They'd been sent to look for food. Diana, Darla, Jack, Drake's boys, anyone who wasn't Drake or Caine. They were plotting, planning, Darla thought - hoped -, although she knew they were much more likely to be bickering. The tension between the two of them was growing and everyone could see it, hear it, feel it. The addition of the new force, the 'gaiaphage', didn't seem to be helping.

Darla wasn't sure where she was supposed to be looking, there was no point: as Diana had not-so-helpfully pointed out, it was impossible that Sam's people hadn't already scoured the place and taken every last edible scrap in the place. Picked the meat from the bones, so to speak. The metaphor made her stomach growl in indignation, god she was hungry. She'd always been a picky eater. When she thought of all the food she'd turned down, vegetables nudged to the side of the plate, fat cut from a steak and tossed in the bin, she longed for it all. Someone could drop raw offal in front of her now and she was sure she'd devour it whole, no airs and graces, no knife and fork. Maybe they could hunt, later, when they left the damned power plant. If they left, that was. Because for all of Caine's wild intelligence and cunning, he'd accidentally led them into a trap.

The drawer she'd crouched to search through was empty, of anything useful anyway. A couple of pens, a stray cufflink with no partner, a photograph. A man and a woman, supposedly his wife, either side of a boy who couldn't be much older than twelve. Smiling.

She wondered if the kid had made it this far.

Darla's own parents were the distant sort, always working, sometimes fighting, but never with her. She'd tried to start fights with them just to gain their attention for more than a few minutes, but all her attempts had been in vain. Then, off to Coates. So it was them who'd landed her in this mess, really. With a wry smile, she wondered if they'd pay attention to her now. Hi, guys, meet my boyfriend. Oh, don't mind the arm or the machine gun. Drake's just a little different, that's all.

"Cute kid."

The voice made Darla jump, much to her embarrassment, and drop the picture. It fluttered to the floor, already forgotten as she hastily pulled herself to her feet and came face to face with the interruption herself.

"Jesus, Ladris, you should wear a bell: could've given me a heart attack."

"Disappointed I'm not your boy toy? Sorry, honey." Diana smirked, somewhat half-heartedly, Darla noticed. She looked different, and it wasn't just her new hairdo. Not defeated, not yet, but different. Not quite the Diana Ladris she'd once been, in all her former glory.

"Oh, give it a rest. What do you want? There's no food in this room, I've already checked it." She folded her arms defensively over her chest, frowning. There was something about Diana's eyes that seemed to bore into her very soul, and she didn't like it one bit. Drake had once told her that Diana's big, dark eyes, often described as beautiful and mysterious, were creepy. Now she understood why.

"Forgive me for wanting a little girly chat. There's so much testosterone around here with all the tough-guy acts that it's starting to suffocate me." The girl paused, finally breaking her intense stare. Leaning against the desk, she smiled coyly and arched an eyebrow. "So, in the spirit of the girly chat... You and Drake seem to be getting on well."

Darla was not in the mood to take the bait. Whether Diana wanted her to argue or crack and spill her guts about every feeling of guilt and confusion, she didn't know, but she wasn't about to go spilling her secrets to a girl she neither liked nor trusted.

"That's because I let him fuck me." The crass confession even seemed to surprise Diana despite the fact that she already knew: after Bug had spoken to Darla at the door, he'd told pretty much anybody who would listen about what had been happening. "You should really try that with Caine, you know. He let all that aggression out and spilled it all over me and his bedsheets, and now he's sweet as sugar."

"They'll be the death of us, you know." Suddenly, there was no teasing edge to Diana's voice. Her pretty face was solemn and sober as she gazed glassily at Darla. "If they don't kill us with this psycho mission to feed their psycho god, it'll be some other way. We both know it. But there's nowhere else to go, is there? And once you're bound to someone like that, once you've done some fucked up things together and intertwined your fucking souls, there's no escaping it. The bad girls end up with the bad boys and because they're bad, nobody cares what happens to the bad girls."

The abrupt emotional onslaught took Darla aback. No. No, she wasn't going to let Diana's words get to her head, no matter how sincere the girl sounded, no matter how truthful what she'd said was. Because Darla couldn't risk rethinking everything when she'd only just convinced herself that she was Drake's and Drake's was hers and they'd be Bonnie and Clyde, Veronica and JD, forever.

And yet.

Her expression softened and she smiled at Diana Ladris for the first time in a while, maybe even ever. It was a sad, soft smile, but there was a hint of something deeper, a warmth that neither girl could quite figure out.

"Maybe the bad girls care what happens to the bad girls. Maybe that counts for something."

Just as Diana opened her mouth to reply, the door to the office was thrown open and there stood Jack, red in the face, clutching...

"Oh, shit."

"The wires, these fucking wires! He said he took them down. Oh Christ, what if she's hurt?" Jack brandished the fistful of wire at the two girls as though expecting them to have an answer. Then, unexpectedly, his shoulders sagged. "What if she's hurt?"

"Come on, big boy. We'll ask the boss why he broke his promise." Darla coaxed, moving away from the desk and towards the door. As she did, she locked eyes with Diana. No words were spoken but in that moment of eye contact, a silent bond was formed.

Maybe the bad girls care what happens to the bad girls.