a/n [Written by Johanna for the first day of Caesar's Palace's Shipping Week. Uses prompt 'stained glass' from c/p.]

The first of January is a quiet day. Doors are shut, voices are hushed, and the air is cold and dry. A blanket of snow covers the district, and all is calm and well. But somewhere to the north of town, a door slams shut and heavy footsteps make prints in the snow. A mittened hand pounds on someone else's door. When the voice rings out, loud and unforgiving, faces peer out of blinds and curse at the girl buried under scarves.

"Cato. Cato!" Her hand keeps pounding on the door.

When he flings it open, sleep in his eyes and a sweater hastily pulled on, she doesn't give him a second to compose himself. Clove reaches for his hand and steps backward. She has the path memorized—she's walked to town countless of times—and while he knows the way just as well as she, he stumbles through the snow.

"Where are we going, Clo?"

"Somewhere."

They slow when they reach the justice building. It looms above them, the light catching on falling snowflakes making everything seem alight. Clove pulls herself onto the windowsill and burrows into the corner against the stained glass. In the condensation from her breath, she writes her name across a glass strip of green, and then invites Cato to sit. He's more cautious than she to sit next to the icy glass.

"Why are we here?" he asks, crossing his arms against the chill.

"Where else would we be?"

"Home."

"It's not original enough," she says, scooting over until she's leaning against his side. Her head falls on his shoulder, and they stay like that, the snow falling gently around them.