Hi guys

I am going away for the weekend and will be sans internet until Monday, but I will still have my laptop so hopefully I'll get some chapters typed up ready for next week This one is a little longer to make up for the wait.

Thanks for sticking with this!

x x x x

Cath's POV

"Ow." I grumble, curling my hand back under the covers and cradling it protectively against my chest. This wis my first reminder that I am in Sara's bed – I never smack my hand on the sink when I stretch out on my own bed.

The second clue usually comes when I try to roll over and find myself held still by the young brunette's strong grip on me. This morning, however, there is no firm grasp clutching the front of my shirt and the space beside me is empty.

I shift, kicking out my legs in an attempt to free them from the tangle of blankets.

"Hi." The shy voice draws my attention to the other side of the cell, where Sara is leaning against the wall. She is already dressed and clearly waiting to be let out for breakfast. Her head is bowed, her dark waves shielding her face, but I can still see that she is staring at me from beneath her long lashes.

X x x

Sara's POV

"Hey." She replies, her voice still husky from sleep. She rolls over, arching her back like a cat beneath the covers before slowly sitting up and stretching.

I always find it intriguing to watch her when she's like this; just waking up and oblivious or uncaring to the fact that she's under scrutiny. It's when she looks her most vulnerable. Her blue eyes search the small space sleepily; as if she's still trying to place her surroundings, even after all these months.

Finally she stands up, stretches again and shuffles to the sink. Her pyjama bottoms are too long for her and trail across the dusty floor.

I have a somewhat regimented routine on a morning – not a difficult thing when your every action is monitored and limited to available supplies. Catherine, on the other hand, is much more chaotic. She spends the majority of the morning stumbling around the tiny cell in a bit of a daze.

I am so lost in my own thoughts that I don't even realise I have called her name until she turns to me, toothbrush in her mouth, and raises a questioning eyebrow.

I have no idea what I was actually intending to say, but what comes out surprises us both.

"Do you ever have bad dreams in here?"

She blinks at me for a moment, tapping her toothbrush thoughtfully on the edge of the sink before finally abandoning it there and walking carefully towards me; her head cocked to the side curiously.

For one gut-wrenching moment I panic that she's going to push me to explain what my nightmares are about.

"I don't dream anymore." She says at last, holding my gaze for a long few seconds before dropping her head and sloping to the small wardrobe to get dressed.

I continue to stare at her, not entirely sure how to take her emotionless confession.

Is she trying to say that she has lost all hope and reason to dream of a future beyond this place? Or has this hell merely sapped all subconscious inspiration from her life?

X x x

Cath's POV

I had nearly asked Sara outright what she was hiding, but something inside me chose to offer the honest answer instead. Although, judging by the look on her face, it appears only to have confused her.

Neither of us speaks for several minutes, though I can still feel her eyes following my every movement. The awkward silence is only broken by the sound of the guards descending from on high to unlock our cells.

Sara waits until they retreat again before sliding the bars open and moving to leave; but she pauses in the doorway, turning back towards me.

"Hey Cath?"

"Yeah?" I hum, keeping my back to her as I dress.

"Thanks."

The lone word is barely whispered but I hear it clear as day. I want to say something, to plead with her to let me help further, but the words just won't come.

And by the time I finally turn around, she has vanished.

X x x

It's raining again.

Sara had been telling me the other day about how she had spent one Christmas in New York and it had snowed so much that they couldn't even get the front door open.

Though I'm sure I have, I don't recall ever seeing snow. I have always wondered what it would be like to have the traditional 'white Christmas'. The concept had always struck me as little more than a romantic myth.

Sara's eyes had lit up when she was talking about New York. It was the most alive I have ever seen her. She had started to tell me that one day she was going to go to Harvard; that that's how she had gotten into working the streets – to save money for college.

But then she had stopped talking, and the spark in her eyes faded. I realised that she had probably just had the same thought that had struck me at the start of this conversation – the thought I had determinedly been keeping to myself: would an Ivy League college accept an ex-con as a student?

After that day, she hasn't spoken very much.

I release a sigh, snapping out of my reverie. The sound of the rain beating against the wall has always had somewhat a hypnotic effect on me.

I turn back to face the rest of the cell. Sara is doing what she usually does on these long, dull afternoons: drawing.

"Hey Sara?" I drawl, ambling over and perching on the edge of her bed.

"Hmm?"

"You know you said that you were going to stay with your grandmother this Christmas?"

She pauses, her pen hovering over the paper briefly.

"Yeah?" She agrees tentatively at last.

"What's she like?"

"Grams?" Sara frowns, going back to her doodling. "She's … stubborn. Fierce." A wistful smile dances across her lips as she cocks her head to the side. "She's the only person in my family I really like."

"You never talk about your family." I point out softly, hoping to keep the conversation going, if for no other reason than to kill some time.

To my surprise, her answer comes swift and sharp.

"Neither do you."

A surprised laugh bubbles out of me.

"Touché." I hum, nodding at her. I settle myself against the bedpost, folding my hands in my lap and clearing my throat. "Alright, my mom hasn't spoken to me since I left home at 17 and ran off with a guy six years older than me. I have one sister – younger – who is like Mary Poppins on heat she's so damn perfect." I pause, licking my lips. "Let's see, my father abandoned me before I was born. I was born in Montana but I've lived in Las Vegas most of my life. I went to three different middle schools because my mom moved around so much. My stepfather was a collosal jackass and we used to visit my aunt in Bozeman every summer."

Somewhere in the middle of my disorganised little tirade, Sara had stopped drawing and is now blinking at me in bemusement.

"Your turn." I gesture to her with a small smile.

X x x

Sara's POV

I feel my face flush and I drop my gaze into my lap, shaking my head.

I hear her emit a sigh and hold my breath, waiting for her to release her frustration at my caginess. I want desperately to explain but past attempts had usually backfired on me and I'm not ready to deal with that again. To my surprise, however, she does quite the opposite of what I am anticipating.

She reaches out and places a warm hand over my own.

"You know, I never said thank you."

The change in topic throws me and I whip my head back up.

"For what?"

"For everything." She shrugs, casting her eyes lazily around the room, a telltale sign of her nerves. "For what you do for me."

I blush again, nodding slowly.

"Don't mention it." I murmur weakly.

She flicks her eyes back to my face and squeezes my hand gently.

"It means a lot."

An odd silence falls between us and we both avert our eyes bashfully. I'm not even sure what just happened between us, but there's an unfamiliar atmosphere settling in the room now.

Suddenly she leans forwards, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"Maybe one day I can repay the favour."

The offer catches me off guard and I choke out a nervous laugh.

"I think I'm okay. No offence." I try to lighten the mood, but she just smiles knowingly at me.

"You haven't been in here that long yet." She points out. "Just wait until you can't remember what it feels like."

Apparently deciding that the conversation has turned awkward enough, she climbs onto her bed and lies down, staring at the ceiling. I try to refocus on my drawing but her words won't let me concentrate.

I am curious as to what it is. Aside from the obvious, I can't help but feel there is a deeper meaning to her words.

Though I don't press it, I feel safe in the knowledge that I'm not going to need her favours anytime soon. Sex has only ever left me feeling cold and used.

Maybe one day I will ask Catherine what it is that she misses so much about it, since clearly my experiences are somewhat tainted.

X x x

Cath's POV

The fading sounds of the guards' footsteps leave our cell in a peaceful darkness.

Sara and I didn't speak much over dinner and what little we did say to each other was mainly focused on the new tables – courtesy of the state after our earthquake-induced riot destroyed the last ones – and the bad food.

I roll over, letting my hand hang off the edge of the bed. I can hear Sara shuffling beneath me so I know that she is still awake.

I am still worried about her state of mind, despite her quiet assurance that she is okay when I asked if she wanted to talk before we went to bed.

I desperately want to help her but she just won't open up to me. I gave her a reprieve this afternoon, taking the heat off her when she clearly didn't want to talk about her family. But I am still eager to find out what is so troubling about her history.

The most irritating thing about it is the fact that she is happy to go to any lengths to help me but she simply won't allow me to help her.

Then again, perhaps that is the answer I'm looking for.

X x x

She doesn't even question it when I whisper her name softly in the darkness. She just climbs out of her bed and hops up to mine, shuffling under the covers.

Without hesitating, she slips her warm hands under my shirt, but I quickly still her movements.

"No." I murmur. "Not tonight."

Even in the dim light I can see the confusion clouding her features. It is cute, in a strange sort of way.

"Okay." She frowns, clearly not following.

"I just want company." I lie, tugging her gently closer. Understanding the request, she lies down beside me and we curl ourselves into a neat interlocked little ball.

Okay so it isn't a complete lie, I'm by no means averse to having someone to hold on these cold nights. But that isn't the real reason I have invited her up here tonight.

I hear her breathing begin to slow and just when I think I have gotten away with it, she murmurs sleepily against my neck.

"I know your game, Cat." I cock an eyebrow, even though she can't see me. "Thanks."

I smile, holding her a little closer to my body.

"You're welcome." I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. To my surprise – albeit not an entirely unwelcome surprise – she responds in kind by peppering a gentle kiss against my neck before snuggling down to sleep.

I can't explain what it was about that simple action, but it clarifies something that has been bothering me since the first night I called Sara up here. All of a sudden I can put a name to the feelings stirred in me every time the girl touches me. It's the way she looks at me, the way her words of comfort are soft but not condescending. It's the way she treats me.

The thing that makes Sara different to everyone else I have ever been with? Sara respects me.