A/N: This is complete and total crack. Please don't take this seriously, because my brain is fried with finals and who knows what happens there. Takes place post-Dr Horrible, and between Seasons 1 and 2 of OINTB. Very AU, and probably somewhat OOC with lots of incorrect facts and wacky timelines. (This story was inspired by brainstorming for a school presentation two semesters ago, surprisingly enough.)

i.

Piper couldn't help but notice that the new, blond custodian had quite a snarl on him at all times. His bright orange jumpsuit, no doubt worn to make sure the prisoners could relate to him, made him seem sickly even though his ivory skin should've suited him. Piper couldn't help but notice that they shared the same hair color: yellow-gold, with noticeable dark roots. Piper knew at this point that asking any personal questions, especially to the fresh meat, was a terrible faux pas to commit.

Even after grudgingly learning to shut down the nosy, gossipy part of her, Piper ached to know what the custodian did wrong. He wore an orange jumpsuit, indicating that he too was a prisoner. The custodian must've done something wrong and botched his plans badly enough to get caught. He was too lanky and too cute in the face to have committed any kind of heinous crimes, though. Then again, Piper learned in her many months in prison that even the most innocent of faces could commit any crime under the sun. So maybe, this guy was actually a serial murderer on the same imaginatively gross level as Ted Bundy or Hannibal Lector. Or maybe he committed some zany kind of plot. Maybe he was a mad scientist, who wanted world domination! She mentally scoffed at that last bit. Piper was paying too close attention to -conspiracy theories floating around Litchfield as to how and why the custodian could be a custodian at a women's prison and a prisoner at the same time.

"I'm telling ya, he's gotta be some kinda strange case to have to work at a women's only prison. There's something fishy about him being here!" Variations of this statement had been said, and Piper couldn't believe how intently she listened to these stories.

Piper would be satisfied even knowing the length of the custodian's sentence. It was unfortunate that she didn't and wouldn't ever know that information. She kept her eye on him during his cleaning hours. She hoped to learn something about him. Maybe Piper'd learn his entire life story, or maybe Piper would spend her entire sentence burning with curiosity.

ii.

The new janitor guy is cute, Lorna thought to herself as she sauntered past him wiping down a hallway where someone had violently puked early this morning (a part of her wanted him to notice her, but she wasn't particularly sure why; the custodian was perpetually sullen and silent, and never looked anyone directly in the eyes) but he's in a different league of cute than Christopher. It was strange, looking at this man do his job. He never spoke, as if silence was the only way he could deal with cleaning. The custodian, Billy something (at least, that's what Burset had said his name was; Lorna, distracted at the time of the conversation, didn't catch his last name), kept longingly staring at all of the women while cleaning. Lorna could relate to love and longing. These feelings were her specialty.

"You're just projecting, Morello," Nicky dismissed casually, "he's too sullen and moody to be a lovelorn fool."

"You never know!" Lorna retorted with a hiss.

"Why don't you ask Custy-boy then?" Lorna flinched at Nicky's sarcastic nickname for Billy. It was gross and, frankly, juvenile. (Lorna prided herself on using Chapman's infamous two-dollar words in everyday conversation.)

"Maybe I will," Lorna said.

"...Why are you taking me seriously?" Nicky deadpanned as Lorna walked to where Billy stood, cleaning.

Nicky watched Lorna chat with Billy. He couldn't meet her eyes, and he slouched his shoulders, as if he was afraid of being engulfed by Lorna's smothering personality. Nicky watched in rapture at Lorna's conversation with Billy. She couldn't wait to hear Lorna's play-by-play at dinner. For now, Nicky felt content just watching, guessing as to what Lorna could've said to freak out the already shaky new custodian.

iii.

"Did ya hear 'bout the new custodian, Poussey?"

"Taystee, I heard too many weird stories about him. Everyone's freaking out about a man being a custodian in a women's prison. I'm wary too. What do you think he did to get his ass in here?"

"You ain't heard it from me, but...I heard he killed a man. Without even touching him!"

"Girl, you're lying!"

"I swear. He may be scrawny, Poussey, but I hear he's got a temper worse than Red's and anger issues like Pennsatucky."

"Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Duh. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I don't think you're lying. Exaggerating, maybe."

"Are you willing to figure out if I'm telling the truth?"

"Hell no."

"Then don't complain."

iv.

Billy the Custodian came around to Litchfield without a last name, or much of a story that satisfied Daya. Or the rest of the inmates, for that matter. Supervisors and officers and the rest of the staff treated as if he didn't exist. When Billy the Custodian's existence was acknowledged, Daya seethed. He only existed as a scapegoat for all the officers to laugh at. Daya sympathized with his invisibility. She was a shrinking violet, a girl who hated being the center of attention with a burning passion. Despite avoiding attention when Daya could help it, she knew the debilitating loneliness that came from slinking in the shadows. Forced invisibility was isolating, lonely, painful even. Daya wanted to learn something, anything, about him.

"Refusing to let Billy's name come out of the officer's lips is, frankly, an insult to Billy," Sophia had said as she re-dyed Daya's blonde streaks.

"Huh," Daya had responded, not finding the correct words to respond. She never thought of that. She never thought like Sophia, but Daya had wished she could see into Sophia's mind, even for a moment.

"I mean," Sophia drawled in that kind, I'm going to enlighten you tone that Daya learned wasn't passive aggression, "wouldn't you be offended if you were intentionally overlooked for something you couldn't control? It's like saying an innate part of you is an abomination, and that's just not fair. Billy's a human being who happens to be an inmate. and you know the officers here. They love to find any reason to be contemptuous." Daya had let those words sink in.

Those powerful words stuck with Daya. The new custodian wasn't someone to overlook, and Daya made sure of that.

v.

The new custodian, much like every other inmate in Litchfield with half a mind, flinched whenever he caught eyes with Red. That was to be expected. Red's reputation was cultivated and believed for a reason. She was satisfied with the fear people had of her. When inmates got close, and saw Red's motherly side, they would be pleasantly surprised. But the new custodian would sometime glance at Red's hair longingly when this scrawny blond beanstalk of a boy thought Red wasn't looking. If she was discreet enough, she would look back at him. She may have imagined it but she once managed to spot a look of melancholy in his eyes. It unnerved her, to see him cast such a reverent gaze at her hair. (If he was curious about Red's hair dyeing routine, he should've asked. It wasn't like he had anything to lose.)

He missed someone. That much Red knew. The story she heard about how he got here was disjointed. Frankly, the reasoning sounded ridiculous. He had lived in Los Angeles, up until he was charged with voluntary manslaughter and some vague felony charges that had to do with theft and large scale business damage. He was thrown around prisons in California for God-knows how long. After being considered insubordinate, he had started doing community service and Litchfield offered him a position that would fulfill all of his requirements. He would be a few years.

He would be here long enough, hopefully, to tell Red who he loved so much to stare at Red's hair so much and so secretively.

vi.

Alex saw Crazy Eyes and Morello, in separate shifts, cornering the sullen new awkward, gangly custodian into chatting with them. He froze in place, never once making eye contact or speaking a word when Crazy Eyes or Morello said something to him.

Alex expected Morello to chat him up. Objectively speaking, the blond was right up Morello's alley. If his tense, jittery stance and tendency to flit his paranoid glance around the halls meant anything, it meant he was easy to overwhelm. Morello had an aggressive personality that often made people anxious, if they weren't prepared. Surely the custodian, who clutched at his mop and clenched his jaw whenever Morello walked by to wave hello, wasn't prepared for Hurricane Lorna.

But what could Crazy Eyes possibly want with the custodian? Alex would have to ask. She saw the custodian cleaning the cafeteria after lunch. For the first time in the weeks he was here, he seemed at ease. Custodian must've liked the comfort that came with the repetitive motions of mopping.

"'Ey!" Alex called to the custodian. He didn't react. He must've been able to hear Alex. The cafeteria echoed, and she wasn't that far away from him.

"Custodian, come on. You're not deaf or blind!" Alex said. He cast his blue eyes at her that were watery from staring at the reflection of the flourescent light bouncing off of the lineoulum floor.

"I've got a name, you know," the custodian enunciated in a whisper, "and it's Billy. What could you, of all people, want from me?" He seemed shook up. Alex softened for a moment.

"I saw you talking with Inmates Warren and Morello earlier. They seemed to overwhelm you. If you want me to help shoo them away…" She didn't need to finish the sentence. He understood.

"Thanks." The only sounds between them now was the hum of the lights and the sound of screeching shoes on the floor in the halls outside.

"I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here," Billy said. Alex wanted to say yes. Not because she was genuinely interested, but because she wanted the satisfaction of being the first person to know the full story that wasn't the disjointed nonsense Red spread.

"Sure. If you don't wanna tell, I don't care," Alex tried to sound like she didn't care, so as to not put pressure on him.

"I…" Billy choked as he gripped the mop so tight in his hands that his knuckles went white, "I made my own...gun. And I was testing it out. I saw the girl I loved-like a best friend, actually, with my worst enemy, this asshole who hated me since the beginning of time. I got so fucking angry," Alex thought the curse word sounded foreign and jarring out of Billy's mouth, "that I shot him, but the bullet somehow ricocheted. On the plus side, it wounded my worst enemy. I made a mistake, and my friend died. I lost it. Everything I knew shattered at my feet…" He was obviously remorseful, if the tears that threatened to fall were any indication. That, or he was a good actor. Alex's intuition told her there was something in this story that seemed off. It sounded like Billy stripped some important facts from the story. It seemed to work out so well that he was sent to Litchfield. Red said he was from the City of Angels, so how he got to Litchfield was a story rife with explanation.

"You don't seem like you're from around the East coast. You can't be a native," Alex said.

"Yeah, I'm from California. I served in prison there for a solid while after being accepted into an...elite science society that helped fund my gun making habit. I was sent to do community service, but I was a liability and I came here for the structure." Alex barked a laughter. A hellhole like this minimum security prison would offer a sprout like him structure? As if! Billy must've understood her humor, because he laughed along with her.

"Thanks for, uh, sharing your story. If you need protection, I'm your girl." Alex pivoted on her heel, and walked toward the door. He went back to mopping.

Life went back to it's expected routine, with Alex feeling slightly more enlightened.