Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Angel, or Prison Break. The Oracle (a.k.a Cass) is all mine, but anyone who wants to borrow her is welcome to so long as they drop me a line and tell me first.

Author's Note: Imzadi, I know these last couple of chapters haven't been quite your taste, but thanks for taking the time to review anyway. And, no, rabbits aren't rodents—Anya's just being silly.

Timeline: Buffy / Angel—post-"Not Fade Away" (runs parallel to my other fic, "Trinity"). Prison Break—drops in mid-"Cute Poison" and goes wildly AU after that.

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"You two have the most dysfunctional idea of love I've ever seen" –Veronica, from Prison Break

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The Oracle had spent time in another person's skin before. Other jobs, when she was an enforcer, not a caseworker, had sent her to the mortal plane, usually to bust heads. She understood the rules well enough—the body she borrowed had to be female and, while she occupied it, she was fairly limited in her powers. No shapeshifting; no teleportation except back to her own body, which was currently stretched out on the couch in her office. Lorne had woken Anya, so she'd have some place to stretch out.

No matter how many times she did it, she still couldn't get used to the feel of wearing someone else's flesh.

Cass lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror-fronted medicine cabinet. Green eyes stared back at her. A high brow, light reddish-brown hair pulled partially back to keep it out of the way, full lips with just a smudge of fading lip gloss on them, a stubborn chin—it was a face she might have chosen for herself if she were shapeshifting. It was the face of Dr. Sara Tancredi, prison doctor. This was practically the only female with access to the prison population on a day-to-day basis—pretty much making her the Oracle's only choice if she wanted to be able to communicate with Lindsey.

He'd been in place for several hours now, as she and Lorne rushed around the office trying to figure out what the hell kind of scenario the Powers and Wolfram & Hart were playing, sending him here to Fox River. So far, they had absolutely zilch.

"Hey, Doc, you ready for Scofield?"

Cass straightened so quickly that she nearly banged her head on the edge of cabinet. "Uh…uh…" She looked frantically around the small infirmary room. "I need to get his file."

The nurse gave her a knowing look as she ducked into the infirmary waiting room. "Doc, you have got to take some time off—you keep burning the candle at both ends like this and you're just gonna burn out." She held a file out to Cass.

Opening the manila-colored file folder, the Oracle looked at the name listed on the very top: Michael Scofield. Some Power must like her today. The only person she would rather talk to was Lindsey…ahem, Fernando, but she'd take what she could get. "What's he coming in for today?" she asked the nurse casually.

The nurse gave her an 'are you crazy?' look. "Same thing he comes in for every day—his insulin shot."

"Uh, right." Cass gave herself a good mental kicking as she flipped through the various pages in Scofield's file. Type-1 diabetes and two missing toes. The diabetes he'd come with; the toes were a more recent happening. Silently, she started cursing whatever god she'd been thanking a moment before—she had no idea how to administer insulin. Suddenly, posing as the prison's doctor didn't seem like the brightest idea ever.

"You ok, Doc?" the nurse asked, worry managing to knit her finely-plucked eyebrows together. "If you're not feeling good, I can take care of Scofield." She had picked up a metal tray covered in a blue cloth. On top rested a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of what Cass supposed was insulin. Instead of offering it to her, the nurse was keeping it close to her bosom.

"No, no, I'm fine." The Oracle held out her hand expectantly, and the nurse put the tray into it with a little shake of her head.

The other woman didn't look like she was buying it, but Cass headed into the exam room anyway. They'd let Scofield in while she was outside, and he sat in a plastic chair in the corner. At the sight of her, he began rolling up one sleeve of the white thermal undershirt he wore under his prison blues. She kept her expression carefully neutral as she set the tray down on a table. He looked exactly like the picture in his prison file, though she hadn't expected him to have both arms covered in tattoos extending from the wrists up into his shirt sleeves. She glanced down at the file, which she's left conveniently open on her knee when she settled on one of those little rolling stools common to all modern doctors' offices. According to the notes, the tattoos covered not only both arms but his entire chest and back as well.

"What's an engineer doing with fifty percent of his body tattooed?" she asked as she flipped back through Dr. Tancredi's notes, trying to find something that would help her with the insulin. For a moment, she debated popping Sara in and letting her handle this, but then she dismissed the idea—Scofield might notice the transfer and start asking questions.

Michael didn't answer her. The Oracle looked up at him. The look on his face was cocky, almost flirtatious. So the prisoner had a thing for the doctor. Didn't surprise Cass—she had to be the only pretty female any of these men saw on a regular basis. Half the prison population probably had a crush on Dr. Tancredi. At this point, the Oracle could care less. However, her second look at the man gave her an excuse to stall. Michael Scofield had a Band-Aid half-plastered open a nasty-looking gash on his forehead.

"Ok, what happened here?" she asked, reaching up to peel off the bandage. She tried to be gentle, but it still seemed like the adhesive took some of his eyebrow hairs along with it.

"Caught an elbow playing basketball," he answered.

Cass snorted. "Who'd the elbow belong to? The Jolly Green Giant? First your toes, now this—you know you're going to get killed in here if you don't start being careful."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, the cocky grin not going anywhere. "I'll even take you to dinner when I get out of here alive."

"Michael…" she started to say as she dropped the Band-Aid in the bio-waste bin and took a small gauze pad and some surgical tape out of the cabinet above it.

"Ok, lunch," he countered.

She sat back down on the stool and took his chin in her hands, turning it so she could get a good look at the wound. Diabetes, she knew nothing about, but bloody wounds were right up her alley. Too bad she couldn't pull a bit of healing like she had on Lindsey, but not only would that betray her cover but she didn't have access to that power while in this body. If he had caught an elbow on the basketball court, it must have sent him face-first into the fence. There was a nice vertical split right through his left eyebrow. "You're going to scar," she informed him curtly, letting go of his chin.

"All right, coffee. When I get out of here alive, say you'll meet me for coffee."

"I'm guessing it's your smooth-talking that gets you into so much trouble in the yard," she replied as she dabbed at the excess blood. A scab was already starting to form, so she doubted it would need stitches unless it opened up again. She stuck the bit of gauze over it. It went on a little croaked, but who was going to notice?

Scofield looked down at his shoes. Cass hoped she hadn't accidentally just killed a budding relationship between him and the lady-doctor. But, she didn't have time to dwell on it—time to transport out unless she wanted to mess with the insulin and, even after looking the chart over, she had no confidence in her ability to not mess it up. Best leave it to the professionals. The jailhouse infirmary wavered in front of her eyes for a moment, and then she was gone.