Well we all need a place where were allowed to slow down,
And were allowed to hide out on the weekends.
400 miles, I ll be home in while,
But I'm never on time if you know me.

- The Alternate Routes

Fall Semester, Week 1: Wednesday, then Friday

"If I was arrested, you'd post my bail, right?"

"Alright, I'll roll with it. Hi to you too, Clove."

"Yeah, yeah, hi. Answer the question."

"S'long as you didn't leave the murder weapon here."

"Gimme a little credit, Gale," Clove pesters. "Think I'll start with a kitchen knife down his throat, and then an excavation of his internal organs."

"Jeez, which ones?"

Clove's mouth opens as she edges the phone closer to her ear, then purses into a taut frown as a girl at the bus stop inches towards the farthest corner opposite her. "Probably start with the small intestines and then-" she begins, turning away with a huff as the girl dabs anxiously at her touchscreen phone. "Pretty sure the girl next to me is texting 911, Gale. Do something," Clove complains.

There's a shuffle on the other end of the line, before Gale calls out, "Where do you think you're going, Sage!"

"Leash doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore, does it?" Clove questions smugly.

"Not funny, Lo."

"Hilarious, actually."

"Gotcha!" she hears him beam, and then he says directly to her, "I know you don't want to hear it, but maybe you should ease up on him. Catnip said he has lots of problems as it is."

She simmers for a minute, before scrunching her nose in protest. Gale and Katniss are a taboo she doesn't touch with a sixty-foot pole ala South Park Jesus. Thank you, Netflix subscription.

"Yeah, and I'm about to be his next. E Pluribus unum, Gale. Ever heard of that?"

"What kind of bus?"

"It's on the quarter, and it means 'out of many, one.' Justice club runs on that motto. We operate as a single body, with each of us taking on different responsibilities and as of yesterday, he only had one, and that was showing up!"

"Sorry to hear he ruined your first meeting, then."

Clove's scoff interrupts his next statement. "As if. Prince Harry didn't ruin anything. I expect the best, but am fully capable of handling the worst. We already have thirty-three students enlisted in club committees."

"Can't bribe the freshman with pizza every meeting," Gale points out. "Speaking of, I left you some dinner."

"If it were Valentine's Day, I'd get you a dozen roses."

"And probably maim me with the thorns," he accuses.

Clove's lips twitch upwards as she boards the campus shuttle, shuffling past a few students heading towards night classes. "I didn't even tell you the worst part of my day," Clove detours. "So my thesis professor is at best a total crackpot, at worst a sex offender, and he's making us do this weird partner project together. And at the end of the semester we have to prepare a twenty-minute presentation on our partner's life story with all their hopes and dreams. I'm getting diabetes just thinking about it."

"What does that have to do with criminal justice?"

Clove leans right, "Technically? Not a fucking thing, but Dr. Nutcase seems to think if we identify each other's biases, then we'll become better providers when we finish school. I happen to think he has a personal bias towards deodorant, but you don't see me making him do a project on that, now do you?"

Gale's less than subtle gaffe almost makes the rant worth it. "Has he seen your student loans?"

"I just wish he could have pushed back the mid-life crisis one semester. I'm smart, Gale, but I don't think even I can write eighteen pages on blondie's aspiration to find the world's pointiest hair gel."

A sigh reverberates on the other end, "I still say you give 'im a chance, Clove. We promised that this would be the best year of your life."

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she replies, "Yeah, you're right."

"You always got me, whether you like it or not. Got that?"

"Such a generous offer," she mocks lightly.

"Anymore generous and I'd serve you up a Hawthorne special."

"And I'd vomit everywhere, so no thanks, not interested in the forest critters, Gale."

"Hunting was a lot easier back home."

"And as sure as that may be true, I don't actually ever plan to set foot in Kentucky... Ever again."

Gale coughs a laugh, "It was not that bad."

"Your grandmother told me I ruined your life, and that your father had much better taste, but, hey, I bet she'd love Katniss."

"I brought home a box of white macadamia nut cookies."

"Thanks."

"You didn't ruin my life."

"Thanks."

"Tell me everything about your project. Apartment's clean, Sage's fed, got dinner on the table, and I want to hear all about Clove Holloway's horrible, terrible, no-good day."

"It's actually terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

"That one's not in my collection," Gale bites. "I'll have to fit it in right between Junie B Jones and Go Dogs Go."

"I'm more preferential to the Berenstain Bears, myself."

"I'm giving you ten seconds before I hang up."

Clove pulls the cord, prompting the bus driver to acknowledge her stop request with a nod. "Reign it in, grumpy bear."

The girl from earlier steals a glance at her, then dips back into her Psych textbook. It's all genius and insanity at the University of Virginia.

"So from what I've read in the syllabus so far, it's a twelve week project broken down class period by class period on each year of your life. Like I fucking remember anything from when I was one, and seriously, this is pretty damn intimate stuff to be telling someone you don't know anything about. They get to hear your first memory and the worst moment of your life and stuff I'd really rather not think about."

Gale coughs, "Isn't that the point?"

Shrugging sharply, Clove grimaces, "But by the end of the semester this stranger will end up even better informed than Ann, and I'm not counting that as a good thing no matter how Doctor Hackjob wants to spin it."

"What you disclose is up to your discretion, technically, right? He can't read your mind," Gale says, "So maybe you should have some fun with it."

"God blessed you something fierce, Gale. When you get a good idea, it's a fucking fantastic idea."

"Wait, Clo-"

"Maybe it's time to play ball and show William and Harry what happens when you try to pull a fast one on Clove Holloway."

Though it's a fresh day in September, the sun's found its home just beyond the cloud cover.

Marvel would make a statement about it raining cats and dogs, but that painfully reminds the curly-haired boy of his beloved Porkchop - a path best left untraveled. It's probably fair to mention that he's presently alone in his dorm room, so he'd be furthering his roommate Jackson's assertion that he's halfway unhinged with serious mommy issues.

That's not even the half of it, though, Marvel thinks. His daddy issues are way worse.

His left cheek is pressed against the cool mattress, his green eyes focused on the blanket of rainy fog enveloping the perimeter outside of his dormitory. Considering the building's hillside locale, he deems it best to stick indoors; one stride outdoors could become easy cause for a stumble into a chasm with no end.

Or he could become just another faceless victim for next week's rerun of Forensic Files.

Today seems like the perfect day for a murder, and who the hell thinks like that? He needs to take a Spanish class or something, and stop letting theater (and a very theatrical older brother) cloud his thinking. Still, if there are two thing that show's taught him, it's don't mess with Texas and don't get married.

The episode that gives him the most nightmares ends with a man being lured into the desert, shot, and subsequently buried alive.

"Wonder how they found his body," he muses quietly.

"You'd be surprised what they can do with forensics."

Marvel flails out of bed, smacking the side of his head against the brick wall in surprise. "How the hell did you get in here!"

He can only catch shadows of Cato's face, and he wonders for a second if they might find his body buried in the desert next.

"You wouldn't pick up your phone."

"So you decided to go all Hannibal Lecter on me instead?" Marvel retorts, still airy and uncoordinated, throwing a calculator at the blonde's right shoulder.

"You wouldn't pick up your phone," Cato repeats, and his pitch breaks in protest. Marvel's eyes struggle to find light, and then he sees it. It'd be creepy if it wasn't so pathetic. Nope, actually, it's both. He's creepy and pathetic and just so glaringly sad.

Cato is soaked entirely from head to toe, but the droplets on his cheeks are an entirely different matter.

"Phone's been dead for a few days. I left the charger in Charlottesville, but I sent you a text as soon as I got Sam to lend me his."

Cato's hands shuffle to his pockets until he finds his own, and then his expression softens at the barrage of messages he'd received in the commute from Virginia to Maryland - aside from a few texts from Glimmer, two from Thresh, and three missed calls from Katniss, there's also a log of messages that Marvel had shot him.

5:22 Phone died.

5:22 Made it back a-okay.

5:22 Do'ya think there's a b-okay?

5:23 What about a c-okay?

5:47 I Wikipedia'd it. A-ok comes from the sign you make with your hand. Looks more like a b to me.

6:09 I hate it when we fight.

6:11 Stop worrying about me. Being poor in Baltiwhore is easy peasy.

6:11 Oh my god. The guy who leads group, Perry, he says that to us all the time. 'Easy peasy.' Like, yeah, man, easy fucking peasy until I jab your eyeball out with a fork.

6:11 Hoanna is rubbing off on me. Idk, bro, I feel like hanging out with CVille fat cats is def the more insurmountable challenge.

6:11 Did'ya see that? I used your word of the day calendar. Seriously, coast is clear in Bodymore, Murderland.

6:12 I really really hate it when we fight.

Cato's arms snake around his neck quickly and Marvel instinctively becomes rigid, when his brother's confused blue eyes meet his, and he realizes that Cato's intent wasn't malicious.

"You're afraid of me," Cato says softly.

"Nah," Marvel says, pushing him away lightly. "You're protective and really annoying - which would better apt if we had a little sister who needed that. As is, I may scream like a girl, but just so happen to be a twenty-year-old man."

Cato laughs, his face down. Marvel's always thought his brother has the best laugh. His real laugh, with flushed cheeks, and averted eyes. Not the slick one he uses to get his way.

Marvel wraps his arms around the blonde's shoulders, and remarks hoarsely, "I hate it when we fight."

"Me too."

"But seriously, how the fuck did you get past the front desk without ID?"

"I might have introduced myself to desk-clerk Della, and asked if she's the girl you've had your eyes on since freshman year." He says with a breathy laugh. He continues on, unperturbed, "She's grossly nice. I think I'm going to add her on Facebook. What are you waiting for anyways, Mar?"

"You didn't call her Della, did you?" Marvel pales, cringing as the duo break apart.

"I don't think I called her anything, why?" Cato replies, scratching his neck and lifting himself onto Jackson's bed, holding a pillow to his chest.

"Because her name is Delly, Cato!"

"Fuck, that is her name, isn't it. What kind of name is Delly?" he deflects, looking semi-apologetic with a weak grin.

"It's short for Deliverance!" Marvel gripes. "She's the parishioner's daughter, and her family happens to be really nice."

Cato bounces slight on the bed, grinning wider, "I was going to say I think she likes you, but if you've met her parents, I'm betting you already knew that. So what's the hold up?"

"Taking that out of context, good. Awesome." Marvel rolls his eyes, "Her parents come to every performance of every play, Cato."

"Still," Cato insists.

He wouldn't introduce just anyone to his parents... er, his parent. Not anyone he wanted to keep around, but still. That typically means something.

"We've got auditions soon, and it's a competitive season."

"S'not like you're trying out for the same roles."

"Doesn't stop it from bringing out the worst in people, though."

"In her?" Cato inquires.

"In me," Marvel sulks. "Frosh are required to audition with the knowledge that they won't win any roles, and I sorta bit her head off during our first audition a few years back. So, yeah, can't really make a move right now without that black cloud looming 'round."

Cato's phone rings, and Marvel thinks to himself maybe he should join the congregation with such good luck. He can only faintly hear a girl on the other line asking where Cato is as he answers. "Drove to Baltimore to check in on my kid brother."

"He's fine."

"Yeah, I'm not fond of Baltimore either."

The girl on the line's voice lifts, and then Cato grimaces, "Ah, fuck. I forgot, and she just reminded a couple hours ago. Think she'll be mad?"

There's a short reply, then Cato leans his head back against the wall, "Alright, thanks for the warning, Kat. I'll make sure to wear protective gear."

"What was that all about?" he asks.

"I joined a club."

"Haven't you joined them all?" Marvel teases, mirroring his trademark smirk.

"Different sort of club." Cato says, grabbing him in a headlock, and scruffing up his messy brown locks, "So, I may have just unknowingly pissed off the scariest girl in Virginia."

Marvel's shit-eating grin leads to more scruffing of the hair, and he pipes up, "What'd ya do?"

"I might have just accidentally defied her absolute authority by ditching the first meeting of her presidential dictatorship."

Marvel cackles a little, before ringing him up a dozen cliches about not playing with fire.

As Clove mulls over the last of her syllabi, she leans against the wall, pulling the laptop closer to her. In the background tabs, various other justice interns videos are open, awaiting mandated feedback.

Marissa's is the first she picks on principal, her's detailing the massive anxiety she's accruing already from being one of three intern's for felony city attorney, Gloss Weller.

As her neurotic video comes to a close, Marissa finishes with, "I hope to gather a better understanding of what role the public plays into justice for all."

Clove's eyes trail towards the carpet. It's silent now, but it's only a matter of time before old man Cray returns.

What role does the public play in justice?

Did she do the red-haired woman downstairs a grave injustice by calling the police? What were the long-standing effects of the call? Did he reassess his behaviors, grow even more callous, or presume indifference?

What are the consequences of her hasty decision?

Cato's video begins directly after Marissa's.

"My mentor is Officer Odair."

Officer Odair.

Clove almost laughs.

Cato adjusts his thick, black-rimmed glasses, and smiles. Those are new. "His beat is actually away from campus, centered in south Charlottesville, closer to Albemarle High, so we focus more on what the kids do. They're pretty funny."

Minimizing his video tab, Clove jots down more topics to address in her own intern video diary. He continues in the background, "The class that has helped me most so far was Weber's Domestic Violence and Justice class. It's a lot more common than I thought it would be, a lot trickier too."

He prattles on about protocol, safety, supervision, until the video ends with, "Sorry I missed Rec Club. I'll be there next week, promise," and then the program asks if she wants to replay the video.

Great, Clove thinks.

Switching to the main tab of her browser, Clove attempts to start hers once again. "So, week one of my internship at Adult Probation is over."

Her textbook falls off the table, ruining the take, and she may let out a few age-inappropriate expletives.

Clove groans, fidgeting with her computer screen. She clicks 'cancel' and then edges her chair into a better angle to begin the recording again.

"So, week one of my internship at Adult Prob- bleh." she whines, pulling her hair behind her neck and staring at the reflection on the screen. Her undereye lines are entirely too prominent, her hair is uneven and wild, and she's not even going to bother primping herself for this ten point assignment, especially with the posting deadline looming dangerously close.

She contemplates a brief cost-benefit analysis of allowing her peers to see her in her pajamas. Laziness wins.

Her script, which consists of numerous abbreviations in the url bar of her Firefox browser reminding her to go over various topics, is incoherent.

She is incoherent.

Clove sighs, clicking the red circle. "This is like take twenty-three, so I apologize in advance for sounding like a lunatic." She punctuates the sentence with sleepy smile.

"My first week at Adult Probation has come to a close, and I guess you could say it's both every bit of what I expected, and yet not immune to its own surprises."

Peering into the url bar, she answers the first prompt.

Why did you choose your placement?

"I picked Adult Probation because I know what it's like to want a second chance, to wish you had made a better decision the first time, and Probation both fulfills a public safety need and helps reintegrate first and maybe second-time offenders back into a healthy mindset without forcing them into an institution that would only make it even more difficult for them to be a productive member of society."

Her mind unwillingly strays to Cato, his stack of apologies, topped by the tin of hot cocoa on her kitchen shelf. Katniss said you have a thing for it, and I have thing for people who honor their obligations, so here. Um, that wasn't supposed be a come-on. ...Sorry.

How has your mentor influenced your beliefs about this placement?

Clove contemplates starting over, but picks up. "My mentor is really prickly, like cactus-status or something."

She looks at her nail beds, before her heart skips. "Oh God, I just remembered this is public. Alright, we're all going to do cousin Clove a favor and not tattle to her superiors. Capiche?" Clove attempts to wink, but mostly grimaces clumsily. "Yeah, she's brutal, and totally a Hokie, but she's a no-nonsense one-woman candy stand, and she keeps up with the big boys just as well as anyone else."

Adjusting herself, Clove asks, "Do'ya think it's possible to have senioritis during your first week of senior year?"

What course do you feel best prepared you for this internship? What is a course that you recommend?

"Um, to be perfectly honest, I'd say that Courts and Justice was probably the most helpful class I've taken. It's really hard to empower someone to make changes if you don't understand what they risk to lose if they commit another crime, and Enobaria says that she makes a lot of recommendations to the court on her probationers' behalf, so it's all a lot of the same sort of stuff." Clove hesitates for a second, watching the timer on the video for an idle moment.

A fly buzzes behind her, and the cage's bell rings a few times by the door.

Clove blinks sleepily, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Most of what I know about corrections came from endless hours of Googling, so I'd make the statement that we need a Corrections course, but I have it on good authority that it's already in the works."

What do you hope to learn most?

"Why someone so close to achieving their goals would just give it up for nothing."

Her posture slackens slightly.

"I'll let you guys know when I find out."

AN - Alright, so I've officially outlined this story chapter by chapter and it's around 35 chapters. The outline will likely change, but the bulk of the interaction will begin next chapter.

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