Outside the double-pane glass doors leading into the reception area of Naomi Campbell's (relatively) new home offices, Bristol was still as residents sought shelter from the latest in a several-week cycle of howling winds coming up the river that dropped the temperatures well below average for November. The light sheen of the weekend's rain and Monday afternoon's spotty showers glossed the asphalt and streaked the windows. Inside, however, the temperature—or at the very least the tension level—was steadily climbing as Katie Fitch swung open the door from her office and emerged in the main bullpen where the majority of Naomi's staff worked. The entire staff—twelve paid members including Katie herself and the additional ten volunteers and students on internships—hunched over six circular tables arranged in two lines along the length of the room. Papers, folders, binders, and telephones cluttered each table; two small spaces along the edge of each table were cleared for laptop computers networked to a bank of all-in-one copier/printer/scanner/fax machines along the back wall. The tell-tale furious click-clack broken by momentary pauses filled the room as emails, press releases, and position statements were formulated and dispersed electronically, often as two people stood over the shoulder of the typist providing unrequested suggestions or not-so-constructive criticism.

The door shut emphatically behind Katie as she strode across the carpeted floor, heels sinking into it slightly with each step. She weaved around two interns debating the energy benefits of liquid natural gas as a stop-gap alternative fuel and ran her hands down her skirt as she neared a circular table on the far side of the room from her office. Four employees, including Liza, and a long-time volunteer who originally helped the grassroots effort that catapulted Naomi to City Council several years earlier were jabbing accusatory fingers at one another and angrily slicing hands sharp as knife edges through the air. The papers strewn across the table ranged from internal updates published by various Strategic Security Initiatives departments, newspaper clippings from ten years prior and the tragic suicide of a young student and the tangentially-related arrest (and subsequent escape) of fellow student James Cook, and a much-newer looking set of printouts inked with stories and commentary on the previous evening's press conference. Katie ghosted her fingertips across a page or two, spinning them towards her for quick perusal before she pressed them down into the table and looked up with a frown.

"How're things coming?"

"Well we certainly have a lot of material, though it isn't particularly specific or germane to what Moore said last night," answered one of the newer staff members, whom Katie had interviewed and recommended Naomi hire over the summer. Much to Katie's surprise, he was using his gap year after finishing college to work in Bristol instead of travel or just…go. Nevertheless, despite her personal disbelief that a (to use her description when carrying on a one-sided conversation with Emily about the very subject) "pimpled, fag-smoking drunk teen idiot" would seriously want to work in a Member of Parliament's home office, the enthusiasm and grasp of the issues he displayed in the interview swayed Katie's opinion. He was intelligent, certainly, but over the course of his employment proven to be outspoken and unafraid to tell Katie, Erik, or even Minister Campbell herself precisely what shortcomings he saw in the office or positions on issues, whether asked for an opinion or not. Katie stiffened, expecting him to add further criticism and was not disappointed.

"I mean, he pretty much said that one of the most popular politicians of the last few years dealt drugs, slept around, and was a general miscreant in college, but none of this points to that at all. I mean, it doesn't even look like she was questioned by the police about what happened."

Katie swallowed and tried not to betray any surprise. The circumstances surrounding Sophia's death so many years earlier were a bit clearer to her than they had been at the time, but the one aspect that had stood out even then was the investigation's abject curiosity in exploring Naomi and Emily's potential friendship with Sophia as she had frequently mentioned the two of them and claimed to be close friends with them. Allegedly, Katie amended herself, having never seen any transcripts or evidence supporting what Emily and other students relayed to her at the time. For her part, Katie could distinctly remember the bile taste of fibbing to the police at their impromptu interrogation center in the gym at Roundview; there was no way in hell she was going to admit that she had recently taken any sort of drugs or knew of anyone from whom she could purchase drugs to the police. Regardless of her own guilty feelings (perhaps not-so-guilty if Katie was completely honest with herself), that did not explain why the available records Naomi's staff pulled earlier that morning made no mention of Naomi's alleged illicit connections to Sophia.

"You went to school with them, Kay. What do you remember?"

Katie looked up at the woman who asked her the most loaded question she could have imagined. Her eyes were wide with anticipation of learning some groundbreaking secret long buried beneath the cobwebs of irrelevant memory and time. Katie tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I remember her dying, of course. I mean, that sort of thing doesn't happen every year. But…"

Katie trailed off as the ventilation grate high up on the far wall suddenly became the most interesting thing in the room. She felt like the present was elongating and darkening as if she was plummeting down a long, pitch dark well and the daylight above was fading. The long-suppressed ache of unrealized dreams, broken hearts, and selfish choices crowded in; Sophia's death and its destructive effect on her old friends, on her sister—on her—jumbled with the painful and shocking memories associated with Freddie's death. For years the two had remained separated in her mind, but flippantly addressing one struck home just how ruinous and pivotal that final year of college had truly been. Not just for her, but all of them. And here it was, so many years on, a spectre resurrected for no other purpose than to sow confusion and misdirection from the more pressing problems facing Naomi and her staff; unfortunately, Katie had been fighting that battle between her rational understanding of why Matt Moore had returned and her irrational fear of what it symbolized all day and she seemed to be losing.

"Katie? Katie!"

Turning a serious of rapid blinks into a furrowed brow, Naomi's press secretary refocused from the far wall to the people standing around the table. Liza's expression betrayed concern and wariness in equal measures, a look Katie became all-too familiar with during her first couple weeks with the campaign in the late spring.

"Right, sorry. That's not really the problem, though, is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"Not entirely, no." Katie sighed. "Look, shit was really fucked up back then; we were kids after all, but we all know how things get blown out of proportion. We all went to college together, yeah, but I didn't know this Sophia girl at'll. I don't think Minister Campbell really knew much about her either, but that's not the important thing. We need to be focusing on a message and presenting that message to the media and the public with enough force that it drowns out these allegations and gets people tuned back into the bigger issue at hand."

"Which is?" asked Loaded Question. Katie scolded herself for not learning names better and resigned herself to a judgmental moniker in the interim.

"This whole accusation is a smoke screen designed by SSI to distract the general populace and our critics from the hearings and badmouth someone whose public service record is above reproach. Selling that message is all that matters right now. Minister Campbell—"

"Her name's Naomi, Kay. Come on," admonished Liza softly, causing Katie to stiffen involuntarily. Keeping a professional façade on one of the most tenuous relationships in her life was the only way she'd functioned so well as Naomi's de facto press secretary since the SSI events. Between their tumultuous past, Katie's resentment at the amount of press and exposure Naomi's ascension meant for Emily, and her involvement in planning her twin's wedding to her own boss, Katie knew that a forced professional air about things functioned as the only foundation upon which she could stand. But Liza didn't realize the depth of Katie's inner conflict; how could she? More to the point, Katie flatly refused to tell anyone about her constant juggling act, though Emily saw through her on a regular basis. And now she's abandoning you for a job in London.

A new job. Before her mind could hurtle down an another rabbit hole and tear her away from the present problems arching their eyebrows at her from around the circular table, Katie swallowed a lump down her throat and waved a hand in what she hoped was a flippant manner.

"I'd rather not, Liza. But…fine. Naomi has enough to worry about with these hearings; we have to make sure that Bristol and the rest of England don't fixate on the wrong thing—on the false things." Katie's focus returned down to the table, squinting at the collage of newspaper and glossy magazine articles layered one upon the other in no discernable pattern. She lunged across and slid the police report closer so she could open it.

Picking up one page at a time and cycling through them, she allowed her thoughts to return to Loaded Question's first inquiry to what she remembered about those days when everything fell apart in college. Stilted home videos, complete with bits of snow and cigarette burns in the corner of the frame rolled through the theatre of her imagination: parental arguments, the worst barbecue she'd ever been at—they'd not even had a chance to eat (a corollary memory recalled the skills of the grillers and she dismissed the regret)—when Emily and Naomi spilled everything for all present to hear, the police crawling all over Roundview, Cook's abrupt jailing…and the soundtrack to all of them was her sister's aggravated way of saying 'Leave it, Katie,' whenever the questions stung too sharply, cut too deeply.

None of it aligned with the words on the pages in front of her, which had no record of Emily or Naomi ever being questioned by the fuzz. If Katie was certain of one thing from those days so long ago—days whose emotional punches shouldn't still be able to pin them to the ropes and force the air from their lungs as they seemed to be doing with such devastating effect—it was that her sister had most definitely been interrogated by the police. But how…

Katie slowly closed the police record. No, oh no fucking way. She looked up at the volunteer, gap-year student. He was frowning at her as if he didn't believe her shaky deflections about not remembering and that they should be focusing on the hearings. Katie brushed her hands down the sides of her navy skirt, before resting on her hips next to the two mobiles she wore, one solely for work, the other her personal device.

Across the table, Liza nodded and gestured at the record. "So you want us to draft a statement or release from what's in there and refute this claim Moore's making?"

Katie chewed on the inside of her cheek and furrowed her brow. Her glance flickered from Liza to the young student. She shook her head. "Not exactly, no. I'd rather focus on how the first day of hearings went, on how Naomi's resolve to bring Osbourn Ross's crimes to light is the real news story…you see where I'm going with this?"

The challenge came immediately, and Katie was unsurprised it was the volunteer who asked, "So just recycle what we've been saying for months as if this Sophia girl never existed?"

Katie twisted and glared at him, fists digging hard into her hips. After a moment, she raised a single finger and pointed it at him, then down at the table as she retorted, "A little late for that, id'nit? Christ, just concede everything Matt Moore's saying is true and ruin Naomi's reputation, why don't you?"

"Is some of it? True, I mean?" Asked one of the other members of her staff, who'd been standing silently to Katie's left.

"I…" Katie removed a fist from her hip to run her fingers through chocolate-nearly-black hair. "Just focus on the message, okay? I'll deal with Moore. It's been a long day; draft up a release we can give to the Post and a couple others and we'll call it. Sound good?"

Liza nodded and Katie spun, trying to walk with a confidence she didn't feel back to her office. The door hadn't closed behind her before her personal mobile was pressed to her ear and she could hear an incessant beeping that indicated the call was waiting to be picked up by the recipient of her call.


The generic piano-key imitation ring tone from Emily's mobile split the silence of the hall as she followed Naomi to her flat's door. Emily frowned as she undid the clasp on her bag and rummaged into it for the offending device. Naomi was walking a step ahead of her, keys already out; her retort to a joke Emily made in the elevator turning sour on the tip of her tongue. The detective's fingers closed around the phone and she tossed her hair, trying to get a look at which name caller ID was displaying over her home screen.

"It's Katie," she deadpanned, earning grunt of acknowledgement from Naomi.

"Of course it is." The door clicked as the tumblers aligned inside the lock and the shuffled into the narrow hall. Naomi deposited the keys on the entrance table with her gloves before unwinding a scarf. The ringing continued incessantly. "Well, answer it, then!"

"Right," Emily sighed and pressed the 'Accept' button, then the speakerphone. "Hi?"

Katie's voice rippled out of the speaker, "Christ, Ems you'd think at some point you'd learn to carry a smaller bag."

Emily looked at Naomi sheepishly, shrugged, and dumped the offending bag on one of the chairs around the dining table unceremoniously. "You know I don't buy useless, repetitious things, Katie. What would you buy me for our birthday if I did?"

"Ha ha. Look, are you alone—or with Naomi in private, at least?"

Emily's flippant eye roll transitioned to a look of concern and she glanced up at Naomi who was leaning against the arm of the couch burning a hole in the mobile. Emily placed it carefully on the dining table. "Just got back to her flat, actually. It's just us."

"Hi, Katie," offered Naomi from her position across the room.

"Do you know how much of a shit storm this has all been today?" Katie demanded, ignoring Naomi's greeting. Her voice cut through the subtle background hum of the heater beginning to work, the horns of impatient commuters on the street below.

"Which part?"

"Let me see, Em, how 'bout the part where my boss and my twin were once involved in a weird love triangle with a girl who committed suicide…oh yeah, after one of them sold her MDMA, and then her brother comes forward a decade later to smear their reputation and derail their careers? Or maybe it's the part where they leave me alone in fucking Bristol to pick up the pieces?"

"Fuck," Emily muttered under her breath, trying to fix Naomi with a look imploring her help; Naomi refused to meet it.

"I heard that."

"What do you want me to say, Katie? I knew this was going to happen, I've been plotting revenge since we were teens, and this is the fruit of my labors?" Naomi pushed herself away from the sofa as her sarcasm-laced response ended. She walked over and placed both palms flat against the table, leaning over it as Emily had seen her do during countless conference calls with City Council members, staffers, campaign donors, and other Members. The former red-head bit her lip to suppress a smile in spite of the tension in the room.

"Or maybe it's the part where I'm juggling all this years-old bullshit with the need to promote your hearings into SSI and our lovely staff is preoccupied with getting me to spill all the crap we did in college. You pick, Naomi."

Emily sat back and shook her head, again trying to meet Naomi's eye. Again, it was avoided. Naomi instead stared at the phone like it was a snake coiling in anticipation. "And what did you tell them?"

"Who, your wonderful staff? Or the twenty papers and online news agencies who contacted me today for comment?"

"The staff, Katie. You know I give fuck all about the papers."

"Right, you leave that for me to worry about." Emily couldn't help but wince at the sharpness in her sister's voice. Her discomfort only grew as Katie continued, "Anyway, I hedged and said all this was a long time ago and I don't really remember much 'cause we weren't all that close at the time, we were young and dumb, and so on. Not sure they completely bought it, but it's not entirely false, you know? That summer you two were apparently only aware of the other's existence and the suicide proper fucked the start of term, yeah?"

Not quite so apparently—Naomi was aware of at least one other person's existence too, Emily thought bitterly. That certainly had seemed the idyllic summer vacation at the time, all moped rides, lazy Sundays, and trips to the beach, Exmoor, or dingy concert venues with minimal lighting, cheap drinks, and impassioned music. Against her better judgment, Emily found herself (not for the first time) deconstructing it and trying to rearrange it to fit Naomi's deception and infidelity into the picture-perfect puzzle. As always, the pieces didn't fit.

Emily stood and walked towards the windows, unable to see Naomi's eyes follow her, blue irises clouded with worry. She turned back to the mobile, breathing deeply to keep herself from snapping again. It wouldn't help as Katie was already beyond on edge, stemming Naomi was sure, from Emily's recounting of yesterday's panic attack and her day at work dealing with the dual messes of the hearings and Matthew Moore. No, Sophia Moore. Matt's just a vessel; she's still the one haunting the two of us—three, now.

"So what's the plan, then? Just meet it head on and deny any and all involvement?"

"Hardly," Katie said dryly. "We're focusing on the start of the hearings being a success and playing up Ross's cowardice at fleeing the country as his company gets torn apart by you and Vic's investigation."

"Sure, 'cause I had no part in it, at all," scoffed Emily loud enough from the living room to be heard in the quiet apartment.

"I'm not sure how much I want to play up your role in all this, Emily. My staff—sorry, Naomi's staff—mentioned something strange this afternoon."

Emily looked back over her shoulder to find Naomi finally looking at her with a nonplussed expression. "Well, Katie? Are you going to lay it out for us or should I start guessing?"

There was a pregnant pause before Katie finally released an audible sigh. "There's nothing in the police records surrounding Sophia Moore's death that specifically mentions either of you. Officially, neither of you were ever questioned."

"No," began Naomi slowly, "that's not right. You mean the records are redacted, right? They definitely interviewed us. Together. It's…it wasn't one of my proudest moments." Naomi suddenly found her and Emily's roles reversed as the diminutive brunette found the skyline inescapably attractive.

"That's what I thought. I was being honest with Liza and the rest when I said I didn't really know this girl, but I remember them questioning all of us more than once. But there's nothing…I shouldn't say nothing; Thomas is mentioned a few times and his interview from the next day at the club is completely unedited, as is Freddie and Pandora's brief transcripts. Fuck, even the brief bit from Cook's confession a couple months later is in there. Just…"

"Just what, Katie?" Naomi moved around and sat in the chair previously vacated by Emily, leaning forward over the table. A dull hammering started pounding against her brain's capability to function intelligently. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying anything linking people named Fitch or Campbell to Sophia Moore's investigation is missing. It doesn't exist as far as the police records go."

The throbbing turned into a full-on battering and Naomi collapsed back into the chair. Fuzzy in the distance—her eyes were focused on the phone—Naomi could make out Emily's form as it began to shake slightly.

"Katie, you're doing an amazing job. Keep the focus on the hearings, alright? And go home. Do something fun tonight, alright?"

"Naomi—Emily, are you still there? Are you two listening to what I just said? I said the—"

"We heard you, Kay," interrupted Naomi as she picked up the mobile. "We have to go."

Cutting off another retort, Naomi ended the call and powered off the phone. She laid it back on the table silently, staring at Emily's shoulders as they twitched like a branch caught in a fierce wind; her head bowed, no longer looking outside at the skyline but staring at her toes.

"Anything you'd like to share, Emily?" whispered Naomi from her seat. From her sudden stiffening, Naomi knew that her voice had carried. Even still, her question was met with a tiny shake of Emily's head.

Trying a different tact, Naomi stood and slowly walked across the carpet, feet falling lightly. Her voice remained quiet, fear and disquiet tinging the inflection of each syllable. "Why isn't there a mention of us in those records, Emily?"

"Stop saying my name like that," came the hoarse response.

"What've you done, Emily?" Naomi didn't mean for it to come out as an accusation, but as she pulled up a half meter short of the smaller woman, that's precisely what it sounded like: a worn, resigned indictment of something Naomi had never considered her girlfriend possible of committing.

With great effort, Emily shuffled in a circle, turning to face Naomi with red-rimmed eyes and a bottom lip quivering out of control. She shook her head, eyes tracking anywhere but Naomi's. Emily's mouth gaped open, then closed without any words spilling out once, then twice before Naomi reached out to rub her bicep gently.

The contact seemed to snap Emily awake. Angrily shrugging away from the outstretched hand, Emily pushed past Naomi. She made it halfway to the bedroom before wheeling, her silence reconsidered as new resolve hardened her browns in defiance. "What do you want me to say? That I fucked up, that I broke the law? I was protecting you, can't you see that?"

Naomi chewed her lip, unable to speak. Emily gave her a sad smile and shook her head.

"Of course you can't. You don't ever want anyone to help you."

"Not when it means breaking the law! You'll lose your job for this, Emily—and your new job, too!" Naomi took a step towards Emily. "You shouldn't have—"

"Well, I did." Her voice descended to a whisper. "Nobody was ever supposed to know."

The brief moment of empathy that drove Naomi to reach out when her whole being was screaming in protest against another secret shattered as the resignation and guilt in Emily's admission struck home. Unfettered rage consumed the void left behind.

"'Nobody?' Don't you mean me?" The shame in Emily's gaze was answer enough. Suspicion overwhelmed Naomi. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long ago?"

"Does it matter? You know, my sister knows, or at least suspects. Katie's not stupid."

"That's rich, coming from the one who thought a good idea to keep this a secret from the only person who—by your own admission, mind—would always be the person you confide in first. Clearly there were some exceptions to that you failed to mention at the time."

Emily winced as if Naomi had slapped her. She recalled the night of which Naomi spoke: two days after Christmas during their holiday the first year of uni. That first semester apart strained both of them, especially following so soon on the heels of fixing their relationship after the torments of college; the two week quasi-honeymoon of Goa gave way to a physical separation that made Emily physically ill at times and Naomi emotionally distant, brusquer then Emily remembered even from their pre-college days. They visited one another precisely four times between September and the Christmas holiday—Emily kept the train tickets pegged to a cork board in her dormitory room until graduation. Each visit was filled with moments Emily knew (hoped, she would correct herself during moments of weakness and doubt regarding their future) the two of them would cherish and remember fondly; nevertheless, each was also marred by at least one devastating spat or argument that tarnished their short time together, and Emily recalled the subject of those arguments always being something seemingly benign or harmless, whether it was introducing Naomi to her small group of friends or Naomi fuming about the way one of her student political groups was led. The tension and irritation finally boiled over on Christmas Eve, Emily remembered in a flash, when she was forced to cancel their plans to make midnight mass with her family. The fight three days following while standing in the field across from Naomi's house culminated in Emily lying, forearms resting on the dead grass on either side of Naomi's face, a tearful smile playing across her face as she promised that she wouldn't keep any more secrets about things bothering her and would always confide in Naomi first. Emily banished the associated train of thought regarding her and Naomi's world-record dash back inside the house mere minutes later to avoid public indecency misdemeanors and brought herself back to the present.

Naomi was standing, arms crossed, and eyebrow raised waiting for Emily to defend herself. Feeling smaller, ever so small, Emily shook her head and blinked. Hot tears scalded her left cheek, but she made no movement to wipe them away.

"I didn't start this."

"I—what? No fucking way, Emily, don't you dare."

Emily gestured wildly, sweeping her arm out as if directing Naomi's attention to their surroundings. "How could I let you throw the prospect of this away? Let something so stupid ruin everything you were working towards?" In an effort to deflect the original question, she finally allowed, "It was long enough ago that I can't remember, alright?"

"That's not true." Naomi gave a small diagonal shake/nod as her own lip wobbled. "You remember everything. Everything."

Emily let her arm drop. She took two steps, reaching up to press her lips to the corner of Naomi's mouth, a steadying hand on the taller woman's shoulder. She lowered herself back, standing flat-footed in Naomi's space, tears now staining her cheeks with mascara, and large brown eyes swimming. "I'm sorry."

She dropped her hand and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door lightly behind her as Naomi remained rooted to the same spot in her living room, a maelstrom of disbelief, disgust, anger, and regret battering her from all sides. Slowly she reached up to rub where the ghost of Emily's lips still burned.

To herself, Naomi thought, Why can't this ever stop?

To the room at large, she whispered, "Not as much as I am."


They're more alike than you know.

Dense woods flashed past outside the window of her car as Naomi's voice rang in Katie's head. One weekend, when Naomi was visiting the two of them during a spring semester of uni and Emily was off at work, Naomi had caught lunch with the other twin—been invited, rather, in one of the rare instances of Katie graciously entertaining the (at the time) blonde without ulterior motives. Midway through the meal, Naomi broached the subject of her first encounter with Jenna. She'd mentioned to Katie that the one line out of all the bluster, intimidation, and icy dismissal was the one which now hung in the artificially warm air of Katie's car like a warning. During that lunch, Katie laughed along with Naomi in acquiescence to her doubts that the two twins really did share that much in common.

Now Katie wondered if, beneath it all, her mother really did know exactly what she was talking about when it came to the twins.

"SHIT!" Katie slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel, careening the car off the main highway and onto a gravel path that descended a slope further into the forest. On each of her subsequent deep inhales to calm herself, Katie smelled the strong aromas of chicken marsala and marinated lamb of take-away Indian that she prayed weren't staining the back seat. She wasn't sure if Cook liked Indian, but in Katie's mind piping hot food from the newest, most well-reviewed restaurant in her neighborhood was worth the risk. The car jostled over roots and uneven dirt as gravel spit from beneath the tires and Katie's hands clenched tighter around the wheel.

As her breathing steadied and the darkness of the woods became all-encompassing, Katie's train of thought returned to her mother's words passed on by Naomi; they were the only justification she could find for leaving the safety of her flat to journey north and pay a visit to Cook—by herself, no less, for the first time in months. Katie equated it to Emily's impulsive decision to break into SSI's offices the previous spring: It was just something she needed to do to get the answers she needed, even if Katie wasn't precisely sure which answers she was seeking, or what questions she would need to pose in order to draw them out.

She just knew that she needed to see Cook. Now.

Katie slowed the car to a stop at the top of the embankment that graded down to the nestled cottage Cook called home—was forced to call home. A curl of smoke rose out of the chimney in the LED beams of her headlights as they sluiced across the roof and interwoven tree branches on either side and beyond the safe house. All the lights were out in the house, but Katie was not surprised since her brights gave her away should Cook have been glancing out the window; he would be cautious of any vehicle arriving unannounced this late in the evening.

Retrieving the bag of Indian food and one other paper bag (its glass contents clinked together, piercing the relative silence of the woods) from the back seat, Katie Fitch took one final deep breath and walked down to the porch. She navigated the two wooden steps in pitch darkness and stopped awkwardly on the porch just an arms' length from the door. No lights had been turned on as she approached; the only sounds were a persistent whistle of a breeze passing through the branches and a hoot from a far-off owl rousing for its nighttime patrol.

To her right the porch creaked and Katie screamed, jumping to the side in an attempt to put distance between her and the sound. Heart pounding, Katie watched a shadowy shape rise from a crouched position—a shape whose laugh sounded all too familiar.

"Katie? That you, babe?"

Katie released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in and nodded in the dark. Her relief was immediately replaced by irritation tinged with resigned amusement. "Yeah, and next time you call me 'babe,' I'll kick you in your balls. Deal?"

"Well, seeing as I'm not getting much use out of 'em out here anyhow…"

Katie rolled her eyes and muttered a quick, "Whatever," as Cook opened the door with a triumphant laugh and flicked on the entryway light. Yellow splashed across the porch and Katie followed him inside. He led her into the living room and gestured to a chair near the crackling fireplace before disappearing into the next room.

"What's your poison, ba…shit."

Katie gave a snort of approval and began pulling Styrofoam containers out of the take-away bags, placing them on the low, pock-marked wooden coffee table. "Whatever you're having. Bring plates and some forks, would you?"

Moments later, Cook reappeared with the requested tableware and two open beer cans. He squinted in suspicion at the table, slowly walking over from the doorway. He placed Katie's can within her reach on the table after moving a small box of naan out of the way and collapsed back on the couch.

"What's the occasion?" he asked slowly after a long pull on his drink.

Katie fixed herself a plate of rice, chicken, and a large triangle of the buttered bread. She silently began mixing the rice and rice sauce of the meat together while avoiding Cook's stare. Unsure how to start, Katie shoveled a large bite into her mouth and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

"You didn't come all the way out here for a pity shag did you? 'Cause that's well considerate of you, princess…"

Katie nearly choked on the piece of chicken she was—had been—enjoying. "Christ, is anything not about sex with you?"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again at the ear-to-ear grin that crossed Cook's face as he vehemently shook his head in denial. Likewise shaking her head, Katie lowered her eyes back to her food and resumed mixing it around.

Cook frowned. "Katie? What's with you?"

She swallowed and looked up to find a rare look of genuine concern on her old friend's face. The occasion, as it were, was the mental debate in which Katie spent the entire car ride. The day's revelations about Sophia Moore, the police's investigation of her death, and Katie's suspicions about Emily's involvement in the records and content of the investigation's documents whirled around her like a trio of tornados tearing up the well-formed assumptions and foundations upon which her adult life was constructed. If anyone should be able to understand Emily's line of thinking that would lead her to be so devious and secretive, it was her twin, but Katie felt as if the Emily she knew was a wraith, all smoke and shadow, and no matter how hard Katie tried, she couldn't grasp ahold of her to get the answers she desired. What possessed her sister—someone whose entire line of work revolved around discovering the truth and upholding it in the name of maintaining order and justice in society—to blatantly disregard the laws she'd sworn to enforce? In Katie's desperation, she could only think of one person who would be able to help her answer that: someone who had personal experience with one of Emily's choices to violate her professional code of conduct in favor of serving whatever personal creed she'd set up for herself and those closest to her.

Without looking up at him, Katie softly asked, "Do you ever talk to Karen anymore?"

"As in Karen, Karen?"

Glancing up at her host as she nibbled on a piece of her naan, Katie nodded an assent. Cook shrugged and leaned forward, plucking a lamb shank out of its container and loudly sucking on it before tearing the meat from the bone and chewing it thoughtfully.

"Not for a long time, but we used ta meet up on Freds birthday each year after it happened. Keep the tradition of the birthday party going, you know? We didn't really plan it; we just met in the shed. Everyone had left Bristol 'cept us and JJ…well, and Effy, but that's…" Cook trailed off and took another bite. Without waiting to swallow, he asked, "Why?"

Chewing on her lip, Katie frowned. "She doesn't blame us for Freddie's death?"

"Blame me you mean?"

"Not necessarily; we were all involved—"

"Bollocks. That was just between Freddie, Effy, fuck-face, and I. No one else." The cold edge in Cook's voice, even through the lamb still on his tongue, was not lost on Katie.

"But that whole year, we all contributed to where Effy and Freddie ended up. Why she was so fucked up by the spring that she…" It was Katie's turn to trail off as she attempted to halt her rambling. Taking a sip of beer in unison with Cook, she placed the can back on the table. "Honestly, it all started with Sophia, didn't it?" As an afterthought, Katie whispered to herself, "It all comes back to her."

Missing her rejoinder, Cook's eyebrows arched. "Ah, so you came to talk about her. Ems send you, or was it Naomikins? They're both off in London, yeah, and need my help sorting this Matt chump?"

Katie chuckled at Cook's eagerness to help in spite of herself; it was easier because he was so far off the mark with his assumption. She shifted in her seat so that she was resting against one armrest, legs draped over the other, and her eyes fixated on the fireplace. "Not quite. Cook, you took the blame for Sophia."

"Are you going to tell me something I don't know?"

Staring at a particular splinter withering orange on the edge of the flames, Katie shook her head. "What makes someone do something they know to be wrong even if it could come back to haunt them?"

"Never much worried about consequences myself," supplied Cook.

"That's all Emily does worry about, honestly."

"Ah, so this is about little Fitch, then."

Without turning to look at him, Katie nodded. "She caught you in the middle of a robbery and let you go, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did. I owed her something fierce for that. You're all over the map tonight, Katiekins. What's bothering you?" Katie heard a crumpling of a beer can and saw Cook's empty one fly across her field of vision and land just short of the fireplace. It lay undisturbed on the floor as Katie's focus returned to the fire.

"I don't think that was the first time she used her position to protect her friends…protect us."

After several moments of silence, Cook finally came to the same conclusion that Katie did, or at least Katie wanted to assume so as he finally broke the stillness of the room, his voice echoing in the space between two crackles of firewood: "Sophia."

Craning her neck, Katie looked back at Cook with haunted eyes. Blindly, she felt around the base of her chair for the paper bag. Snaking her hand inside, she withdrew a fifth of gin and unscrewed the cap. "Do you think the past ever really lets us go?"

Standing, Cook gestured for her to pass him the bottle. After a long, wince-inducing pull, Katie obliged as Cook sank to the hard floor in front of the fire. He took an equally murderous pull on the liquor and passed it back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth once Katie had a firm grasp on the glass bottle.

"It can only let us go if we let it have a hold on us in the first place." Cook pushed out his lower lip and shook his head in defiance. "I don't let it."

Katie frowned again, feeling the cool gin scald her insides as it coursed through her veins after another pull. She wriggled around and picked up another piece of bread, chewing on it slowly to take the edge off. "But isn't that why you're testifying at Naomi's hearings? To make up for the past?"

Cook looked up at the ceiling, then back at Katie before gesturing for the fifth. A large swig and a hissing wince later, he rested his forearms on his knees. The gin dangled between his legs. "You can't change everything that happens, Katie. We were just kids."

A ripple of anger surged through Katie. "I'm not talking about Sophia any more, James."

His eyes snapped up to find hers darkened by distaste and an emotion he couldn't place. Nevertheless, he felt like he'd seen it before, when she still didn't know it was him on the other side of that desk in that dark office, empty pistol still resting within reach and his grey jumpsuit becoming all too constrictive and hot for his own liking.

It was the look of someone trapped.

"Why'd you do it?" Katie's voice was tiny in the small living room, barely reaching Cook's ear over the popping of the fireplace behind his head. She hadn't waited for his retort; the gin had spoken for her and in that moment, Katie knew this was really why she'd driven so far late on a Tuesday evening with no warning. Whatever had happened earlier that day with Emily and Naomi and the ghosts of their shared past, she made some link to her view of what happened at SSI, made a connection to how she had rationalized Cook's own behavior that night—and found it wanting. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms and the back of her neck as the mostly carefree adult version of her college friend transformed in her mind's eye to the threatening terrorist who pointed a gun at her and threatened to torture a co-worker to force her cooperation. The sense of being confined by him set in all over again.

"'Do it?'" echoed Cook, his voice dry as if he'd gone hoarse from yelling for too long, though he'd hardly raised his voice all evening.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Katie squeeze her eyes shut, fighting valiantly against a torrent of memories and nightmares that threatened to spill over in liquid form; a massive lump rose in her throat and she blindly beckoned for the liquor bottle. Moments later, it was slapped into her palm, the contents sloshing accusingly as Katie unscrewed the cap and took another drink. Eyes still shut, she could sense Cook still leaning forward closer to her.

"I've never been that good at reading between the lines. Things are simpler when you don't."

Katie inhaled. "This is anything but simple, James."

"You've got a point there." He paused, rocking back onto the balls of his feet. Cook stared at Katie, curled up in the chair with one arm protectively cradling the gin bottle. How could he explain to her why he agreed to run the SSI operation for Tony Stonem when Cook still wasn't one hundred percent sure himself? Every justification he'd given prior to and during seemed inadequate here, in the woods, alone with the aftermath refusing to look him in the eye. "I…why do you have to know, Katie?"

"Because I'm fucking terrified of you!" she retorted as her voice broke and the tears she had kept bottled up burst forth. Huge sobs racked her small frame; the gin bottle fell from her hand and rolled across the floor towards the fireplace as Cook surged in the opposite direction, closing the distance and enveloping her in a fierce embrace. Katie screamed and tried to push, scratch, claw, and beat her way out of his hug, but Cook turned his head away and rode the attack out, pulling Katie out of the chair and into a tangle of limbs on the floor. She continued thrashing against him, but Cook braced himself against the chair and stared directly into the fireplace as her writhing subsided to full-body silent sobs, her hands twisted into the fabric of his shirt. He rocked her back and forth slowly, eyes never leaving the flames even when they waned as the night drew on.

Cook didn't bother to wipe away the narrow trail of tears winding its way down his cheek.