The very last thing Stranz wanted to do was attend "therapy." The only thing he didn't want to do more was serve out the rest of his sentence for attempted murder in prison. All of the orange jump suits were itchy, smelled faintly of death and urine, and clashed severely with his tanned complexion. Plus the other inmates saw him as an easy target. After all, he may have been a deadly shot with a crossbow, but there was no such thing in prison. Stranz could at least take comfort in the fact that even though he was separated from his sister, Fairchild, they were at least wearing matching jumpsuits. Or at least that's what Stranz imagined late at night when he was braced up against the cold and moist brick on his bunk. He learned the first week in prison to sleep with his back against the wall. When you get caught on national television kissing and slapping your twin sister, word gets around. And the snuggling here was a lot rougher than the snuggling Stranz was used to. He'd have to remember to thank Fairchild for letting him be the big spoon on occasion. It seemed like that's all they expected of him here was a quiet, little spoon.
Stranz had never been so relieved as he was when the guards led him into a room where his clothes were folded and laid on a bench. At the very least, his worthless sister, Katie, had brought him something else to wear besides the bedazzled JFK suit he'd been arrested in. The strangled sound he made as his fingers slid over the soft purple knit material sounded like a sob mixed with a laugh. Maybe because it was. It was incredibly hard to get sound out when his chest tightened up. Crying to get the sad out in prison wasn't really an option so Stranz had taught himself to bottle up his feelings until it came out in a wheezing chortle. How ridiculous would that have been? Walking into a mandatory therapy session dressed as JFK? No, the purple on purple was much better. Stranz vaguely hoped Katie had left Fairchild with the matching set. But only for a moment. His brain could only hold on to thoughts about people outside of himself and Fairchild for so long before it drifted.
It felt good to be out of the itchy, orange jumper. The soft, expensive fabrics in various shades of purple did a great deal to sooth Stranz's delicate skin. But nothing quite held a candle to the overwhelming relief in seeing Fairchild waiting for him in the overly rusty, should have been white, prison van. Her cherub like face, normally set in a grimace of disgust and superiority, seemed to soften into a look that seemed to reflect his level of relief. However, Fairchild was better at hiding her emotions than her twin and almost as quickly as the expression flashed across her face, it was gone again. But it was enough to wash away any of the anxiety Stranz had allowed to bottle up from the moment they had been separated and reactivated the butterflies that always seemed to flutter about his stomach whenever Fairchild smiled at him.
Seat belted in to the bench seat next to his sister, hands and feet handcuffed and attached to the bottom of his seat by unnecessarily sturdy chains, Stranz couldn't actually embrace his sister like he wanted to. Just the idea of wrapping his arms around his twin and pressing her warm, lithe frame against his and smelling the fruity scent of her hair prompted another exacerbated sound of excited anxiety to squeeze out of him. Unfortunately, the guards didn't want a repeat of their arrest and subsequent trial and had chained them far enough apart that they couldn't touch. Not really. What did they think they were going to do? Stranz was pretty much harmless or so he thought without a crossbow. But that didn't stop Stranz from sliding his long leg as far as he could get it so he could entwine his leg with his sister's letting his foot rest against hers.
They were allowed to have a quiet moment in the back of the should have been white van and even that brief moment of contact was enough to settle the anxiety that had been building in Stranz's body since they had been separated. Until they were each taken into their respective custodies, the twins had never been separated. Stanz locked eyes with his other half and was relieved to find her looking back at him with the same emotions reflected in her dark blue eyes. The flutter in his stomach intensified until Stranz could feel them enter his chest and threaten to escape up his throat. Before Stranz could think to say something, anything to Fairchild, the guard turned in his bucket seat to look at them and barked at them in an unsympathetic voice, "NO TOUCHING!"