Ariel's AN: Wow, chapter 10, woo! Things are starting to get interesting. I'd just like to take a time out and give a shout out to all the cool gangsters and gun molls who read and reviewed this story thus far! It's really awesome, and it really motivates Stray and I to keep going, so thanks everyone!

Stray's AN: Thanks for joining us on this wild ride! Sorry for the slight delay, but we needed a little time to prep and organize this next part of the story. Also, new TAOP was released this week as well and I needed a week to prep that. But we hope you've enjoyed our take on the Bonnie and Clyde mythos so far (with plenty of references to the original duo) and our 1920s/1930s tour of America. We sure have had a blast.

Don't worry janes and jobbies, you ain't seen nothing yet.

Two week after, Courtney sits at the breakfast table she's been sitting at every morning since they bought the house. She doesn't serve herself any food. After dutifully handing Justin his bacon and eggs and making sure the frying pan is soaking properly, Courtney sits in her chair and stares out the window at a beat-up green Ford across the street. The heat is getting so intense, the paint looks like it could peel right off the vehicle.

Courtney sits in silence as Justin eats, cutting both bacon and egg very precisely. She doesn't tear her eyes from the car outside when she hears his chair scrape across the linoleum floor, but when she feels her husband's hand on her shoulder, she looks up.

"Is breakfast okay? I can get you something else," Courtney says, getting up. Justin shakes his head and gently pushes her back down, running his hands slowly through her hair. She closes her eyes to his touch.

"It's so short," Justin mutters regretfully.

"I know," Courtney offers back.

Justin pulls his chair beside hers, moving his coffee over as well. He takes a seat and grasps a hand on her lap.

"Bonnie, I'm worried about you," he begins. "You haven't been the same since you left work. You don't put on your usual makeup or do your hair...not that there's much left to do with it," he adds after a second thought.

Courtney doesn't respond. She pulls over the newspaper from his side of the table with her free hand and scans it automatically. No familiar name. Nothing.

"Did going to see your mother not cheer you up?"

She shrugs. She had gone to see her mother two towns over shortly after she'd come back. Mrs. Bons understood her sorrow and held her as she cried, but she couldn't understand the source of her unhappiness and Courtney was too ashamed to tell her the whole truth of her trip to Chicago and second encounter with Duncan Clyde. Her mother was stoutly convinced that Duncan Clyde had abused or brainwashed her in their first encounter regardless.

"I think you might be getting sick," Justin continues. "You're pale, dear. Staying inside all day isn't good for your skin, or your health. Why don't we go out to my father's farm this weekend? It's been very hot these days. A weekend at the farm all by ourselves might be just what you need to regain your vigor."

The farm is in the middle of nowhere. No shops, no restaurants for miles. Just acres of wheat and corn. Courtney's alone enough as it was. She shakes her head.

"Well, why don't you go join a bridge club? Lots of ladies your age do that," he suggests.

Courtney turns her head towards the window. "I don't have any friends."

He rubs the palm of her hand. "What about Beth? I'm sure you could tag along to one of her bridge clubs."

"I don't want to go with her, Justin."

"Then how about some poetry?" he says. "You used to write all the time but I haven't seen you pick up a pen in months. You could write some poems and send them into the papers."

"I'm not in the mood," she says monotonously.

Justin focuses on their hands. He plays with her fingers. He turns to take a sip from his coffee, then sets the mug down with finality.

"Darling, do you want a baby? Is that what's making you feel so empty? Because if you want a baby...then maybe it's time we have one."

Courtney snorts.

Justin is silent for a moment. Suddenly he snaps his fingers, sitting up. "What about your sister up in New York? Maybe you should go visit her. It would do you good."

This makes Courtney turn her head. If anyone would understand her, it would certainly be her sister. She could tell her everything, just like she did when they were little girls, before she married and moved away. Bridgette would understand in a way Justin and her mother couldn't.

"Yes...Maybe seeing Bridgette will help," Courtney says.

"It's settled then. I want you to bathe and put on your best dress. How can you expect to feel any better when you're a mess?" he asks, standing and kissing her head. "It'll lift your spirits, looking pretty again. I'll head out and buy you a ticket now, and I'll be home early from work to take you to the train station for your first train trip. Be ready by three," he instructs, chugging down the rest of his coffee, grabbing his briefcase, and leaving.

Courtney stares after him. Not once in their entire marriage had he ever taken off work early.

The prospect of a third three-day train ride in as many weeks sounds exhausting, but maybe New York is a good idea. A breath of fresh air, a reunion with her sister, before she sets about finding a long term solution for her unhappiness.

She watches Justin and the green Ford drive down the street and turn at the corner. Courtney eats the breakfast Justin left on his plate, tosses the dish in the sink, and goes to pack.

A handful of hours into her trip to New York, when she's quite settled and has started adjusting to the long stretches of bumping and rattling, an attendant in a velvet uniform introduces himself as Cody, comes up to Courtney's seat, and starts apologizing profusely.

"We're s-so very sorry, Mrs. Jones," he stutters, sweating. "But it seems we've booked your s-seat for another gentleman at the next train s-stop."

Courtney places a leather bookmark in her romance novel and turns to the attendant, confused.

"My husband booked me this seat for the duration of the trip, so whoever else was booked for here—"

"We're s-s-sorry, ma'am," he says, pulling at his collar. "But the conductor has asked me to upgrade you immediately to our first class cart as an ap-pology."

"Oh," she says. "Well then, no harm no foul."

Cody grabs her bags from overhead and says, "Follow me, ma'am."

He walks her three carts closer to the engine. Courtney passes several rows of identical looking businessmen travelling for their jobs, many of which look like men she'd seen on her train trips to and from Chicago. Courtney bows her head and uses her hat to hide her face in shade. Cody takes her to a nearly empty train car where he puts her bags up across the table from a gentleman reading the newspaper.

"Enjoy the remainder of your s-scenic trip, ma'am," he says, bowing quickly, and walking back to the other carts.

Courtney eyes the door of the cart for a moment longer after he leaves, suspicious. Cody looks familiar for some reason. She combs her memory for a few minutes; when nothing comes to mind though, Courtney settles herself into her new, more comfortable seat and resumes reading the harlequin romance Justin had bought her at the train platform.

A different train attendant walks into the room, also nervously, and starts methodically listing the next few train stops. His instructions for the New York train transfer is unclear though as the attendant starts coughing. He turns and walks back out of the cart.

"Excuse me," Courtney asks the gentleman across from her, "did you hear him say how many more stops until the New York transfer?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, doll."

Duncan Clyde lowers his magazine, grinning around a cigar.

"We'll be getting off a mite sooner than that."