Author's Note: Jill of the Forest is my own invention. But it doesn't sound like a horrible idea, does it?

Also, the blitz begins. And yes, Pravda still exists.

Disclaimer: All Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon; all Daria characters belong to Glenn Eichler; all other characters and the plot belong to me, and any use without my express written consent and the consent of major league baseball is strictly prohibited.

X X X X X

After Lynette left the prison -- making sure Daria would feel minimal repercussions for what had happened that morning -- she'd reflected on what she'd done. Under most circumstances, doing what she'd appeared to have done would have been serious enough to cause her to lose her medical license and possibly face criminal charges. But Carla Fisk and Amy Barksdale weren't likely to complain, and if Maggie Silber found out about it, Lynette would happily explain the truth.

That left only Bonnie Juarez. And Bonnie seemed to want to know only what she needed to to make sure her prison ran smoothly. It wasn't likely she'd be an issue.

She had gotten Faith and Daria's consent. That one of them didn't remember it and the one was buried inside the other for the immediate future was irrelevant. Even though she'd thought it was the only way to preserve Faith's personality, she wouldn't have gone along with it if either one of them hadn't consented. And since she'd done it Monday morning, before the hearing to declare Daria's incompetence, their agreement was all that was required.

If it ever came down to the choice between preserving her career and Faith's life? She wasn't sure what she'd pick.

Of course she was. She'd get in trouble either way -- either she was trying to circumvent the wishes of the LA DA's office, or she was an unethical psychiatrist who was willing to go against the explicitly stated wishes of her patient. (And again, even though Faith/Daria had fewer rights as a convict, she did have to consent to radical therapy.)

So, simply by practical standards, if it ever came down to a choice between throwing herself into the line of fire or her and Faith, it was no choice at all.

It shouldn't come down to that choice. But it was good to be prepared.

She had no idea what Amy Barksdale's plans were -- but Lynette was confident enough in her abilities as a psychiatrist and her abilities as a hypnotist that she was certain that no other psychiatrist would be able to figure out what she did, even if they were suspicious at how quickly she was able to erase Faith's personality. The post-hypnotic suggestions she'd left Daria pretty much assured that no other hypnotist would be able to break through the story the three of them had come up with, no matter how hard they tried.

She pictured the conversation in her head. "So, Dr. Vaughn, given how complex DID is, how is it you managed to remove the Faith persona so quickly, and how can you be so sure it's gone?"

"I'd been seeing Faith for over a year and had built up a very strong level of trust with her. When I told her, under hypnosis, that she had to 'go away' now because it was best for Daria, she said she'd do exactly that. She said it'd be like jumping off a building -- like she'd be finishing something that should've been finished a long time ago." Faith had given her that suggestion. She knew, from reading Faith's history, that Faith had been in a fight that had ended up with her being stabbed and falling off a building, only being saved from death by sheer luck -- a pickup truck had been driving by and she'd fallen into its bed.

"So the Faith personality agreed with this? Even after she and the Daria personality made this pact that Daria would try her hardest to make certain that the Faith persona didn't disappear?"

"I think Faith saw it as her redemption. She'd be paying the ultimate penalty for her crimes, and someone who was completely innocent would be free to live their own life without any interference from her." That had also been Faith's suggestion. Lynette had actually wondered at the time if Faith might not have had some thoughts along those lines.

If so, Lynette was happy she'd been able to derail them. She wasn't in the business of enabling suicides, and that's exactly what that kind of sacrifice by Faith would have been, in her mind -- suicide.

The important thing is, Amy Barksdale and Carla Fisk wouldn't see it that way.

She had all these thoughts while driving. Along the way, she also called her home phone to check her messages.

She had ten in the last two hours. One was from her husband, who'd seen the story in his own copy of the Times on location -- he had it specially delivered, one of the few perks he allowed himself -- and wanted to be sure she was okay.

Him, she called back. He was on the set, but fortunately, shooting hadn't yet begun for the day. (Will was the creator and producer and main director of a summer series for the USA Network called Jill of the Forest -- a comedy-drama about a park ranger. They were doing all of their location shots at once, which is why he hadn't been home for three weeks.)

Will offered to come home immediately, but she turned him down. Sure, the set could do without him for a few days, but this wasn't his fight and she didn't want to have his new series associated with any of this -- negative publicity, no matter how tenuously associated, could damage it, and she preferred to avoid that.

Eight were from assorted reporters, radio talk shows, and even a couple of TV shows. Six of those were local. Two were not.

She didn't bother with them. She'd said all she needed to say in the report. Her reputation would have to speak for itself.

One was from someone with an interesting invitation. "Come on over," he said, giving an address. "You can hide out here for a while." He then gave an address.

It was easily the best offer she'd had all morning.

And, anyway, she'd heard all kinds of interesting things about the Hyperion.

X X X X X

Daria's punishment for having treated her cell as though she were Lou Ferrigno was practically nonexistent: She had to stay out of the cell for the rest of the day while the warden hustled someone in to do repairs on it. After grabbing her copy of April 10, 1997 so she could return it to the library -- she certainly wasn't going to try reading it again -- she followed the warden and the two wary guards.

"Dr. Vaughn says you're fine now, and I trust her," the warden said. "And she said your fit was her fault. There won't be any repercussions."

"Thank you," Daria said sincerely. "I appreciate the lengths you're going to to help me."

"You're welcome," Warden Juarez said. Then, in a much quieter voice, she said, "But if anything like that happens again, you're on your own. There's only so much shit I'll put up with."

"I understand."

So, first to lunch -- where Daria ate as much as she could, even given the mediocre quality of the food. The combination of missing breakfast and two hours of adrenaline had left her starving. Fortunately, there were a lot of fried foods on the menu today, and it took a lot of work for any cafeteria to seriously mess up fried foods.

And Daria didn't want to hear about how unhealthy they were. She knew how unhealthy they were. She also knew that she'd never smoked, drank alcoholic beverages, or taken illegal drugs, nor did she have any plans to do so in the future. So she figured she could handle some fried chicken patties now and again. She would have killed for a pizza, but the kind of pizza they had in here was the kind that you wouldn't have fed to your worst enemy.

Well, most people wouldn't have fed them to their worst enemy. Daria would have cheerfully given Dr. Vaughn a few slices at this point. And that echo of Buffy inside her head could probably do with a slice.

After that she got to go out in the main yard -- where, to her surprise, she was receiving looks from all of the other inmates. Not death glares; looks of respect and admiration. One of them came up to her, finally, as she was walking over towards the exercise area. Daria cut off whatever she was about to say and asked, "What's this all about?" in her best imitation of Faith's voice."

"Girl," and since her fellow inmate must have had a good 25 -- no, 20 -- years on her Daria let it pass -- "You scared the shit out of the guards with what you pulled this morning. It's all over the inside, you cursing and beating the hell out of your cell wall. And now here you are out again? They scared of you, girl. I can't think a one of us hasn't wanted to see that look in their eyes." After a second, "So how'd you pull it off?"

"Luck and adrenaline," Daria said. "The cell walls were kinda weak --" Of course, they weren't; if any of the other inmates started punching their walls to try to break out all they'd get is bruised knuckles and irritated guards -- guards who wouldn't be afraid enough of them not to come into their cells -- "and the Doc blew somethin' the last time she and I had a therapy session. That's how come I had a two-hour long screaming fit."

The other inmate -- Daria didn't know her name, didn't know any of her fellow inmates' names, in fact, and liked it that way -- said, "Warden ain't going to be too happy with her, girl."

"No fuckin' kiddin'," Daria said. "It doesn't say much for her competence."

"Betcha nothing happens to her."

"Can't disagree with you there," Daria said. The other inmate nodded and left her alone, which is exactly what Daria had wanted.

But as she approached the exercise area, she stopped. Now wasn't the time to be giving either the guards or the other inmates more evidence of her superhuman strength. So she settled for about twenty push-ups -- she would have been lucky to do more than a couple in PE back in Highland, not that she ever put forth the effort -- and a sprint from one end of the exercise yard to the other and back again.

This still left her barely winded, but it was about as much activity as she felt she could get away with it. She also noticed that she probably could have run as fast as any typical Olympic-level sprinter. Apparently Slayer strength and endurance also made for Slayer speed.

As she headed inside -- still noticing her fellow inmates' look of respect -- she picked up her copy of April 10, 1997 and, with the guards' okay, headed back to the prison library.

Sometime, probably today or tomorrow, her aunt would come by to tell of her future as someone so clearly incompetent to make their make their own decisions.

In the meantime, she'd read.

X X X X X

It wasn't even noon yet, and Carla Fisk was exhausted.

For the first couple of hours -- until a bit after 10:30 -- the calls were mostly local. There was one from a newspaper in Highland, Texas -- she took that one -- and one from San Diego, but everyone else was from the greater Los Angeles area.

Anyone who showed up at the door was being handled by some low-level ADA who, either by terrible luck or by somehow getting on the bad side of the District Attorney, was being told that "Ms. Fisk will have a press conference today at 1 PM."

Really? She didn't know that. She supposed she'd better come up with something interesting to say.

The only people let past the front door to talk to her were Rita and Amy Barksdale. She hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting the older Barksdale sister, so as soon as she got the chance she put her phone on hold, ran to the restroom, grabbed a cup of coffee, and introduced herself.

"Media frenzy?" Amy asked.

"Media frenzy. It's not being helped by the two of you, Daria, and Dr. Vaughn being 'unavailable for comment.' I'm sure Kal Endicott is thoroughly enjoying this, but I'm not."

"You had to have known this was coming," Rita said.

"I did. But knowing it's coming and actually being ready for it are two different things. Listen. I don't have a lot of time; why did the two of you stop by? Because I think actually hashing out what's going to happen with Daria would be best left for another day."

"We were thinking," Rita said, "That maybe we should coordinate our efforts."

"Terrific," Carla said. "I've got a press conference at 1. Having you two there to answer more questions would be a lot of help. I'm going to take a lunch at noon and the three of us can discuss how we're going to present ourselves."

"Terrific," Amy echoed wryly. "Nothing I like more than answering the same stupid question phrased twenty-five different ways."

Carla laughed. "What the hell do you think I've been doing for the last three hours?"

When she got back to her office, the situation started exploding.

In rapid succession she talked to reporters from the Baltimore Sun, Houston Chronicle, Dallas Morning News, Washington Post, and the New York Times.

Then USA Today.

After taking five minutes with her -- all she wanted, basically, was a confirmation of everything she was telling everyone else, and for more than a second Carla was sorely tempted to say, "No, the entire thing's been a lie. Joke's on you!"

On second thought, that would probably get her fired

On third thought, that would probably be more fun than what she was doing now.

She shook off the third thought and continued taking phone calls. A half dozen AP reporters called, followed by three from Reuters. She talked to the first representative in each case and told the rest to check with their colleagues.

It was then that the truly big boys started getting into the act.

CNN was the first national TV outlet to call her -- they wanted a phone interview as soon as she could provide one, and then they wanted her on Larry King Live that night. (Kal Endicott, who must have been down on his knees thanking whatever god he held most dear, was also going to be on.)

She checked with the DA and he said that was fine -- meaning, of course, that it she screwed up it was her neck that was going to be on the chopping block.

Then NBC. Then Fox. Then Court TV (she gave them a bit longer; they actually asked questions no one else had thought of.)

Then the BBC. The frigging British national news channel.

What the hell was next? Pravda?