A/N: I'm so sorry about the long weight. I've been trying so hard to write and I literally could never get more than a paragraph at one time. This one is a little longer than usual (I believe) and I left it where it is so that I actually have something to go off to start the next chapter so the wait time between them isn't so long. Thanks to everyone for the support and kind words. Things are a bit better now.

::Naomi::

DAY SIX

"You're home early," Mum calls from the kitchen the second I open the door. I blink once, frown, and check my watch.

"It's quarter to eleven. Did day and night get switched when I wasn't looking? Because the last time I checked, quarter to eleven was rather late." I pause and hang up my coat. "And what the hell are you doing in my flat? I thought you went home."

"Kieran and I popped back over to drop off some things you left behind that I thought you'd want. The box is on your bed." I follow Mum into the lounge and take the glass of wine she offers me as I situate myself in a chair. "Were you out with Emily?" I choke on my wine.

"What are you, fucking psychic?"

"Well, Naomi, dear, you were supposed to be buying food, which doesn't take normal people twelve hours to do, and you've come home without a single bag. Plus, let's be honest, love, there aren't many things you'd be doing in this city other than seeing Emily." I open my mouth to protest, but then shut it immediately, sighing.

"There are plenty of things I could have been doing, but yes, I was with Emily."

"On a date? Did my daughter have a date?"

"Is it really that hard to believe that I went out on a date with someone?" The look she gives me says it all. "You told me I have to fight, so I am. I think it went rather well, actually. She agreed to see me again; that's a start."

"That's good." I incline my head slightly and catch sight of a purple wrapper poking out of the rubbish bin. I frown slightly and pick it up with my fingers.

"How many packs of these did you eat?"

"Well, Kieran and I were hungry and you don't have much food, so..," she explains as I take myself and my wine into the kitchen to inspect the cabinets.

"Jesus, Mum, did you have to eat all my fucking Garibaldi's?" I call, poking at the lone package left in the cupboard, stuck between a few scattered cans of vegetables.

"You could have bought more if you went shopping."

"I'll go tomorrow," I concede, ripping open the Garibaldi's and breaking one in half with my teeth.

My hand knocks against Emily's novel as I reach to turn off the lamp. I narrow my eyes slightly and brush my fingers over the cover before sighing and shutting off the light, fear coiling up in my stomach as I think again for the thousandth time about what might be at the end, and why I'm so terrified to find out.

DAY SEVEN

I'm abruptly woken up by my phone vibrating obnoxiously on my night stand. I fumble about groggily and almost knock it off onto the floor.

"Hello?" I ask, struggling to keep my eyes open as I push myself up onto one elbow and blink rapidly.

"You didn't forget what's today, I hope?" comes a voice I honestly wasn't expecting to hear for a very long time. I bite my lip and frown, sinking back into my pillow and rubbing my eyes.

"Erm, Thursday?" I supply rather dumbly.

"No, Naomi. We're singing the divorce papers today," Rinry sighs, her tone ripe with annoyance. I barely hold back a groan. "Christ, of course you'd fucking forget."

"I didn't forget, Rin. I just woke up. I'll be there."

"Well it's a good thing you're awake, because you need to be there in an hour and getting across the city is a nightmare right now. 'Bye." She hangs up, I sigh, smack my alarm clock when it goes off two seconds later and pull my blanket up to my chin, dreading getting out of bed like I used to when I was younger and it was cold in my room. Reluctantly, I force myself out of bed and shower quickly. After several agonizing minutes trying to find out where I put the top that matches my blazer and deciding whether or not I actually want to bother putting on make up, I'm piling my things into my bag and heading out the door to catch the bus into the town centre.

Rinry's waiting just inside the doors when I get there, in a button up and a nice skirt, her expression as tight as mine. She inclines her head slightly when our eyes meet and then looks away. I stand a few paces to her side, wishing that she'd waited outside so that I could have a cigarette, because I really fucking need one right now. This is worse than my date with Emily; ten times more awkward with an undercurrent of nervousness, bitterness and resentment.

"You're looking well," Rinry says eventually, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I chew the inside of my lip and nod.

"Yeah, you, too." A few minutes pass before she says something else.

"At least you're on time, not like the fucking lawyer." I chuckle a bit, and she cracks the tiniest of smiles. The moment passes, though, and we fade back into silence.

"How've you been?" I ask hesitantly, thumbing my lighter inside the pocket of my trousers. Rinry shrugs.

"Fine, all things considering. I've been staying around here for a while." Minutes go by. I bite back a sigh and am about to go out and smoke another year off my life, but of course the lawyer (short, fat, balding, looks like a bit of a perv, to be honest) has to walk in at just the moment I open my mouth to ask if Rinry minds if I step out. I close my eyes and breathe deep and when I open them again Rinry shoots me a warning glance.

"Ladies," he says with a tiny smile. "James Turner. Sorry to keep you waiting." I resist the urge to run to the nearest bathroom and wash my hands after we shake them. "If you'll follow me, please. We'll have this settled in no time." My chest tightens painfully. Regardless of the fact that I was never really in love with Rinry (not that I don't love her, she's still an important person in my life), it hurts to know that this is it. We talk some, negotiate some, sign some stupid forms and then that's it. Zip. Finito. No more marriage. I can only imagine what Rin's feeling; something akin to how I felt when Emily and I ended things, I suppose.

Thankfully, there's not really much to sort. We didn't have to decide who would get the flat, or argue over one of us taking the cat or the fish and who's getting the kids and how much child support is going to be. It was simply a matter of trying to remember who bought what furniture (pointless, really, since most of the furniture we owned was property of the British government or left behind by the previous PM) and actually singing the paper annulling our marriage.

"Seems like you ladies have everything sorted, then. Miss Campbell, if you would just sign here and here, and initial here and would you do the same, Miss Brennan?" It's funny how a piece of paper can void a commitment made between two people. Although I guess I did that on my own.

I catch Rinry on the way out the door. She spins around when I touch her arm and raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," I tell her, putting heart and soul into my words.

"I know," she says after a long pause, then pushes her hair out of her eyes and walks away.

I visit Effy on the way back home and smoke a cigarette by her grave, wishing that I had a spliff. As if on cue, I hear my name being called. Well, actually, it's more a soft shout of "blondie" from a few yards off. I raise my hand and wave at him. He's not smiling when he comes over, settling himself on the other side of the tombstone so that we're leaning on either side of it, not facing each other. I hear the click of his lighter and the familiar scent of weed. I hold my hand out and a second later there's a joint between my fingers.

"Alright?" Cook asks eventually after we've passed the spliff back and forth a few times.

"I just signed a piece of paper that annulled my marriage. A piece of fucking paper."

"That's what you wanted, yeah?"

"Yeah, but Rinry-"

"She's her own person, Naomikins," Cook interrupts. "She'll live her life, you live yours."

"It's just, she got this huge ceremony and everything was just cancelled by a stupid form. She just deserved better is all."

"What, she deserved to stay married to someone who doesn't love her?"

"No, but-" I hear him shift on the grass and I move my own body until I see him out of the corner of my eye.

"I know it seems harsh, yeah, but it's better this way." He pauses and takes a drag, then hands me the spliff again. "You two, you didn't fit. It wasn't right."

"Yeah, well you only ever saw us on telly." I sigh and finish off the joint. "I know," I concede. We drop the subject. "Do you come here often?" I ask him after a while. It's actually surprisingly nice weather for such a shitty day. He shrugs.

"Naw, not so much anymore. Not since Katie stopped comin'." I turn my head. He's staring at Freddie's grave.

"You miss him," I state.

"'Course I do. Weren't right, how he went. I scooch myself over and kiss his cheek, then rest my head on his shoulder. "They would have sorted us both out in a second."

"You have Katie though," I observe.

"Yeah, I do. And you've got Emily," he tells me.

"Not yet," I say, shaking my head.

"She'll come 'round, Blondie," Cook mutters into my hair, patting my arm.

"You think so?" I ask him, shifting around again and pressing my nose against the crook of his neck.

"I know so. She loves ya." My stomach grumbles loudly, disrupting the lovely bonding moment Cook and I were having and reminding me that I'd promised Mum I'd go shopping today.

"So, want to help me restock my kitchen?" I offer through a grin while he laughs at me.

"Yeah, alright." He dislodges my head as he gets to his feet and helps me up to mine, then slings his arm around my shoulders as she lights a fag with his free hand. "Away we go!"

I've lost Cook. It's like he's playing a stupid game of hide and seek. Or tag. Or something. I told him to go get me some bread, milk and eggs while I stroll down picking out all the junk food I'm going to be consuming when I don't feel like making a proper meal or paying for take away (all the time, more or less) and now he's dodging in and out of my sight, with said items in hand, and a cheeky grin on his face.

"Cook!" I shout, huffing as I push my trolley around the corner. "Stop being a tit!" I follow the sound of his laugh and then ram the trolley into his ass when I catch up with him. He yelps, then dances away from me again. "I'm going to leave you here," I threaten, my annoyance with him fading as I grin.

"Yeah? Good luck with that, Naomikins," Cook teases. "I'd like to see you ship all the bags you're gonna 'ave home on a bus."

"You're such a wanker, James!" I yell out, earning a dirty look from a mother on the other side of the aisle. Cook scares the shit out of me when he appears out of nowhere and give my bum a firm slap before placing the food he's carrying into the trolley. I glare at him, the effect diminished somewhat by the smile I'm trying to fight. I check the eggs quickly, confirming that they're still unbroken. Cook grins that silly boyish grin and slips his arm around my waist.

"Should have made a shopping list, babe," he observes, leading me around the mart by a hand on the front of the trolley basket and picking up things I'd forgotten. It surprises me how domestic he can be. I remember a time when his diet consisted entirely of booze, weed and pills. Then again, there was a time in my life when I was the same.

We stop by the off-license on out way back to my flat and grab some wine and vodka to stock my alcohol cabinet and after some pestering from Cook I get a single bottle of tequila and a few shot glasses to go with it.

Cook helps me pack away all the food and pouts when I refuse to open anything stronger than a bottle of red.

"You have to drive home," I scold as I had him a glass and sit on the sofa. "I'm not letting you get pissed."

"Awe, I love you, too, Naomikins." I slap his shoulder then settle against him. He sips at his wine and I flick through channels on the telly. After a while, he shifts and leans over and I neatly slide down his side. I expect him to make a rude joke about how no one can resist the Cookie monster, but he's holding Emily's photography portfolio in his hands and is slowly flicking through the pages.

"Don't you have a copy of that in your house?" He shrugs.

"Maybe. We've got a couple of Ems' photos hung around, but I've never seen this anywhere. Katie might have it put away somewhere." I shift up his side again and peer over his shoulder when he stiffens slightly. He's opened to the picture of Freddie and Effy. I feel my own heart contract rather painfully at the sight of them so obviously in love. I squeeze his forearm and press my cheek firmly against his shoulder until he turns the page. "Damn, Blondie," he remarks, flicking to the last photos; the ones of me. I smack his arm and grin into his neck, hiding how my cheeks have suddenly gone bright red. "Some deep shit, innit," Cook continues, gently shutting the book and placing it back on the table.

"I'm still so afraid, Cook," I whisper, sighing. It's easy, being honest with him. Always has been. He shifts and pulls a spliff out of his pocket and lights it smoothly, reaching forward and dislodging me as he scoots the ashtray on the coffee table closer to him. I sit up and turn the television off, waiting for him to say something. He does, but not until after we've smoked the joint.

"Love's scary, Naomi. It does things to ya. Fucks with your mind. You've just like, gotta take that risk, yeah, just jump right into it, or you're gonna be lonely forever." He pushes himself off the sofa with a grunt and stretches his back. "It's not called 'fallin' in love' for nothin', babes." I follow him to the door and offer him a smile, taking comfort in the big bear hug he wraps me in. "Alright, Naoms?" I nod and pull away, patting his chest.

"Yeah, I'm alright."

Cook leaves me with his tin of spliff and reassurances that he can get me the best skunk this side of Bristol if I want any more.

"Grab the bull by the horns," he says as he walks out the door, winking at me.

Before I go to bed, I finally slip my wedding band off my finger and set it in the bottom of the jewellery box on my dresser.

DAY EIGHT

The first thing I do when I wake up is call Emily. I feel a bit silly, but it's late enough and she picks up on the second ring anyway, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from me, which automatically puts me in a good mood. I don't know if I'm the reason she sounds happy, but the fact that she is is good enough.

"Alright?" she says instead of a proper greeting.

"Yeah, I'm great. I was just wondering, are you free tonight?" I spit out quickly before I lose what little courage Cook's mini speech gave me last night.

"I might be," Emily husks after a second. I can hear the rapid tapping of a keyboard. "Depends on what you're really asking."

"Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. The typing stops.

"Do you actually have a place in mind, or is this another spontaneous adventure like the last time?"

"Is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

"You can pick me up out front at six, then," Emily says, avoiding my question.

"Cool. I look forward to it." She waits a beat before responding with,

"Yeah, me too. Bye, Naomi." I set my phone down and sink under my blankets. I'm officially a free woman again. No legal ties to anyone, no emotional obligations to anyone. Free, for the first time wince uni. I hop out of bed and dig through my clothes (not quite all unpacked yet) and pull out a blue bra I forgot I had, striped pants, a random skirt, my pig shirt, and a familiar green jumper. I look at the skirt, then screw my nose up. Not floral. Not today. Probably not this jumper either. I toss my skirt on the floor and with some effort yank out a pair of black skinnies I'd borrowed from Effy and forgotten to give back. Surprisingly the only pair she owned that hadn't been ripped up. I had a bit of trouble fitting into them then, but obviously the stress of my former job made me lose a few pounds.

I find my flats under my bed and a grey blazer hanging on my closet door, finish dressing, put make up on and pile all my stuff (phone, fags, scarf, lighter, make up, etc) into my IDEAS bag and head out into the city.

First stop: hair salon.

I stare at my face in the mirror as the hair dr

esser combs out my freshly bleached hair. It's gotten long, past my shoulders when fully combed out. I hadn't noticed.

"How d'you want this done, love?" the lady asks, running her fingers through my hair in that odd way hair dressers have. I tilt my head tot he side. I know Emily liked it when it was shorter, but after it grew she took to twirling it in her fingers and tugging on it when we... well.

"Just a trim, I think," I say after a minute of deliberation. The lady smiles and picks up her scissors and a comb.

Ten minutes later, I'm heading out the door, threading my fingers through my trimmed and freshly blown dry hair, ruffling it as I head down to the bus stop. I have time to get myself a nice lunch and go shopping before I head over to steal Kieran's car for the night. The both of us are fine taking the bus separately, but I'm not going to make her do that on a date. Maybe a taxi would be better. Kieran's car is a bit of a death trap.

I'm still ridiculously nervous; Emily has always made me feel like this, like I'm both flying and falling all at once, but this time it's more the awareness that I need to be the best I can be. I need to prove to her that my feelings are genuine. That I'm not going to run from her. And it's fucking difficult, let me tell you. She's certainly not making it easy for me, not that I expected her to (although it would have been nice). I've popped home to call a taxi and properly fix my hair (which means throwing a towel around my shoulders and washing out all the loose strands left from the cut and putting it in a ponytail), and dump out my bag in favour of slipping my phone and keys into my jeans and my fags and lighter into the pocket of my blazer.

I'm re-applying my make up when the taxi pulls up and beeps, scaring the piss out of me and nearly making me poke myself in the eye with my eyeliner pencil. I finish quickly and pop down, shivering at the cold temperature outside. Stupid English weather. I give the driver Emily's address and settle in the back, tapping my fingers on my thigh and staring out the window for the duration of the trip.

"Do you know where Prosecco's is?" I ask as we pull up and I fish my phone out of my trousers to text Emily. "It's up in Clifton Village," I specify when the driver shakes his head.

"Yeah," he replies absently, rolling down the window. I step out onto the pavement and light up a cigarette while I wait for my date. The door opens a few minutes later and Emily steps out, pulling a black pea coat over a shirt that looks like it came straight from Effy's wardrobe, a black skirt that stops mid-thigh and heels that were probably Katie's at some point. I can't help but stare at the flesh that's on display; neck, collarbones, legs, dear god, legs. She smiles when she sees me. I automatically grin back. Her smile's always been infectious.

"Alright?" she asks, her voice husky. She clears her throat softly and pulls her hair out of the collar of her coat. I nod and step to the side, opening the door of the cab for her. "Thanks," she says, ducking her head and sliding across the street. I toss my cigarette butt onto the street and climb in after her. Our hands are both on the empty seat between us, barely a millimetre separating them. Without even really thinking about what I'm doing, I reach my pinkie out and lay it over hers. Her entire body stiffens immediately, but she doesn't move away. I stroke the back of her finger, keeping my eyes straight ahead. After a few moments, the muscles in her arm relax, and the only movement either of us make for the rest of the ride is the odd twitch of her hand and me twirling my hair around my fingers.

I've never actually been to this restaurant before, but when I'd been hopping from bus to bus around the city on my little shopping spree the most delicious scent had wafted out from the open door and I'd sort of followed my nose to the counter and asked for a menu to look over. The first thought that popped into my head was Italian. Emily loves Italian, and there had really been no question about where I'd take her for our date. She hasn't specified any place that she wanted to go, so I assume that my choice of dining is safe. She looks rather impressed when we pull up, a smile on her face and that amazing scent still in the air, as I pay the driver.

"Well, Miss Fitch?" I ask, sidling up along side her.

"Smells nice," she responds after a minute, with a coy little look in her eyes. "I love Italian."

"I know," I say, almost smugly. We step inside and are instantly seen to by a rather pretty girl with a genuine smile on her face rather than those obviously fake professional ones I'm so used to seeing, and are seated at a table just past the bar. The hostess leaves us with two menus and another happy smile. I take Emily's coat for her before she can remove it on her own and pull out her seat. She raises a brow at me, but sits daintily and lets me scoot her back in and drape her coat over the back of her chair before I take my own seat and open my menu. I catch her sending me glances over the top of hers.

"Well, Ems?" I start, folding my menu and setting it down. She shrugs her shoulders.

"I don't know, it all sounds so good. I guess I'll start with the Gnocchi and then maybe the sea bass," Emily tells me, still scanning her menu and biting her lip. She gets this little furrow between her eyebrows when she's concentrating really hard on something. It's rather adorable. "The desserts look really good, too." I can't help but laugh. She pouts at me, but the corner of her lips turn up into a little smile and then she hides behind her menu once again.

I forgot how much food Emily can stuff in that little (completely and totally sexy) body of hers. I've only had a light salad so far, which was rather large to begin with, and she's torn through the Gnocchi and her fish platter is fucking huge and she's looking at it so hard that I'm surprised she's not salivating and I'm hardly sure I'll be able to finish half of the lamb rack that's been set in front of me. We chat, quietly, and when we're not, the silence is genuinely comfortable for the first time in ages. It's amazing.

"This is really nice, Naomi," Emily says after a while, breaking the lull in conversation. "It's a lovely place." I give her a small smile

"I take it you're enjoying yourself then? My company's not too totally horrible." She laughs, straight from her chest.

"For now, maybe," she says with a wink. "Did you have anything planned for after dinner?"

"Not really," I admit, feeling my cheeks tinge pink. "I was sort of leaving that up for you to decide. Didn't want to force you to put up with me longer than necessary." Emily half rolls her eyes at me.

"Naomi, I put up with behaviour ten times worse than this from you for three years. I don't think a walk in the park is going to kill me."

"Sure you're capable of movement?" I tease through a grin. She's actually willing to spend time with me. "You've eaten an awful lot." Emily kicks my calf under the table, but she's still smiling.

"I'll skip on dessert if you're that desperate to leave."

"Oh, by all means, order dessert. I was just trying to avoid having to carry you out of here."

"You'd have no trouble doing that," Emily mutters under her breath, looking up at me through her lashes and both of us blush. That's certainly true; I have no problems lifting Emily up onto things or carrying her places and she certainly has no trouble doing the same to me. There's a surprising amount of strength hidden in that little body. I take a sip of my wine and finish the last of my lamb, watching as Emily does the same with her bass and hold up my hand when she reaches for the bill.

"Don't. I've got it," I tell her, quickly snagging it from under her hand. Thankfully, money's still not really an issue for me. I imagine it might become so at some point, but I'm fairly certain that I'll be able to get a job anywhere I choose with my resumé. Emily does nothing more than raise a brow at me and settles back in her seat. I slip some cash into the book and stand up, draining the rest of my wine and moving over to pull Emily's chair out for her and help her back into her jacket. She starts walking ahead of me, but I use my longer legs to scoot around front and open the door for her.

"Such a gentleman," she says, almost mockingly. I swat her arm and blush.

"I'm just being polite," I retort as she walks past me.

"Naomi Campbell, polite?" she calls over her shoulder, spinning around to face me a second later. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Oi!" I cry, letting the door swing shut behind me and falling into step behind her. She giggles lightly and then loops her arm around mine. My heart leaps into my throat. I can tell she's watching me out of the corner of her eye, gauging my reaction. I don't pull away. I don't move my arm at all, and after a minute her fingers slide down to lace through mine.