A/N: Here, as promised, is the first chapter in the sequel to 'The Ultimate Currency.' As I'm wont to do, this one's all planned out from start to finish already, so now it's a matter of taking the journey. If you enjoy the start—or even if you don't!—please drop a line and let me know. Also, I don't own Skins, and in no way profit from its use; this is all for fun. Take care!

Gravel sprayed out from underneath the tires as Emily pushed too strongly on the brake pedal and the coupe skidded to a halt. She jolted forward as she continued moving despite the car's abrupt stop. The seat belt dug into her shoulder, eliciting a wince and a smack on the dashboard. Emily took several deep breaths to calm herself down and unbuckled, popping the door open and placing one foot on the gravel. Halfway out the door, however, her mobile chirped from its spot wedged at an awkward angle in the cupholder by the shifter.

Leaning back across the steering column, Emily plucked the phone from the cup holder, huffing at the prissy picture—linked from her social network profile—that automatically displayed when Katie called. Tapping the answer call button, Emily wriggled backwards out of the open door and flipped her hair so that she could press the phone to her right ear.

"Hello, Katie."

"Jesus, what's your problem?"

Emily frowned and closed the car door firmly, turning in a slow circle and admiring the serenity around her. The gravel drive dead-ended a meter from the front bumper, the small grey, tan, and black pebbles transitioning inorganically from the densely packed path of the drive to a shallow grade, weeds and sparse grasses poking through the rocks. The clumps of green progressively expanded the further down the slope Emily looked until pebbles gave way to snarled ground cover and thin deciduous trees. She looked further into the sporadic woods; thickly trunked trees were few and far between, but narrower ones with spindly branches and twigs lancing through the greyish-white light of late autumn stretched as far as she could see. Just below the horizon, the ground inclined upwards: the drive ended in the middle of a long valley.

Completing her long, silent turn, Emily replied, "Nothing. I'm just not sure what you want."

"I was just wondering when you'll be home, okay? I don't want to cook for both of us if you're not going to be back."

Emily sighed and pressed the button on her key fob to pop open the boot. "You know how my visits go, sis," she began as she eyed the six reusable grocery bags filled to the brim with non-perishables and soda cans. "They can last ten minutes or five hours."

"Yeah? Well, how bout this time you tell that attention-loving tosser that you're still my sister and I'd like to share one more dinner with you before you go running off to stay with Naomi in London for the next few."

Smiling wryly, Emily looked up at the interwoven canopy of branches above her head. "Somehow I don't think that'll make a difference, but I'll remind him. I'll make sure to stress the part where you think he's a tosser."

"Well he already should know that, for fuck's sake. But please do. Take care of yourself, Emily."

"Yeah," Emily agreed. She ended the call and slipped the mobile into the back pocket of her jeans. Sighing once more, she leaned into the boot and pulled out two large bags. Leaving the lid ajar, she walked slowly up the drive towards the well-worn path leading off down the slope into the woods that began where the gravel drive ended. She craned her neck to see around the bags, making sure that she would not twist an ankle on some half-obscured root or knob, taking each step carefully.

She reached the bottom of the grade shortly and, with equal care, shuffled up the two wooden steps to the covered porch extending from the front wall of the small cabin. The wood creaked slightly as she put her weight down on it and knelt to place the groceries at her feet.

Emily stood and took a calming breath. She reached out, clenched fist hovering millimeters from the deeply stained wood door. Just do it. Emily rapped three times on the door, then paused and punctuated her arrival with a single firm knock. She tapped her foot impatiently on the deck, arms crossed.

A curtain in the window to her right rippled and moved slightly, but she could not make out who was looking out at her; her curiosity was sated moments later when the front door was thrown open and her host burst outside, embracing her in a fierce hug.

"Ems! Welcome back—" Cook pulled back from the hug and looked distastefully at the contents of the two grocery bags resting next to his visitor. "I certainly hope you've got something better than multi-grain wheat bread and Greek yogurt in the bottom of these bags. What the fuck kind of diet do you think you can force on me? If you think I'm going to swallow this shit down willingly..."

"I've got a few more bags in the car," interrupted Emily calmly. "Why don't you stop bitching and help me with these so I can get the good stuff, yeah?"

"Huh? Oh, right." Stooping down, Cook picked up the two bags and disappeared back into the house, which Emily took as her cue to make the short trip back up to the car to retrieve the other grocery bags. As she descended the third and final time, arms full with the last two bags, Emily heard Cook call out, "That's the beer, right? I am not going to be very happy if you didn't bring me a case or two, Em."

"Well," Emily huffed as she handed one of the bags off to Cook and stalked right past him into the safe house, "I'd be shirking my duties if I didn't, wouldn't I?"

She heard a whoop behind her as Cook spied the beer in the grocery bag she had handed him. Smiling to herself, Emily looped around through the den and into the small kitchen, placing her bag next to the four already stood on the counter. Cook followed her, the grocery bag already discarded on the floor along with a trail of cardboard pieces from where he had ripped open the side marked 'OPEN OTHER END.' The case of beer landed on the counter with an echoing thud as Cook leisurely spun and leaned back against the cheap white ceramic. He popped open the tab and saluted Emily before taking a long drink.

Shaking her head, Emily began unpacking the other groceries, stowing the dozens of cans of vegetables and soup on dusty, shallow shelves lining the few cabinets along the wall to Cook's right. Cans—both opened and empty, as well as full—lined many of the shelves already, but Emily crammed the new ones in anyway. Once they were stowed, she turned and frowned.

"Cook, there are loads of cans in here from two weeks ago. What the fuck?"

Shrugging and tossing a wink at his visitor, he replied, "You know how it is, sometimes you just want a liquid lunch.' He grinned wolfishly and finished off the rest of his beer. Without looking, Cook fumbled inside the cardboard box and withdrew two more cans, tossing one to Emily. "Cheers!"

Emily shook her head and placed the can on the counter next to her. "Can't—have to drive back in a bit, and Katie would kill me if she found out I had even one drink before I did."

"Right." Cook stared at the wood floor for a moment, then looked up and jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the front of the cottage. "How's the new car holding up?"

Emily blushed and looked at her feet. "It's fine, still trying to get used to it is all. I'm a little too aggressive with the brakes sometimes."

"Yeah, certainly sounded like it when you pulled up," chided Cook with an indefatigable smile. "Good to have an actual ride, though? Not that shit moped?"

"Watch it, James," Emily growled, but her threat only drew a howl of laughter. Cook pushed away from the counter and wandered into the den, shaking his head the whole way. Emily had bought the coupe earlier in the fall to replace her destroyed moped, but two months later it was still difficult to adjust to the immediate response the brand-new suspension, brakes, and drivetrain afforded her after years of riding her dilapidated moped and its delayed reactions to her inputs. "Your tuning has not helped."

"Nah," he retorted, falling into the well-worn brown leather sofa. "You just haven't learned how to drive her proper yet. You'll be thanking me for the improvements I made, I can promise you that."

"I'll believe that when I'm actually saying it." Emily slowly sat down in one of the stiff chairs angled to face the couch, smiling softly. "But yes, it is rather nice to have an actual car. It's like having a bit more freedom."

"I bet."

Emily's smile faded at the bitter edge to Cook's response. "Oh, no, Cook. I didn't mean—" He waved off her apology and took a quick sip before staring deep into the pitch dark fireplace. His fingers tapped sequentially on the beer can as Emily's words hung in the air around them. Emily was suddenly aware of the small dimensions of the den—not to mention the cottage as a whole—and how the crisp November air seemed to have found some cracks in the walls and baseboards, noticeably chilling the air inside. She shivered and looked down at her feet.

She knew that Cook hated been sheltered in the safe house. They had initially believed him to be a flight risk when she and Naomi set it up, six months earlier, just before her fiancée was reelected (in spite of the conversation's somber turn, Emily couldn't help but smile at the thought of she and Naomi being engaged). Nevertheless, Cook had made it quite clear that he would not make any attempt to escape. At the time, he desperately needed a place to hide until his escape had been discarded by the media as something no longer newsworthy, but after that...Emily recalled a pointed conversation she and Naomi held the the weekend after her celebratory election rally during which Naomi argued that Cook would want to hide out and stay away from the public after the near-misses and dangerous missions Tony Stonem and others had paid him to carry out; Emily countered arguing that there was never a time in his life that Cook had chosen to remain confined voluntarily for long, not when he gave himself up to the police in college, not when he was hiding until a few days after taking SSI hostage. So why should she think that he would stay in this safe house, alone, in the woods, for more than a few months either?

Yet, despite her concerns, Cook had cooperated. He often mentioned off-handedly how much he wished they would take him into town, or at least to the petrol station several kilometers down the main road. Emily staunchly refused every time, although he must have mentioned it to Katie and Naomi the previous week, since the discussion over dinner on Thursday had been all about letting Cook out for an afternoon. But Emily could not bring herself to see a positive from any situation involving them and Cook in public together. Naomi didn't need a single distraction right now; she was planning on opening the hearings into Strategic Security Initiatives and their illegal business dealings on Tuesday. If someone saw her out with Cook and put two and two together...the repercussions were something Emily refused to entertain.

So Cook remained (figuratively) shackled to the safe house. He had eagerly asked to work on Emily's car when she purchased it lightly used at the end of the summer, and the detective was happy to oblige. She knew he appreciated having something to distract himself from the monotony of his regular schedule, but Emily had not considered just how bittersweet it would have to be, tinkering on and fixing up what could instantly become a ticket to freedom. Sure, he had waved off any sort of apology, but Emily knew that was more him saving face than anything.

"Ready for these hearings, then?"

Emily blinked and looked up, startled from her reverie. "Uh, yeah. I'd like to think so, at least. I haven't been able to put as much time into helping Naoms with it lately, thanks to real work, but she's got the best helping her—Vic's really amazing, actually."

"That's the creepy almost-Freds?"

"He's not creepy!" protested Emily, but even she had to admit that at first, working with someone who so eerily resembled their dead friend was jarring and uncomfortable.

"Suit yourself. You'll be going over next week, yeah? For the hearings."

Emily nodded and toyed with a piece of superfluous stitching on the arm of the chair. "Katie will come by and check up on you, Cook. Don't worry."

"Do you think she can handle it?"

"Why wouldn't she be able to?"

"Come on, Ems. She's barely spoken to me since..." He trailed off and Emily noticed an uncharacteristic look of regret and uneasiness cloud his eyes. Cook shook his head and cleared it, casting a challenging look at his guest. "I feel like shit about it, I do. And I would never have seriously hurt her."

"I know, Cook. We've been over this at least a dozen times. But my sister's strong, and I know she's forgiven you—"

"Has she told you?"

"What?"

"Has she told you? That she's forgiven me?" Cook narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, like a lion tensing in anticipation of attacking unsuspecting prey. Instinctively, Emily shifted in her seat to be as far from him as possible.

"Not in so many words, no."

He jumped up and smacked the mantle. Emily bit her lip and sat silently, watching as Cook slapped it a second time and then rested his forearm against the stone. His head tipped forward and came to a rest on his arm, staring into the barren fireplace. Statuesque, Cook remained there for several minutes before reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing a pack of fags and a lighter. Turning and propping one foot up on the wall next to the fireplace, he lit one and took a deep drag. He cast a quick, inquiring look towards Emily before releasing three perfect smoke rings towards the ceiling.

"Show off," Emily muttered as she bit back a smile. The tension between them broken, she shook her head and he laughed before sticking the fag back in the corner of his mouth and sliding down the wall to sit on the cool floor.

"So tell me, Emilio: How's the wedding coming along?"

"Ugh, don't ask."

"That good, eh?"

"No, it's terrible! This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life and all it does is make me more and more frustrated! Katie thinks she has to provide her opinion on everything, and Naomi just sort of shrugs and says she'll be happy with anything. Which would be fine, but then when I try to make a decision, she offers an alternative. It's a fucking mess, and that's before my mum tried to get involved."

Cook arched an eyebrow and grinned. "I'm sure she's been well supportive."

"I don't know who's worse!" exclaimed Emily. "Mum for trying to make things difficult on me on purpose, or Naomi doing it unintentionally! Speaking of all that, Katie and I are supposed to go over the playlist tonight so we can submit it to the DJ next week...oh, don't give me that look, Cook! For the last time, we do not need a wedding singer."

"Come on, Ems! You know I'd be the best."

"The best what?"

Cook replied with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Emily failed to hide her grin. Standing and shaking her head, she added, "You know how I feel about you leaving here, but Naomi already brought it up for this occasion twice. Behave yourself while we're in London and I'll think about it. Carefully."

"Ah, I knew you'd come 'round!" Cook leapt up from his spot on the wall and embraced Emily in a fierce hug.

"That's not a 'yes!'"

"Comes close enough for me! Say hello to Katiekins for me."

"I will." Emily moved towards the door, pausing with it slightly ajar to yell back, "And eat something this week, for fuck's sake."

"No promises!" laughed Cook from the other room.

Emily shook her head and slammed the door shut. As she stepped off the porch, she muttered, "Fucking hell."

It started raining when Emily was halfway back to Bristol, the late afternoon sun still shining to the east as thick grey clouds moved in from the coast and scattered storms across the countryside. The tail lights of the car in front of her became overlapping blurring red polygons and Emily forced herself to slow down, dialing the wiper speed up accordingly and checking her mirrors. The last several kilometers had been repetitive in an uneasy way: occasional cars ahead, incessant rain, a steadily dropping digital temperature display at the base of the steering column, and the unwavering headlights of the same car driving about a hundred meters behind her.

Emily frowned and tapped her thumb on the wheel. The car appeared about twenty minutes after leaving the safe house, taking up what Emily assumed its driver thought was an inconspicuous position behind her. Unfortunately for him, the highway was mostly empty and Emily's suspicions were aroused when he never tried to pass her or at least close slightly and fall behind when she accelerated to well over the speed limit; the other car matched her speed exactly. Moreover, he was now slowing down just as she was, keeping the distance between them.

Gritting her teeth, Emily tried to refocus on the road ahead of her; it would do no good to stare into her rear view and hit the person in front of her. No, her best chance of losing a tail would be driving normally and naturally until she could get to the crooked, twisting streets in Bristol and shake him there. As she tried to picture exactly what route would give her the best chance of evading the other car, Emily felt her heart begin to pound. The car ahead had just illuminated its signal, the orange blinking flashing at her ominously as the car—a Volvo, Emily noted, as she drove past it—pealed onto a ramp leading down to a side road.

Turning her concentration back onto the highway, Emily looked up at the mirror. "Oh shit."

The car behind her was accelerating rapidly, the headlights bouncing up and down as it moved over the small imperfections in the pavement. The LED beams filled the cabin of Emily's small coupe, reflecting directly off the rear view. Emily squinted and put a hand up to block the reflection. She gripped the leather steering wheel more tightly with the other, trying to keep steady in the left most lane.

"Come on, switch lanes," she whispered to herself, trying to will the car to pass her. In open contradiction to her wishes, however, it continued to close her, getting close enough to tailgate her and slow just slightly so she would not get rear-ended. Emily eased the car into the other lane, not bothering to use her signal, hoping the mystery car would blow by and leave her be.

The car smoothly changed lanes and resumed its position much too close to her rear bumper. Suddenly, Emily jolted forward as the car nudged her. The coupe began to fishtail, the high speeds coupling with the slick road and rain to take control out of Emily's power. Gasping, Emily turned the wheel back and forth, fighting to keep the car straight and clear of the traffic separation barrier looming an arm's length out her driver's side window.

A small orange indicator light depicting a car with two 'S' shapes trailing it winked into existence on her tachometer and Emily felt the traction control take over. She let the computer adjust and quickly Emily was back in control of the coupe. She started to exhale deeply—

Crack! The sickening sound of the cars colliding, harder this time, pierced the sound of rain splattering against the windshield. Emily screamed as her coupe veered right and scraped the barrier. Sparks arced into the air when the wheel arch impacted the concrete, but Emily pulled hard on the steering wheel to bring the coupe back onto the roadway.

She overcompensated. The coupe understeered and dove across the highway just centimeters from clipping the car behind her. Scrambling to control her new car, Emily pushed down on the brakes as hard as she could, prompting yet two more orange indication lights to appear: ABS and stability control. Despite their best automated efforts, though, the car completed a spin and a half, careening across the second, empty lane of traffic, and bumping roughly over the shoulder.

Emily clenched her fingers around the steering wheel and continued to press the brake pedal. She rode out the spins and as undergrowth and grass passed roughly beneath the tires, the car came to a rest pointing back in the direction from which she had come. In the far side mirror, Emily watched the antagonistic car scream off into the rain-soaked evening.

Fingers still white-knuckling the wheel, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on the wheel between her hands, her breaths coming in short gasps. Curls of smoke rose from the front of the engine and Emily closed her eyes. "Shit...shit. SHIT!" Opening them and looking at the still illuminated lights on the dashboard, Emily shook her head, thinking of all the work she'd had done to make the car handle better. I guess I owe you one, Cookie.