Katie was sitting on the couch in her living room, a beer resting on a coaster just out of reach on the coffee table, when Emily wearily pushed open the door and stumbled inside tracking wet footprints behind her. She let the door close slowly behind her, attempting to head down the hall to the guest room without greeting her twin, but Katie was on her feet, crossing the room more quickly than Emily expected. Placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, Katie turned her around and looked over her. Once she was satisfied Emily didn't have any cuts or bruises, she dropped the hand and stepped back slightly. Despite the lack of visible wounds, the soaked clothes, stooped shoulders, and abnormally pale complexion triggered warning sirens in Katie's head.

"What happened, Emily?"

"Nothing, I just want to change out of these clothes and eat, 'kay?" She refused to meet Katie's eyes, opting instead to turn and trudge down the hall, feet squishing on the cheap tile, her bag dangling awkwardly from one arm.

"You might think I'm dense sometimes, but I'm really not stupid."

"I don't think you're dense sometimes, I know you are," Emily offered with great effort. She put a hand on the door knob and paused. "Can you just give me two seconds to catch my breath, alright? I'll be right back out."

Katie stood awkwardly in her own front hall for a moment, mouth open slightly as Emily closed the door to the guest room in her face. Emily hadn't blown her off like that in months. Cook,she thought angrily, and spun on her heel. Snatching her mobile off the table next to her drink, she jabbed forcibly at the on-screen keyboard display and hammered out a rapid-fire text: 'What the fuck did you do to my sister?'

Dropping the phone on the cushion next to her, Katie attempted to settle back into the couch, but the sound of water starting to run through the pipes snaking above the ceiling, spurred her back up and down the hall. As she left the room, she heard the phone buzz and tweedle at her; choosing to ignore it, she clenched her fists and stalked down the hall.

"Emily! You are NOT taking a fucking shower!'

Katie pushed open the bedroom door without knocking and looked around, incredulity and affrontement getting the better of her. Not seeing her target, she took three steps to her right and pounded on the bathroom door.

"What?" came the over-the-sound-of-running-water-shouted reply. Katie huffed and rolled her eyes at the door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Emily?" Katie leaned closer to the door to hear her sister's response, but found herself stumbling backwards as the door opened slightly and Emily poked her head into the gap between door and doorframe.

"I'm taking a shower. Problem?"

Making a sound of disbelief, Katie replied, "Uh, yeah it's a problem. Dinner's ready, and I'm not going to let you just blow me off."

"I'll be quick, I promise," Emily said as she closed the door again, cutting off Katie's yell of protest

"You don't know how to take a quick shower," Katie muttered under her breath as she retreated from the guest room and moved back to the living room. She scooped her mobile off the cushion where she left it and headed into the kitchen. Why couldn't things just go right for once?

She had made an actual honest-to-goodness effort on dinner this evening—going down to the market for fresh vegetables and completely organic chicken to cook with, preparing the meal for both of them and intending to have it ready about the time she expected Emily to return from the safe house, and even setting the table for the two of them and opening a chilled bottle of white wine—but now Emily was ruining it by being in a miserable mood and choosing a shower over her sister's company. Katie knew that her twin would not be finished with her shower for at least forty-five minutes to an hour (despite her hasty promise to be quick), but she still paused for a moment before serving herself and settling in at the table, alone. Eating by herself was the last thing she wanted to do, especially with Emily in the apartment, but if her sister insisted on disrespecting her hospitality, she didn't see much of an alternative.

As she was sitting down, Katie heard her phone buzz again. Unlocking the screen, she displayed the two new messages from Cook: 'Didn't do nothing to her' and 'What's the problem, Katiekins?'

"God, I wish he wouldn't call me that," she said aloud. Trying to reconcile the bombastic, inescapably exciting boy of their youth with the man who had aimed a pistol at her, yelled at her and her co-workers, and played the most dangerous game of chicken with police imaginable had left Katie with no real grasp on what she considered Cook to be anymore. His immediate reappearance at Tony Stonem's house alongside Emily and Naomi six months previous shook Katie more than she'd cared to admit. Only two weeks removed from being at his absolute mercy, hearing him crack jokes and tease her rang false and disquieting, but Katie knew in that moment things were going on larger than her trepidation about being around Cook; she tried to play it off and feign amusement at the resumption of his college-age antics.

But those pretenses did not last long. Katie put the phone down and began cutting into her chicken. She recalled the conversation she and Emily had about how they should help Cook after he called them from one of the country's few remaining pay phones after escaping during transfer from one prison to another. She argued that he could take care of himself and didn't need their help, especially with Naomi's recent re-election; if anyone found out the most popular Member in Bristol's history was secretly aiding a wanted criminal in evading capture, it would be disastrous. Emily, of course, argued that Naomi would want to help Cook in any way they could, consequences be damned, since he had helped them and saved their lives. Emily finally came up with the idea of hiding Cook in a safe house until he could help Naomi's investigation into SSI, but Katie's wariness at being connected to Cook lingered.

Now, on the eve of his making these last six months worthwhile, he had clearly overstepped his bounds and said or done something to Emily that upset her. Why am I always saying 'I told you so' to her? Katie shook her head and palmed the phone. She pressed her lips together and stared at the screen, wondering why in hell Cook would play dumb. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, but she couldn't seem to find the right words to retort. Katie placed the phone back down and continued eating, consumed by her thoughts about Cook and the last several months.

Several minutes later, still staring down at her plate, Katie was startled by a simple, "You didn't wait for me."

Looking up, Katie found Emily standing, dejectedly, in the entryway to the kitchen. Her hair hung wet and stringy on either side of her face; a bunched towel was scrunched up in her left hand, damp from patting her hair dry. The tips of her hair had darkened the shoulders of the light blue shirt she wore over black yoga pants. Katie locked eyes with her sister, finding uncomfortable betrayal ringed by redness stemming from more than a hot shower staring back at her.

"You were taking a shower; what did you expect me to do?"

"I told you it was going to be quick."

"Yeah," said Katie exasperatedly, "and that usually means forty-five minutes, not an hour. I wasn't going to let this go cold." She took a deep breath and continued, "Besides, you're late as it is."

"What? So you couldn't wait an extra fifteen minutes?" Emily walked over to the range and pulled the cover off the skillet, smelling the food. Still holding the cover as it dripped condensation on the counter, she looked up at her sister in surprise. "You cooked this?"

"Fuck's sake, Em, just serve yourself and sit down." Katie pushed the chair across from her out from the table with her foot and resumed cutting up her dinner. Emily paused, still letting the cover drip, and stared at the back of her sister's head.

Even with the relative thaw in their relationship, Katie could still be equally as dozy as when they had been teenagers. Apart from several arguments about Cook, Emily felt she had never been closer to Katie than they had been over the summer: after returning from holiday with Emily, Naomi resumed making frequent trips to and from London, working closely with Vic Patterson, which left Emily and Katie in Bristol to balance chaperoning their childhood friend and responding to the numerous interview and news piece requests that followed their eventful spring. Katie had moved back into her own flat after the election, but stayed on as part of Naomi's staff despite the conclusion of her campaign-managing; managing public opinion about the events surrounding SSI and Naomi's relationship to those involved was only just beginning. At the same time, Emily was juggling helping Naomi's investigation, her regular responsibilities and cases, and shielding unassuming local politicians from her sister's scathing personality when a news story painted Naomi or her fiancée in a negative light or a former campaign donor threatened to cut off their support. For while Emily was touched that her twin responded with such fervor, those explosions came all too frequently for Naomi's liking, thus leading to her and Katie working more closely together than Emily would have ever imagined. Nevertheless, Katie still had moments like this when she disappointed Emily in the smallest, but sharpest ways.

Emily scooped the vegetables out of the skillet and replaced the cover, silently taking her seat across from Katie. She neatly unfolded her napkin, placing it on her lap, and then fiddled with her fork and knife.

"I didn't intend on being late, alright?" she said slowly. Emily peeked up to find a look of skepticism on her twin's face. "And before you say something, it wasn't Cook's fault alright?"

"Somehow I have a hard time believing that."

"Then try, just this once. I had a...an...not sure exactly what."

"Well that's fucking great, Ems. So glad you—"

"Someone hit me on my way back, alright?" Emily interrupted in a rush. Katie paused with a piece of chicken hovering halfway to her mouth and glanced across the table. Fear and uncertainty clouded her sister's identical eyes. "Like, proper hit me."

"You mean at a light, right? There wasn't any damage?"

Emily exhaled, trying to calm herself. Of course, now Katie started to show an interest in the 'why' of Emily's tardiness. I'd tell her I don't need protection, but that doesn't seem right. Emily slowly nodded her head, her food remaining untouched. She had sat silently in the car for nearly a half hour, struggling to control her breathing—not to mention the onset of a whole-body rattling case of nerves—and allowing the engine and brakes time to cool, before finishing the trip home. The other car had not reappeared; however, Emily was not at all comforted by that fact, nor could she shake the feeling that, with Naomi's hearings into SSI just days away, the timing was not a coincidence.

"I was on the motorway and someone tried to run me off the fucking road. I hit the barricades in the middle, then spun out, like, several times. I had to—Katie, I'm fine!" Emily brushed her sister off as she bolted from her chair and tried to check for any injuries or bruises, as if she had missed them during the once-over she gave Emily upon her arrival. "I'm alright, just a little sore on this shoulder from when the car hit the barricades...I'm alright!"

"You expect me to believe that?" exclaimed Katie, leaning over her sister. "Any idea who...?"

"No," said Emily quietly. "But I can guess why."

"You need to tell her."

Emily looked up at Katie and stood, shaking her head emphatically. She walked towards the window before turning back to face her host. "No. She's worked so hard for this, Katie. I can't ruin it now." Seeing a dangerous look in Katie's eyes, Emily stuttered, "It might have just been a fluke!"

"Fuck's sake, Em! You are not talking yourself out of this, and I am not going through something like this again, alright?" Katie picked her mobile up off the table. "If you won't, then I will."

"No!" Katie raised her eyebrows, waiting for her sister to continue. Emily spun and looked down at where her coupe was parked along the street. "I'll...I'll call her."

The compact radio/mp4 device dock on the dresser transmitted the opening piano notes of a song that sounded eerily similar to an old John Lennon tune into the small, west-facing bedroom, and Naomi Campbell looked up from the book on her tablet with an expression of hope. Then, after a moment, much more aggressive, growling guitars and sparse drums joined the soundscape and she sagged back into the pillows of her bed in disappointment, partially blocking out the music as she refocused on the page in front of her. These nightly marathon reading sessions had become (whether fortunately or unfortunately Naomi was still unsure) the highlight of Naomi's days this session, even on weekends. Escaping into the pages of a novel became her way of coping with Emily's absence after her busiest days in Parliament, although she had complained frequently to her fiancée via text, phone call, and video chat that she'd rather turn actual pages of a book and experience the slightly acidic smell and the crackling feel of a good paperback to the impersonal finger-swiping of a backlit tablet.

Of course, the company of a good book paled in comparison to actual company, of which this session had been severely lacking. It's only been three weeks, and you spent last weekend back in Bristol, Naomi chided herself as she swiped again. But the constant back-and-forth travelling from Bristol to London all summer and fall was starting to take its toll. In past years, the off-season had been a time to cherish and overload on Emily before the daily grind of a new session resumed. The preparations for the Strategic Security Initiatives hearings had stolen that from Naomi this year—and only now, days before they began—was she regretting that. It didn't even matter that Emily was supposed to arrive in London on Monday evening; that just made it that much worse. Monday cannot come soon enough.

As if on cue, the tablet in her hands began to vibrate and a black screen descended with the text 'INCOMING CHAT FROM EMILY FITCH' scrolling across. Naomi frowned, caught off guard by the unplanned call. Usually they texted one another to set up a good time for a chat, given Naomi's fluid schedule of dinners and late-nights working with her staff and the SFO. For Emily to jump directly to a chat suggested she didn't care where or what Naomi was doing—and that desperation was enough to put Naomi on edge. But an opportunity to see Emily was not something Naomi had any intention of passing up, especially on a quiet Saturday night.

Naomi pressed her thumb to the green circle on the bottom of the display and smiled involuntarily as a pixelated Emily quickly adjusted to a higher resolution. The uneasy expression looking back up at her, however, quickly dashed her inadvertent improvement in mood.

"Emily, is everything alright?"

"Getting right down to it, then," Emily replied with a hint of bitterness. Naomi tried to shrug without moving the tablet and failed miserably. She paused to let the camera readjust, and ticked her head slightly to the right.

"Well? Usually you don't jump straight to a video. It must be important if you need to see me that badly."

Emily tried to flash a teasing smile, but Naomi noted the disquiet never left her eyes. "A girl can't just want to see her future wife?"

"Oh, she can...and does in this case, but since that looks suspiciously like Katie's kitchen behind you, I'm guessing it's a little bit more than that."

Naomi watched Emily's head turn and glance around her sheepishly, then turn back to the laptop situated on the kitchen table. "Yeah, fair enough. Suppose I should have set it up in the bedroom if I wanted to imply ulterior motives."

Naomi fidgeted underneath the soft blanket spread over her legs and the rest of her bed in her London flat. "That certainly would have peaked my interest, yes."

"Just fucking tell her, Emily. Stop this shit," called a voice from off-screen.

Naomi sighed and rolled her eyes, raising her voice to call out, "Hello, Katiekins."

"Hi. My sister's doing a marvelous job of stalling, isn't she?"

"Sure is, but I s'pose it's my fault for encouraging it a bit."

"Just a bit?" replied Emily pointedly. She looked past the computer camera and towards her sister. "Katie, can you give us a couple minutes...Right, she's gone in the other room."

"What's wrong, Ems?"

"Something happened tonight, on my way back from seeing Cook."

"And how is he?"

"He's alright. Not eating properly at all, and he's still on about being our wedding singer and—"

"Fuck's sake, Emily, just tell her about the accident." Katie's shout from off-camera filtered through to Naomi in London, whose face drew pale and her eyes grew wide.

"Accident? What accident?"

Emily closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing. Naomi waited, impatiently squeezing and releasing the comforter with her right hand while she rested the tablet against her drawn-up knees. Finally, Emily opened her eyes. "Someone tried to make me crash on the way back from seeing Cook. The car spun and I'm lucky as hell that there wasn't really anyone on the road."

"I'm coming back to Bristol," declared Naomi as she shifted and tossed off the blanket. She swung her legs around and was standing up before Emily could get out her agitated response.

"No! Naomi, please don't. It's probably nothing..."

"Probably noth—oh, no. Don't you dare, Emily."

"There's nothing you can do here, Naomi. I just wanted you to know I'm okay. You have to stay there, kay? I'll be there Monday and you can protect me then. There's nothing to worry about."

Naomi paused in between her dresser and the bed. "Like hell there isn't! People are trying to hurt you, and I think we both know why: me. I'm coming home."

"That's what they want, Naoms. They want you rattled and nervous and distracted and," Emily began to ramble. Naomi pauses with her drawer of socks partially opened, biting her lip in thought. As much as Naomi hated to admit it, Emily was right. The worst thing for the hearings now would be for their greatest proponent to fled London impulsively. What was worse, Naomi could not for the life of her decide whether Emily was being brave of stupid by trying to downplay something that had visibly shaken her.

"Emily..."

"I'm not joking, Naoms. You have to stay in London, kay? I'll...I'll call you tomorrow and Monday before I leave to let you know I'm okay. I love you, and we're too close now to throw everything away cause I couldn't control my car. It's only, like, two days."

Naomi assented and closed the drawers she had yanked open. Thirty minutes later-after brushing her teeth and washing her face-she pulled down the comforter and crawled into the queen bed alone. With the bedstand light extinguished and the faint orange glow of London peeking around the curtains, she laid in the dark and lamented that it would be nearly two days until Emily would again be curled up besides her and all would be right. The music player continued to warble lightly from the dresser as Naomi laid awake for the next two hours staring at the wall and hating she was so far from her fiancée.