Kitty was restless that night. Each time she closed her eyes, Gillan's face would appear, his eyes bright in the night, feelings of betrayal and confusion shining through. She couldn't help feeling guilty. First she had abandoned him in the woods, then she had rejected him. But….then Elliot's face appeared, cold and gleeful, and her resolve strengthened. She had enough to worry about. How she wanted to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and try to enjoy life once more! But she still had that nagging feeling, holding her back, especially after the events of today.

She tossed over again. Flora lay in the bed next door. Her mouth hung open, and Kitty thought she saw some drool. She smiled to herself, swinging her legs over the bed. She really did admire Flora. She had such enthusiasm, such a buzz and love of life. By God was she persistent. And so vulnerable. Kitty made a decision then to always look out for her. She would not let Flora make the same mistakes as herself. Without thinking she grabbed a pen, paper, ink and a lantern, her lighter and a packet of cigarettes already in her pocket. She wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight. She caught her dressing gown as she slipped out of the tent.

The night air was cool, but bearable, and flicking the lighter, Kitty lit the lamp, holding it out before her. The light led the way, creating a faded circle of light that warmed her. Her feet were bare on the tickling grass, whispering through the green fronds. Soon she found the eaves of the woods and, setting her lantern down she sat against one of the outmost trees. The field lay out before her, the tents opposite her, randomly punctuated with sharp glows through their sleeves.

Sighing, Kitty looked down at the paper, her mind blank. It had been so full of words. For a moment, she thought of Sophie, gazing up at her from the swaddles of blankets, her mouth wide in a toothless grin. She had been crying when the midwife had gently passed her into Kitty's arms, but as Kitty had looked into her beautiful brown eyes, rocking her back and forth, the crying had slowly abated into small hiccups, until she had eventually fallen asleep. But just for a moment. Opening her eyes again, Kitty forced herself to take in her surroundings. This was her reality now.

"Isn't this a bit late for you ta be goin' out fer a stroll?" Kitty jumped. The voice was undoubtedly his harsh Scottish brogue. The paper fell to the floor as she spun around. Captain Gillan stood further back within the wood's shadow, the stub of his cigarette the spot of light showing her where he was as he sucked in a breath.

Kitty felt awkward. She needed to go. She gathered her things.

"Don't let me disturb you," he said. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard. She had had no idea he was there and he could have easily slipped away before she knew any different. But no, he was hurt and wanted to shift some of the discomfort to her. The pain of the evening was still fresh, and she didn't want to make things worse by doing or saying something she didn't mean. He had been so open, so honest about his feelings. What could she say after that? She had too much to lose to risk telling him the truth.

"Not at all," she muttered, hurrying back across the field.

He noticed she was in bare feet. He noticed how lovely her hair looked hanging loose and the way it almost shone silver in the moonlight. He also noticed the slip of paper that had floated to the ground as she whisked away. Picking it up, he was about to call out to her, but then he saw the writing and the last words, 'you are nothing to me'. Frowning, he looked from the paper up to her figure in the distance, and back again. She had agreed to meet him earlier, and then not bothered to turn up. Was she just playing with him? Or was there an alternate reason, something that made it absolutely necessary that she couldn't turn down the pass. He remembered her words, 'no one turns down a pass'. He chuckled hollowly to himself. He had turned down his pass, for her.

He looked back down at the sheet of paper. It had just one short paragraph of writing. It was too hard to read without squinting. He began marching toward his tent. Miles had always been a deep sleeper.