Since I completely flummoxed and forgot to do this last chapter ...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Winter Winds" as performed by Mumford & Sons, and I will not be earning income from using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: Moving on! Rebadams7 ... I hope you're ready for more. :) Also, this chapter and the rest of the story have a bit of a second dedication ... to Bex-chan, who is one of my ALL-TIME favorite people, and was amazing enough to write a FAGE on the fly, without getting a gift herself. Babes? You are an amazingly generous person who helped me get this written, which is why I want to devote the remainder of this story to you as well. ILY!

Chapter Two:
Shades of a Shadow

Let the memories be good for those who stay …
"Winter Winds" - Mumford & Sons

x0x0x0x0x0x

Then

Rough threads scrape at her hands, simple folds and curving corners, the comfort of a shelter no luxury she can afford. Her feet are black and streaked with lines, caked with the failure of last night's escape. A visit to the shorefront before she leaves the city will be well worth the imitations of a bath.

Her eyes flicker longingly towards the hinge-cracked door.

"And, you know, feel free to shower … tonight or in the morning."

Fingers flex under the rough sheets in her arms.

"I think I'll sleep for tonight."

He nods, runs a hand along the back of his neck. A gesture she's seen many times before – discomfort.

"Okay. Sleep tight." Halfway down the hallway, he stops. "Don't worry. They won't find you here."

He doesn't know, can't understand. She won't put him in more danger. A shower … it's all she craves, but the noise alone is the threat. She must slip, a shade in the midst of her shadows. Hands linger on the worn cover. Desires to stay flit through her, unwarranted and impossible.

Her life lies in the armchair – five-hundred dollars in cash, to take her from here to there. Wherever there might be. The bag she leaves, a silent memento, a payment, a thanks. Her phone she tossed to the waves long ago, useless in the midst of her exile.

Steps to the door, soundless padding. The air is empty, thin, and cold, a piece of her left behind. To stay, to be strong, to stand tall, these are not her calling, not her place in this life. She bites the inside of a cheek, wishing more than ever they were.

Unfeeling metal meets soft, shaking flesh. Her fingers curl tightly around the knob.

"Tonight's too dark, you know."

She jumps, then stills, face composed, heart racing through her chest and into her open palms.

"For what?" She swallows.

"For running away." His walk is a saunter, a gait to show he is more than she knows. A chill runs through her, fear and anxiety a winding thing, a fist in her gut. "You won't get very far." He reaches her, wraps a hand around her wrist. "You should stay."

"Why?" It chokes on her tongue, half-cough with half-strength, and her determination is losing.

"No shoes. No id. No passport … just money." He circles her, leans closer, breathing soft against her skin. "I don't know who they are, or why they want you, but you won't survive on your own." Eyes catch eyes from the corners of vision, dancing in the pale, shimmering darkness. "Not out there. Not without someone who knows."

She waits for the terror, the driving fear. She waits in vain.

Warmth trickles through her, lights a fire underneath her toes. She's losing the battle.

"What," she pants softly, "if I say no? And leave?"

He circles her again, stepping away. She can feel his every motion, skin attuned, senses standing on edge, sparking at his shifts, fading at his stillness.

"Then go. If it's freedom you want, take it." She starts for the knob, anger and terror brewing with deep-seated desire. "But –" his harsh word cuts into her movement, "how long can you keep it?"

Arms still before effortlessly falling to her sides. It is her surrender, her last bit of will.

"Smart move," he grins again, off-kilter and out of place. Her insides twist. "Feel free to grab a shower. I'll be taking the couch from here on out."

Orders. Always orders, and she follows, a lamb willingly lead to the slaughter. Her feet cross a path she had never thought to tread. A glance out the window to myriads of stars, glimmering, glistening, calling … they are free.

Now, she will never join them.

x0x0x0x0x0x

Now

Hair, deep shades of brown in the crying light, soft under her fingertips. Her hands won't pull away, cutting though the short locks, weaving around the knotted bits and blood-matted sweat. Whatever is the most familiar, the most intimate, it's what she will give.

Mea culpa, mē miseret, mea maxima culpa …

The beeps and the clicks and the drips fill her ears, and she hums words she can never remember. Her head meets his shoulder, shaking, hands sliding down his arms and sinking into his.

"I'm sorry … I'm so, so sorry. Please …"

She has never known freedom as she has in him.