Emily frowned as she ran her fingers over the hand-stitched, navy blue trimmed Alcantara leather seats in the back of the Jaguar XF sedan that she'd found idling outside Naomi's flat. She nestled herself deeper into the comfortable seat behind the driver and looked up—frown still tugging sourly at her small dimples—at Naomi as she maneuvered (much more gracefully than Emily could remember her being) into the seat next to Emily. The driver firmly shut the door behind her and they were instantly cocooned from the frigid November morning blustering about the street. With a purr, the car pulled away from the curb; Emily hardly noticed the difference, although she was unable to decide whether that was due to the sublime ride or her distracted thoughts.

"Alright, Ems?"

Naomi's voice seemed fog-laden and distant, despite Emily sitting right next to her. Her hand continued its aimless tracing of the contrasting stitching. "Hmm?"

"Do I always have to repeat myself?"

"No, I just...How did you get this?" She rolled her eyes around at the extravagantly plush interior of the car, waved a hand at nothing in particular. Naomi shrugged and smoothed her blazer.

"It was an allowance that we passed last session. New personal cars for any members re-elected. I argued for a more economical auto, but, well." She executed a perfect eye roll of her own. "Clearly my peers aren't quite so conscientious of the message a loaded Jaguar sends."

"Yeah, next you'll tell me it's got that system that can switch lanes for you."

"Not quite. A couple of us pushed for a 'per vehicle' price cap. Jaguar won the bid—obviously—but we could do whatever we wanted underneath that ceiling. I tried to make mine as sparse as possible."

"This is sparse?" exclaimed Emily as she looked around at the dual sunroof, wood inlays on the doors, and thick carpet mats beneath her boots.

"That's what I said. I mean, you have a work car too, so it's not like you can be too jealous."

Emily's laugh was short and unamused. "Mine's shit compared to this." She looked out the window and bit her lip. "Besides, I might not have one much longer."

"What're you talking about?" When Emily didn't turn from her study of London's passing collage of new development and traditional brick-and-mortar buildings, Naomi shook her shoulder. She had no time for pensive silences. "Emily, what's the matter?"

Finally, Emily looked over to Naomi and exhaled, trying to remain calm and confident; her eyes belied her inner conflict, however, and Naomi frowned. Emily rested her head back just below the headrest and looked out the sunroof at the sky, whose charcoal clouds matched the car's paint job perfectly.

"Nothing's the matter. I just had a visit from someone I'd not seen in ages, that's all."

Misunderstanding her meaning, Naomi tensed. "Matt spoke to you before last night, then?"

"What? No!" Emily shook her head vigorously. "Nothing like that. It was Harlan, actually. You know, the one from OSCT?"

A memory of him shaking her hand and patting her on the shoulder in an understated congratulations of engagement in the foyer of Tony Stonem's massive estate burned brightly in Naomi's mind's-eye. She hadn't seen him at all during the summer and fall's preparations for today's hearings, though, as he preferred not to work with SFO. In fact, besides his strained cooperation in the immediate aftermath of the SSI attack, Naomi had heard from Vic that Harlan never cooperated with anyone. "Know is a strong term, but I remember him, yes."

"He," Emily cleared her throat and continued frowning up at the sky. Glad we're both so excited to start these hearings today. Change is great. She closed her eyes and opened them again after an extended pause. "He came by the station yesterday morning and offered me a job."

Naomi blinked as she struggled to maintain a straight face, employing all the tricks of her trade she'd mastered over the last several years. The feeling of being in an aircraft losing cabin pressure did not help matters. After a moment she gasped, "Doing what exactly?"

"Exact details were particularly hard to come by, actually. Generally, it sounded like he's trying to set up a task force to go after people like Ross, like Tony even, who hide behind the vagaries of international law for their own benefit with no regard for the impact it could have here at home."

Seeing Emily wasn't particularly interested in making eye contact, and not particularly wanting to reveal her surprise and shock, Naomi turned her gaze out the window, studying the gaggle of businessmen and women emerging from the Tube at an intersection. "Oh, is that it?"

"Well, that, and something about wanting doers not talkers—"

"Anyone in government wants that; they'll never get it. What else?"

Emily snorted and looked down to Naomi, staring right at her even as the taller brunette kept her focus out the tinted glass of the window. "It'd be based here. In London."

Naomi swung her gaze around to meet Emily's as the car surged ahead into the intersection. She couldn't have heard right. "Sorry? Where'd—"

With relish, Emily jumped at the opportunity to make an interruption of her own. Naomi seemed distracted, only half interested in the details of her possible new job. Well, Emily thought grimly, this is one thing she can't ignore. "London. What were you saying about repeating yourself?"

"Sorry. It's just that..." Naomi let the unfinished sentence hang in the air. She found herself idly toying with the stitching of the seat, much as Emily had been doing earlier; moments later a smaller hand was resting atop hers, squeezing lightly in reassurance.

"It's alright, Nai. I get it. I didn't accept it yet."

"Yet," repeated Naomi challengingly. She withdrew her hand and crossed her arms. "How do you plan to work in London and still live in Bristol? Because I can't leave and still hold my seat, you know that, Emily."

"I know! I've been thinking about that, actually. It's the biggest issue I can see, honestly. But what if we still lived in Bristol, only I also came with you for the three or four days that you're in session and we could live in London, too, and I'd just stay to finish up the work week with Harlan."

"You'd just stay? You mean when I went back to Bristol for home office stuff? So we'd trade living apart with me gone for you being away?"

"It's not perfect, I know. I'm still trying to figure out how it would work, kay? There'd be travel too; I'd reckon a good deal."

Naomi's nonplussed blue eyes flicked towards the rear windshield and then back to meet the apprehensive browns of her fiancée in a movement so familiar to Emily, that she quirked an eyebrow and waited for the retort that was bound to follow.

Naomi did not disappoint: "Whatever happened to us wanting to spend more time together after what happened at SSI and with the fire and all? Isn't this the opposite of that? Or did you forget all the conversations we've had on precisely this subject?"

Emily held eye contact for as long as she dared, chewing on her lip as she looked for any sign of understanding or compromise in Naomi's expression. Finding no hint of either, she endeavored to keep calm and try to be rational, especially given the absolute nightmare of the previous evening's news programmes, and the toll Emily knew that new wrinkle was taking on Naomi...on both of them, if she was being completely honest. She hated that she was expecting Naomi to discuss her possible job with OSCT's task force and not be distracted by whatever else was going on.

"Of course I haven't forgotten," said Emily levelly. "Being apart from you more is the last thing I want. Like I said, I haven't accepted anything yet. Did you really think I'd accept without talking to you about it?"

Naomi's mouth opened and closed. "No, I..."

"He's given me until next week to decide, which is good because I really don't know. I'm not completely happy with the direction the force is headed, especially after last spring, but I know I make a difference." Emily shrugged. "It's just that I might be able to make a bigger difference elsewhere...but I don't want that to jeopardize your career. Shouldn't that be obvious?"

Naomi closed her eyes, let out a tired breath. "It should be, yes. It just caught me off guard, alright? You've...you've never been one to seek out any sort of attention or scrutiny—your response the first time someone wanted to interview you after I was elected for the first time was 'Fuck off, worm.'"

Emily pouted indignantly. "That completely doesn't count! It was James, for fuck's sake, and it was for his college newspaper. He didn't even want to know about the political shit; it was a bunch of questions about what kind of lingerie you wear."

Naomi arched an eyebrow. "Thank Christ you're frightened of the media and didn't answer, then. But the point is, Ems, if you take Harlan's offer to lead his task force—"

"He never said anything about leading it!" Emily blustered in attempted protest, but Naomi continued speaking a few decibels higher.

"LEAD his task force, you'd have to deal with investigative journalists and critics chasing after you constantly. Look, if James is a bad example, then at least consider your reaction to Franks last spring." Naomi placed a hand on Emily's shoulder to deter her from interrupting again in protest. "You're going to say Tony put him up to it, and you'd be right, but there are plenty of tossers out there who couldn't give a fuck about your personal life or privacy, who don't have millionaire backers bankrolling them and just want to fuck with you because they get off on it. They may not be in Bristol, but you start working in London, hun, and they'll be all over you."

Emily gave Naomi a wry smile. "And so you've been doing the honourable thing by sacrificing yourself to them to protect me, is that it?"

A wink was Emily's first sign the entire ride that Naomi wasn't completely detached and, in spite of all the other distractions, at least trying to show some empathy. "Would you ever expect less?"

Emily leaned forward and replied with a firm kiss before sitting back in her seat and looking out the window as the car hummed across a bridge. She didn't trust herself to answer at the moment. 'Self-sacrifice' was not a characteristic Emily would quickly list under Naomi's best traits if asked for them, especially not if it wasn't prompted by some other outside force imposing its will on her—as Osbourn Ross had done back in the spring. Nevertheless, if Emily was being completely honest, even then Naomi hadn't wanted to sacrifice her career or future prospects. Moreover, given the current state of affairs swirling around Naomi's career, a biting or even halfway slighting comment was probably not the best choice; Emily remained stoic and silent.

An arms' length away, Naomi looked out the opposite window, doubt nagging at her that Emily appreciated the half-serious comment, but could never expect it to progress to a completely serious affirmation of how far she'd go to protect her love. And, she knew as guilt twisted her stomach, the blame for that reservation rested solely on her own shoulders; its inception the same mistake now threatening to side-track the hearings she and Vic had toiled for so many long hours to bring to fruition.

Matt Moore's appearance on the news the previous evening shocked Naomi—she'd even go so far as to call her response paralyzed. Vic called about an hour after the live press conference, but she let it go to voicemail and had yet to listen to it. Emily retired to bed after an hour of unsuccessful attempts at getting her to move away from staring out the window and return to the couch with her; Naomi joined her some time after midnight, crawling into bed and lying as far from Emily as she could. Naturally, Emily was not deterred from waking and wriggling close enough to drape an arm across Naomi's stomach, and Naomi could not fault her for wanting to comfort her, but comfort was the last gesture Naomi needed in what seemed like the eleventh hour of this whole SSI business.

That's no excuse to push her away, though, a mature voice told her as the car slowed to a halt in a snarl of traffic near Parliament. She had, after all, asked this girl to marry her, and, Naomi supposed with a mental wince, that included accepting Emily would always want to care for her and reassure her, no matter how irrational an independent streak Naomi displayed. She turned to study Emily, still looking out her window, and smiled softly as she reached out to adjust Emily's hair and rub her shoulder through the heavy peacoat she was wearing. Turning with a trademark quirked eyebrow at the gesture, Emily met Naomi's smile hesitantly.

"Did I ignore something again?"

"No, I just...I wanted to apologize for last night is all." Naomi's smile slipped as she stuttered through the awkward apology. "I s'pose we're a bit old for the silent treatment now."

Emily leaned her head against her shoulder, allowing Naomi to glide her hand up and press it to her cheek. "Even healed scars reopen sometimes."

"Yeah. But, why hasn't he come forward before? I mean it's not like I'm brand new to politics; if he wanted to bring my character into question, why do it now?"

Emily's eyes widened in surprise. "You're the politician, babe. Isn't it obvious? You've never been more popular or more visible a figure. When would he ever get more publicity or a larger shock value than the night before you're about to become a star on every major news network with these hearings?"

"But it's not just me he's targeting, really. You're the one that knew him to some extent; I was just the villain. I imagine he blames you for even being with me after all this time, for forgiving me shagging his sister and all that followed."

Emily lifted her head slightly and kissed Naomi's hand before taking it in her own and resting their intertwined fingers on the leather between them. Emily stared down at their hand for a moment before finally speaking to nobody in particular.

"As far as he was concerned, the only part I played in it was having the courage to openly be with you, to not be afraid like she was. We were kids, Naomi. We couldn't control what someone else did or didn't do—"

"But we did affect it, that's the whole point, don't you see?" Naomi's voice nearly cracked and the shock at her emotional response to something she'd sworn was dead and buried beneath so many other overcome obstacles and happy memories was reflected in the look with which Emily appraised her. "I was the catalyst for her offing herself. Me, by choosing you, by selling her the drugs, which Christ, Cook already took the fall for that once...but nevertheless, we can't pretend we had nothing to do with it. He knows we had everything to do with it, that I had everything to do with it. Pretending it didn't happen doesn't work now."

"Nobody's pretending anything, Naomi," Emily said sharply as the car slowed along a sidewalk packed with throngs of journalists and cameramen. Inadequate-looking metal barricades created a narrow path up the several levels of steps up to the main doors, and security guards stood at the ready in case the barricades did in fact fail to prevent overeager journalists from getting a touch too personal with Minister Campbell and the other Members arriving for the hearings.

The car stopped and a single plain-clothes constable pulled open the rear passenger door; a cacophony of shouted questions and camera shutters closing rushed in with the cold breeze. Emily's eyes remained locked on Naomi's as she unbuckled. "I love you."

Then she turned and pulled Naomi with her onto the sidewalk and into the first real media circus of the session.

Vic Patterson looked up from his tablet as Naomi and Emily—still hand-in-hand—strode straight across the wood-paneled anteroom towards where he was leaning against a supporting pillar, ankles crossed and his right hand dipping in and out of his pocket to swipe the pages of the electronic version of Economist he was reading attentively in an attempt to block out the ruckus in the anteroom. He smiled and slipped the cover over the screen as he stood up straight.

Right hand extended in greeting, he nodded at the general activity of media and Parliament members milling about prior to the commencement of Naomi's hearings. "Glad you two ladies could make it. The hand-holding is a strong move—shows solidarity after last night."

Emily looked down at their hands and up at Naomi, who quickly adopted the blank-slate face perfected in debates and council meetings during her career while shaking Vic's hand with a squeeze that bordered on painful. Affrontement colored Emily's cheeks and she released their hands, though a small part tried to justify it as necessary to properly shake Vic's and not as a symbol of her unwillingness to become a political ploy. For her part, Naomi sensed her fiancée tense next to her and knew Vic's unintentional misstep had set back whatever softening had occurred towards the end of their car ride.

"Em, please it isn't like that." The words were out of her mouth before Naomi could stop them, and her eyes widened in alarm at the continued degradation of self-control that seemed to have beset her in the last twelve hours. Public spats or emotional conversations had always been off-limits for them since Naomi secured her first elected position in Bristol.

In public, they were an inseparable team. In private...Naomi bit her lip. They were still an inseparable team, she quickly decided, but one that had its ugly moments same as any other high-caliber pair of stubborn young adults. Difference is, Nai, if your disagreements spill onto the playing field, the other team will put their foot down and crush you immediately; they won't wait until the whistle puts everything back in play.

"I'm going to wait inside, yeah? Good luck, babe." Emily stood on tip-toes and pecked Naomi on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd and getting swept into the hearing room. Naomi watched her go before turning an angry glare at Patterson, who held his hands (and tablet) up in defense.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, honest."

"Whatever. Problem is, you're right. It did send the right signals—and I couldn't help thinking the same thing as we came over. I feel guilty mostly; sorry you just happen to be in the firing line."

"I can handle it," he assured her as his hands (and tablet) returned to his sides. He quickly adjusted his tie and checked that the triple points of his pocket square were evenly spread and crisp. "Ready to go make a first impression?"

Naomi snorted. "Not sure if it's a first impression after last night. More like damage control. I fucking hate being on the defensive."

They started towards an out-of-the-way, narrow hall that would lead around to a side entrance at the front of the room. After they had fallen into step, Vic cleared his throat. "But you still want to press on, then?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't we?"

"Naomi," Patterson paused as they reached the side entrance, the door carved with six deep inlays in the dark wood. He turned and blocked her passage, empty hand resting on the door knob. He looked down at her gravely; Naomi gave him a miffed brow furrow in return. "If Ross is willing to dredge up your past before the hearings even start in an effort to dissuade you...it's only to get worse the further on you press."

"Noted," she responded with what she hoped was a level voice. "Now, let's open these hearings and subpoena the bastard."

Vic smiled in spite of his worried demeanor and shook his head. "Whatever you say, MP."

Emily sat, arms crossed and peacoat on her lap, in the second-to-last row. No one seemed to have recognized her yet, which was precisely how she wanted things to be. Maybe Naomi's right about the whole scared-of-the-media thing after all. The only awkward moment had been giving her name to the clerk at the entrance to the chamber: he looked up in surprise at hearing her rasped Emily Fitch, clearly connecting the dots, but he also had the good sense to shut up and wave her in without making a bigger deal of it. Now in her seat, Emily looked around furtively, gauging whether cameramen and journalists were scanning the crowd for her, but they all seemed focused on taking furious notes about the mood of the room as a whole or setting up their tripods and cameras for the best sightlines towards the semi-circle bench of raised diases and lone microphone-laden table at the focal point in front of the review panel.

She was breathing sharply through her nose, lips pressed in a firm line. Vic's insinuation that their pure, hopeful hand-in-hand walk from the car into the building was a stunt to show they were not deterred from supporting one another amidst Matt Moore's revelation of Naomi's past cheating and generally destructive relationship with his sister infuriated Emily. Although, as she sat ram-rod straight on the uncomfortable bench, she wasn't sure whether her anger was directed more at Vic for applauding them for it, or for Naomi's apparent acquiescence to his comment. If she had been thinking the same and didn't say anything of the sort to Emily...the detective wasn't about to become another pawn Naomi could use to win points with the Party or the media. Maybe London wasn't the town for her after all.

A door at the front of the room to Emily's right swung open and a line of Members and Serious Fraud Office investigators—Naomi and Vic Patterson principal among them—walked through the open doorway, parading behind the raised seats. In ones and twos, they reappeared and took their seats along the semi-circle, with Naomi alighting to the seat in the very center of the arc, Patterson at her right hand, and a senior member of the Coalition from one of the northern districts to her left. Even irritated with Naomi as Emily currently was, she couldn't help but feel her chest swell with pride at seeing her future wife front and center, clearly in command of herself and the entire panel. Naomi reached forward and adjusted the long, snaking black microphone so that it was a hands breadth from her lips and began the long, drawn out procedure of calling the hearings to order.

As Naomi read from a massive binder detailing the minutiae of her role as committee chair and presiding member over the proceedings, Emily tried to look around the room as nonchalantly as possible. The feeling someone was watching her from behind had slowly been growing, and its uncomfortable itch caused her to squirm. Her gaze swept around the room, from reporters to other Members spending their morning taking in the spectacle to SSI executives and their lawyers sitting on the left-hand side of the aisle to common folk and political activists in the back rows like Emily herself, just there to observe.

It was as she scanned the last row on the opposite side of the aisle that Emily unwittingly made eye contact with the person staring at her. He was wearing an overcoat, its collar pulled up to his strong jawline, and hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stood in the back corner of the chamber, one foot up against the wall. And after the last twenty-four hours, Emily knew she would recognize him anywhere; running into someone at a train station and then seeing that same person on national television hours later will imprint a face on one's conscious.

Immediately it was apparent he was aware Emily had caught him staring as he pushed off the wall and started moving for the main doors. Gritting her teeth, Emily awkwardly wiggled into her peacoat while still sitting down and—as Naomi was banging down a gavel to symbolically open the hearings to much applause and several jeers from SSI supporters—stood up, apologetically squeezing past others in the row to reach the main aisle down the center of the hearings chamber. Free of the bench, Emily turned to look up at Naomi, trying to convey her regret for leaving so quickly with her resolve to find out who the hell this man was in one look. At the front of the room, Naomi just narrowed her eyes and gave a barely perceptible nod before continuing on with her script-reading.

Emily's gaze flashed to Vic who nodded much more demonstratively, having caught sight of the man bolting out of the back of the room moments before. Satisfied at least one of her friends knew what was going on, Emily wheeled and rushed into the wood-laden, skylight-lit anteroom.

The anteroom was completely empty. Emily strode quickly across to the main doors, pushing them open and turning her head against the biting wind. Eyes squinting, she heard more than saw a car pull away from the curb and join the traffic. Emitting what she would consider an unladylike grunt of frustration, Emily closed the doors and walked slowly back towards the hearing. As she shook involuntarily from the cold, a thought struck her and she vectored to the left slightly, heading directly for the clerk and his tome of hearing attendees.

"Excuse me?" Emily slowed to a halt in front of him and produced her badge from her pocket. "I was wondering if you happened to see who just rushed out of the hearing before I came out here."

"Uh," the teenage intern frowned and opened his book, rifling through pages. "I only remember 'cause he was a bit of a prick to me when I asked for his identification prior to entering..." Yeah, no kidding, Emily groused as the boy continued, "well that and in his ID picture, he had this ridiculous looking beard.

Emily's blood ran cold as the clerk settled on a page and spun the book around to show her. His finger pointed to a name three-quarters of the way down. Heart-pounding, she focused on the short, alliterative words.

"Benton Baze?"

"That's the one, ma'am. Tough guy to forget."

Emily looked from the clerk to the main doors out of the building and back to the double doors leading into the hearing chamber. "You have no idea, kid."