AN: this is not in the tone of the stories I've been writing lately. I was in an inexplicably dark mood this afternoon and this came out. Don't hesitate to leave your thoughts. WARNINGS: threat of sexual violence; mention of torture; swearing.

…

Sara wasn't so eager to go to that party in the first place. It's a fundraising event, for her new job, it's best she attends for appearances but she isn't in the mood for it – not at all. It's been a long day at work and all she wanted was to fall asleep in a hot, hot bath. Scrub away the smell of antiseptic from the hospital. Not put on a black dress that would look good on her and sell away a few smiles so that middle aged bachelors would pay an overly expensive price for not-so-great homemade items.

But hey. It's for charity. Sara came here because she's a charitable person.

Right around the time that she spots Paul Kellerman at the other end of the crowded room, wearing suit and smile like any decent politician, she starts thinking her charitability has its limits and she's about reached them.

It's been years since she's seen him, nearly as long since she's thought about him.

That he went on to be a liberal congressman who fights for minorities' rights – women's rights among them, as irony has it – doesn't make Sara think more of him. When he clamors for equal wages for equal work on TV, she sees him holding a gun to her head, forcing her inside his car, tying her up.

But Americans love a good redemption story. Anyone that makes them feel less shitty about themselves.

Bile rises to Sara's mouth. The room smells sick, of laughter, hypocrisy and champagne. Her eyes dart towards the door. She told her boss she'd stay till eleven at least but it's time to cut her losses. She's certain if she stays a second longer she'll throw up or break something.

Peace struggles its way in despite her racing pulse when she gets away from the room, and only the sound of her high heels echoing in the corridor reaches her ears. It's been ages since she's worn heels. Rookie move. The fugitive in her – and deep down, Sara still is, will always be a fugitive – can't help but think how impractical they are to run with.

She should have thought about that tonight.

"Leaving so soon?"

Sara turns back around. Kellerman stands grinning widely by the exit door.

"I'm sorry," he says, maybe for the smile. "I wasn't sure when I saw you leaving – I thought maybe I was imagining things, seeing ghosts. The world isn't that small. I didn't know you were back in Chicago."

"Did you expect a postcard?"

"Ha," he chuckles, act like her disdain is very funny. Funny isn't the word. There's a look in his eyes she's seen too many times to be fooled.

Maybe he wanted her from the start, even while he was shoving her head into that bathtub. Maybe he only started wanting her after that. She can't decide which is sicker.

Somehow, while she was thinking, he's managed to take a few steps closer. She doesn't know how she could have missed it. Kellerman's a rather hefty, imposing man. Sara steps back.

The chuckle on his lips looks like a smile now. Not Lance-the-addict smile. He's wearing no reassuring homosexual mask.

"Honest to God," he says, "I didn't know it was your hospital that was throwing the charity. But it's your party. You don't have to leave just because of me."

"I don't have to," she answers cautiously.

She realizes she keeps stepping back and he must keep stepping closer, because the tense distance between them isn't building up as she would wish.

"Really, I'm kind of glad I would get the chance to see you –"

"Excuse me?"

"Apologize to you," it's like the first word he's used doesn't exist. "I'm a changed man, Sara. And oh," as if it's just crossing his mind now, "I've heard about your husband's death. Tragic. You being so young, so many years ahead of you."

Somehow, Sara musters the strength to stop walking. She doesn't know how far that corridor goes but things could get a lot worse if her back meets the wall. She won't allow Kellerman to corner her, won't give him a chance to demonstrate how perfectly unchanged he is.

If she screams right now and people come running, he'll convince them she's having a panic attack. Kellerman makes lies sound more plausible than what's true. They'll believe him. The knowledge of this shines excitedly in his eyes.

"You better not touch me," she says suddenly. Her voice is hoarse with warnings. The veil between them drops.

"Touch you?" He laughs. Sara fights the feeling it causes inside her, that she's an invisible little girl, that she's being ridiculous, that he just wants to help her. He's good at this. Unfortunately for him, since he last fooled her, she got better. "Why not?"

She doesn't think about her answer. "Because I held a burning iron to your chest to get away from you once. And if you put me in a position where I need to escape again, Paul, I'll do worse."

He smiles like he wants to find out what she has in mind. But he doesn't. Shaking his head, sighing; silent ways of calling her ridiculous. Before she's noticed, they're at a reasonable distance from each other.

"You know, it's a little sad that you're still afraid of me."

What's sadder is that she knows he's afraid of her, but she keeps her mouth shut. She wants this to be over.

"I thought we could put the past behind us," he adds.

"No point," she says. "No future."

"All right," he's laughing again, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "All right." His eyes skim over her black dress. Want. Frustration. "Well, I'll be getting back, as you're leaving me the floor."

"All yours."

He wishes.

He turns his heels, heads back towards the party. "By the way," he adds, maybe as some spiteful revenge, "whatever you're selling to get donations for your hospital – I'm not buying."

She wonders if it's really worth having the last word, when the words reek with impotent desire.

"Goodnight, Sara."

She doesn't return his statement, waits for him to have disappeared into the room before she turns her back on it.

I'm done with charity, she thinks.

The next time she sees Kellerman's face on television, in the middle of an insufferably good-hearted speech, she spits at the screen.