted …"

"Stupid bitches," Maria muttered to herself, but without any real animosity.

Deep down, she was glad to see the pair reunited. She'd ended up in the same prison as Maritza during their temporary reallocation and the little Colombian had been miserable as hell without her sidekick. And she had been through a lot too, with that bastard Humps turning out to have pretty much tortured her. If she'd known about that damn mouse when … Well, anyway, maybe underneath that ditzy fascination with fashion, the girl really was glad to think she might actually have someone to talk to properly. A professional.

Although, turning on her side to try to block out the chatter from across the dorm, Maria doubted such a thing could really exist in a place like this. Litchfield didn't exactly have a great track record when it came to so-called professionals and, one way or another - mental or physical – plenty of inmates had the scars to prove it.

"And here we are," Caputo declared, ushering the newcomer into the staff break room to be faced with more than a few openly curious gazes from those gathered. He checked the clock on the wall against his watch and frowned. "Here we all are, despite the fact it's only five minutes until first count."

"Aren't you gonna introduce us, boss? Or is that Fig's job now?"

In his blue button-down shirt that managed to be at once foreign and yet depressingly familiar, and with his radio firmly strapped on his right shoulder – where he was surprised there was room, given the size of the chip he'd gotten himself stuck carrying - the former warden was just too world-weary to rise to the bait. If it even was a dig rather than an honest question. He just didn't know any more. And frankly, he didn't really care.

Even if he was supposed to still have retained seniority over the rest of the guards, his motivation to play at being a leader had taken a serious hit. Why was he babysitting the newbie and trying to keep the place running smoothly while that bony witch …

"Anyway," he tried, settling for simply ignoring anything that could potentially rock the boat. Although, it wasn't like that tactic had served too well in the past. "Plenty of time for proper introductions later, I'm sure. Now, Miss Ford, you'll know all about the unfortunate set of circumstances in which we recently found ourselves, but the important thing to know is that we're already getting right back up to speed. Right, team?"

Caputo knew better than to wait for an answer and quickly steamrolled his way ahead. Suddenly unsure that Fig had bothered to even give the rest of the staff a heads up over the arrival of a new inmate counsellor, he immediately decided it would be much smarter to broach the subject with them when said counsellor was … very much elsewhere.

With MCC having somehow secured an unlikely combination of new but for once fully trained staff, some former long-timers who had previously walked out in protest over what was being asked of them, and even a few of those newer recruits who, by rights, should have been too traumatised at the sight of the place to want to contemplate a return, it wasn't hard to imagine that counselling for the criminals could prove contentious.

He had to admit he was relieved to see Wade Donaldson and Scott O'Neill back in the uniform though. He was going to need all the help he could get from guys who weren't totally clueless about the job. But, with MCC having apparently learned their lessons about the importance of training and support the hard way, he even had hopes for the likes of Ben Stratman, Artesian McCullough, and Ryder Blake – now they weren't following the lead of a raging bull like Piscatella.

"Well, those inmates won't count themselves," he ploughed on breezily. "And even if they could, letting them would probably be frowned upon. Okay, people, let's hustle. Dallas, I'll leave you to get acquainted with- Luschek?"

The late arrival had sauntered into the break room just as Caputo had actually been about to introduce their new colleague to the coffee machine and the caught expression on his bearded face was a clear give away, in the pregnant pause before he made his best attempt at fronting it out, that he had not expected company.

"Luschek, what are you doing in here at this time?" Caputo asked, already wondering why he was bothering to ask when he could already make a fair stab at the answer himself.

"Uh, Head of Electrical?" came the response, like it should have been obvious.

"Exactly. So shouldn't you be, you know, in Electrical?"

"Nooo. Because I am here to … check … the electrics. Of the coffee machine. For electrical faults. Dangerous electrical faults. Potentially lethal. Potentially a compensation claim."

Caputo closed his eyes, started to count to ten, and then decided not to bother. "Whatever. Joel Luschek, Dallas Ford. Dallas Ford, Joel Luschek. He's making you coffee. And giving you the grand tour. I'll see you in my office in like an hour or so. We can talk then about … We can talk then."

Ushering his already bored staff in front of him, he glared at the would-be slacker who simply gave him an infuriating little mock-salute and smiled brightly at the new counsellor.

"So, Dallas, huh?" Caputo heard him say, just as the door was closing. "Like the Cowboys?"

To be continued ...