A/N: I don't own Skins or in any way profit from its use.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that please?" Naomi leaned forward, forearms resting on the thick wooden rostrum. She narrowed her eyes while awaiting a response. Beneath her, head bowed in thought, the executive at the witness' table tried to compose himself. After several pregnant moments—and a hurried whisper from the lawyer sitting next to him that Naomi guessed was a recommendation he answer sooner rather than let this be drawn out—the impeccably dressed, goateed SSI chief looked up at the select committee. His eyes darted from person to person while skipping past Naomi.

"I thought I made myself clear, Minister."

"And I asked you to repeat yourself, for the record. Is that going to be a problem; your testimony shouldn't have wavered in the last forty-five seconds?"

"N...no, it won't be a problem." His hesitant reply was accompanied by a shaky inhalation. When he finally exhaled, it was with a glance at the lawyer to his right. "My department was one of the first to implement the Ocelot protocols and assist in siphoning off SSI funds otherwise earmarked for legitimate projects and contracts."

"Where did the money go, Mr. Brown?" Naomi arched an eyebrow and flipped open a manilla file on the slanted desk hidden behind her raised podium.

"I never knew that much, just that I was supposed to—"

Naomi snatched the top sheet of paper, filled margin to margin with travel itineraries and hotel bookings and each obscene rate running in a highlighted column down the right side, and waved it in front of him as she spoke over his denial.

"Mr. Brown, I hope you're not starting to lie under oath. I have here pages from your office's ledger for the 2004-2005 calendar year when you were Deputy Chief of Administration for Travel and Lodgings with several line items specifying funds diverted to an internal study called 'Ocelot Initiative.'" Naomi produced a second set of papers with her left hand and brandished it next to the first. "And maybe because I'm thorough and maybe because I'm a bit of a bitch, I also have the corresponding filings for each of those Ocelot line items. If I may?...One privately chartered flight Manchester to Luanda, Angola, by way of Lagos, Nigeria, three passengers, meals included; £2800. Another privately chartered flight, four days later from Luanda to Lilongwe, Malawi, five passengers this time; £4500. One week later we have a chartered flight out of Dar Es Salaam to Paris via Cairo, with only three passengers, more meals; £8250."

Naomi put the sheets of paper down. "Now, I've never been to Angola, Malawi, or Tanzania, but I'd guess there are cheaper and more direct routes to fly if for some reason a company needed to send representatives to countries with which SSI holds not legitimate contracts."

Mr. Brown stiffened, "I am not paid to know precisely which foreign governments Strategic Security Initiatives has contracts with—"

Naomi gestured to her right; Vic Patterson slapped a binder into her waiting hand. "Well you're in luck, because we double-checked those records, which were conveniently stored at SSI's Bristol location, with those defense contracts approved by Parliament in 2004 and 2005." She slammed the binder down on the thick wood. "Neither SSI nor any other military supplier was approved to sell any defense systems or equipment to Angola, Malawi, Tanzania, or their neighbors in those two years. Let's fast forward to the present, yeah?"

In the back of the room, Emily tried to hide a proud smile behind her fist as she mimed clearing her throat for what must have been the twenty-eighth time that morning. Why was watching Naomi tee off on these executives so damn fun? Why are you having any fun at all; you're fighting, remember? a critical, self-defeating voice scolded Emily as she brought her grin under control. The shift from amused to agonizingly guilty was instantaneous; Emily felt as if she might actually need to hide behind her fist should she become ill thinking of the painful silence of the night before, a night whose pain was only surpassed by the nauseating feeling of waking up alone in Naomi's London flat to her phone vibrating on the bedside with a simple, impersonal text: Driver will be back for you at 8.

Moreover, Emily couldn't quite pinpoint whether her current bout of feeling disgusted was because of Naomi's inability to even speak or look at her after realizing that once upon a time Emily used her access to police records to expunge any and all remnants of their involvement or connections to Sophia Moore—or whether she was angry with herself for still being able to take such delight in Naomi's successes. Emily hesitated to oversimplify the situation, but the only explanation she could justify was that she loved Naomi to the point she could somehow be happy for her even when they were descending into one of the most challenging periods of their relationship. At least, that's what this session was shaping up to be in Emily's eyes, with the ghost of Sophia resurrected by someone in a bid to derail both the hearings and Emily and Naomi's relationship itself. It was bad enough trying to keep Naomi from shrinking into herself and pushing Emily away from any collateral damage that might be splashed around due to Matt Moore's reappearance, but now fighting a two-front war against his allegations on one side and the fallout from Emily's own surreptitious discretions on the other could escalate into irreparable mistakes. And I don't have anyone to blame but myself; I snooped around into her death in the first place and then I tried to cover my tracks when I knew it could come back to haunt us.

Yet none of the pitfalls and future arguments could detract from the picture Naomi painted at the head of the row of diases arced across the front of the hearing room. She was still waving loose sheets of paper at the executive sworn under oath as Mr. Brown and looking to all of political Britain like the most fucking together Member of Parliament to ever represent Bristol. The tenuous time spent together in Naomi's flat the last few nights was testament to the roiling turmoil hidden by her professional mask. Emily frowned and slowly looked around the room as her stomach twisted again. The only question now was how long Naomi could keep her false front in place and their past demons at bay; unleashing them at the wrong time could be catastrophic for the hearings and the two of them as a unit.

Preoccupied with her thoughts and Naomi's performance in the front of the room, Emily almost missed the vibrations of her phone as it went off in the breast pocket of her peacoat. When she eventually felt the insistent pulsating of the device, it had nearly gone to voicemail; without looking at the caller ID, she pulled it out and swiped her thumb across the screen, accepting the call while standing and button-hooking out of her bench near the back of the room. She was heaving open the heavy wood door at the back of the room as she answered, "Detective Fitch."

"How quickly can you be back in Bristol?"

"Cook?" Emily pulled the mobile off her ear, finally checked the ID (Katie) of her caller, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Why're you calling on Katie's phone?"

"Cause she spent the night at the cabin, didn't she? How quickly?"

"Uh, lunch or thereabouts; I can be on a train around ten or so, I reckon. Cook, what's wrong? Naomi and I are—"

"She had a...a panic attack or fuck knows what, but she's in a bad way, Em. She needs you back here yesterday."

"Yeah, alright." Emily cast a harried glance over her shoulder at the firmly shut doors of the hearing room. The antechamber was oppressively silent around her as she stood, feeling smaller and smaller by the second as the massive pillars rose on either side of her towards the vaulted ceiling. "Can you two meet me downtown, along the river somewhere maybe? Trying to get up to the cabin will—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll sort it. Just get back here fast as you can. I'll text you when we're someplace you can meet us."

"Right. And Cook?"

"Hmm?"

Emily exhaled and started towards the outside doors. "Thanks for taking care of Katie. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me a thing, Emilio."

Emily pocketed the mobile and took a shivering step out into the biting November morning. Shielding her eyes, she descended the steps down to the pavement and searched for a taxi. She tapped her foot impatiently and looked both directions up and down the avenue; the hordes of media which accosted Naomi each morning had disappeared either into the hearing room or back to their offices. Spying a taxi, she stepped just out into the street and flagged it down; with a slight shiver to her voice she stated Paddington as her intended destination and, at the acknowledging tip of his head, slid into the rear seat.

Chewing on her bottom lip as the car pulled away, Emily raced through a myriad of scenarios that would conclude with Cook calling her from her twin's phone agitated and insistent on her return. None of them were particularly encouraging, obviously, but the overarching theme in all of them was that she had failed her sister by not being there to support her as she tried to transition from the comfort zone she'd functioned in for the last six months to a new career and instead was here in London fighting a separate series of fires. Emily recalled too clearly her offer to remain behind in Bristol—and Katie's corresponding refusal to admit she needed Emily's help earlier in the week. With a resigned sigh, Emily admitted to herself that Katie's familial stubbornness would have kept Emily at arms' length even had she stayed in their hometown after Katie's disastrous job interview on Monday, no matter how insistent she was on supporting her sister.

That didn't change the fact that Katie and Cook were obviously involved in something that frightened or disturbed her; considering the inclusion of the latter in whatever event it was, the range of possibilities was limitless. Or, perhaps not. Emily frowned and drummed her fingers on the seat next to her. If it was some sort of panic attack as Cook thought it to be, or even just a mental breakdown at all, and he bore witness to it, the impetus could be much simpler—and more powerful—than boyish antics or a physical altercation in some pub: the closer to the station she drew, the more confident Emily was in assuming that Katie and Cook's shared experiences at SSI were the root of her current problem.

The taxi slowed and Emily handed over as close to exact fare as she could. She shoved her hands in her pockets and tucked her chin to her chest against the cold. She reached the doors to the station without looking up and slipped inside; she never saw the second taxi pull up behind hers and expel Benton Baze to the pavement where he, too, hurried through the wind-chilled London morning and into Paddington Station.

Katie Fitch fidgeted, fingers picking at invisible lint on her sleeve. She glanced over to where her escort of sorts perched on the backrest of a bench along the concrete landing paralleling the Floating Harbour. Earlier that morning, before he disappeared with her phone into a different room of his cabin, Cook announced he hated just sitting around; hated sitting isolated in his 'safe house' waiting for visits by the twins; hated standing awkwardly in his kitchen in silence; hated waiting around and feeling woefully incapable of helping, amusing, distracting, or otherwise supporting the typically indomitable Katie Fitch. She hadn't quite known how to respond to his outburst, but her attempts to stammer a reply were made irrelevant by his swift transition into a secret phone call and a subsequent insistence that they drive into Bristol and find some place down along the water to get some air. So here they were: two college friends sat alone together in a park at noon on a weekday, a night neither could forget both the strong bond holding them together and the unconquerable force driving them apart. Katie picked harder at the tiny follicles and pieces of fabric caught on her blouse. Cook was confusing her more than he was providing relief for the problems she'd struggled with since May.

Turning to catch her eye, Cook regarded the diminutive woman who, in the last twenty-four hours, had at once perfectly mirrored the girl he used to know and yet been a shell of the sharp-tongued classmate he'd called a friend. She was sitting equally alone up the soft slope of Castle Park on a scrabble of ruins, leafless branches casting a spider web of shadows around her. She cast an expectant look down towards him and, upon receiving yet another shoulder shrug, checked her mobile for the time in spite of the gold-inlaid silver watch clasped around her wrist.

Late, as usual.

It took all of five minutes in the car to extract Emily as the point and purpose for their excursion; Cook hadn't bothered hiding it once he handed her phone back to her and they were on the road since there wasn't much else she could do except bluster that it wasn't anything Emily needed to worry about despite Cook's assertion to the contrary. Now, waiting for her sister to make the twenty minute walk from Temple Meads, Katie hated to admit that all she really did want is for her sister to take her back to her flat and barricade the door so her demons couldn't follow. That Cook was a manifestation of all of them twisted her stomach after the patience and sympathy he'd shown the night previous when she'd broken down. However, none of that changed the simple fact that Emily was late according to Katie's watch and, really, isn't that the timetable by which Emily should operate?

Katie shook her head, trying to dismiss the frustration and impatience with her sibling. She knew Emily couldn't control train schedules or traffic between the station and the park, but damn it, why couldn't she get here more quickly? Waiting around for her younger twin to be sympathetic and supportive—Emily had always slotted much more naturally into that role than Katie, if the older sister was brutally honest with herself—was finally grating on her.

Rubbing her hands together to discard any dust or lint, Katie stood and walked down the hill, past Cook who remained gargoyle-like, hunched on the bench, to grasp the railing above the Harbour and cast a nostalgic eye below to the floating pier on this side of the river and the finally-refurbished Brewery across the water. She frowned; college-age identity problems and life-changing medical diagnoses seemed a lifetime ago, but the adversity of the last year had conspired to bring her full-circle it seemed. In a stroke of surprising clarity, Katie looked to her left along the gentle curve of the wall and realized she once again didn't know who she was anymore, but that she knew rediscovering it started with the woman striding purposefully along the walk towards her and with the man hopping off the bench and casting furtive glances up and down the path. Katie tried to play off her sister's arrival by continuing to stare out at her hometown as Emily approached Cook. That she mentally scolded herself for doing something so childish—and found she could care less—struck her as appropriate given her retrospective mood. It helped that she was able to overhear the brief conversation between Cook and her sister.

"Hi, is she alright?"

"Ah, honestly dunno. She's been a bit un-Katie, not talking and the like. But hasn't tried to stab me or nothin', so I'd say it's pretty inconclusive."

"She came to see you last night?" Katie could hear their voices getting louder as they slowly walked towards her post near the railing.

"Lookin' for answers, much as I could figure. Not sure she got them all."

"No one ever does," Emily said, and Katie thought she detected a hint of bitterness in her voice, or else a resigned weariness to not ever knowing the full truth. She wasn't sure which possible change to Emily's outlook concerned her more. There was a long pause before, "Katie?"

Katie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she turned and regarded Emily, whose posture suggested she regarded Katie as some kind of skittish, trapped feline that would take a swipe and dart away should she draw too near or threaten her in some way. In defiance to her body language, though, her eyes drowned in sympathy and care for her sister. Katie wasn't sure she should run away or collapse into the familial hug she knew to be inevitable. Katie hesitated before Emily made the decision for them both and closed the distance, enveloping Katie in a fierce embrace.

"I just don't understand, Ems. I don't understand."

Katie let herself be rocked slightly by her sister and squeezed her eyes shut, vainly fighting the urge to sob into Emily's shoulder; over Katie's, Emily's lip quivered violently and she squeezed harder.

"Me either, Katie. It's okay. I don't either."

Katie felt Emily's grasp relax after a long couple minutes and she sniffled while fixing her hair slightly. Brushing her thumbs across her cheeks, she fought to bring her breathing under control. "Sorry for making you come back—don't interrupt, fuck's sake, Ems—I know you have shit to deal with in London, but I don't know how to move on."

Katie stepped away and turned to look back down at the small crests and troughs in the water below them. Emily followed her to the railing; she sensed Cook doing the same on her left, creating what she imagined was the most haggard-looking trio Castle Park had seen in some time. "All I ever think about, dream about, is that night. I don't understand why it was Cook, why it was me; I don't know who to blame, so I blame everyone...even me. Like if I had just said something or noticed something was different, I could have stopped it; if I had realized it was Cook sooner, maybe...fuck. I don't know, Ems, and that fucking terrifies me."

A lighter clicked and she glanced askance at Cook as he puffed a ring of smoke out over the water and crossed his arms, fag dangling from fingertips past the railing. "You knew it was me and still you..." Katie shuddered and trailed off. Emily rubbed her shoulder encouragingly, gently, eliciting a weak smile in gratitude from her sister. It faded as she turned back to Cook. "I came out to the cabin to make you answer all my fucked up questions. But I can't be alone with you without losing my shit. You're supposed to be a friend, Cook. Not a monster."

"Have a bit of trouble distinguishing the two sometimes myself," he grunted and brought the lit cigarette to his lips. He shrugged. "It's no good to just promise I wouldn't have done anything to put you in danger; I can see you don't trust me, Katiekins. Don't blame you, honestly."

"And you knew when you took the job? You knew I'd be there?"

Emily leaned out over the railing to get a good look at Cook as he exhaled and waved his hand to dissipate the smoke. He hesitated before answering, "Tony knew, you can be damn sure of that, though that was more coincidence since SSI was his target for years. The two of you being involved was important, yeah? Meant that we'd have a bit o' control over things if they went to fuck all. Didn't, not quite."

"So you used us," stated Emily bluntly.

"Had to, didn't we?" He shook his head, bottom lip pouting. "Not really a choice; made things manageable. Problems arose afterwards; didn't expect Ross and them to come after you two. Tony and I always figured he'd come for us. Come for him."

"Very noble of you two," Katie said dryly. "You're forgetting the part where Tony and I were—"

"Shagging, yeah he told me that too. That's a good catch, Kay. Still have your charms—ow, fuck!" Cook coughed and steadied himself from the swift elbow to his stomach.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"Wasn't."

"Right." Katie smirked to no one in particular and stood straight. The slip back into bantering like they used to seemed so normal, so...just okay, but as she knew was the case with most things, it was the farthest thing from okay, from normal. It shouldn't be this easy. As soon as it had appeared, her smirk disappeared.

Noting the staccato emotions and corresponding facial expressions crossing her sister's face, Emily swallowed and placed a hand on Katie's forearm. "Cook, could you give us, like five minutes?"

"All yours, princess." He flicked the smoldering fag out into the water and started walking away, leaving Katie standing next to her sister, surrounded by an overwhelming mob of her emotions. The older twin watched him walk away, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket, and his head constantly moving, surveying the small pockets of people, occasional runners, and the group of college kids making a video project up the slope.

"You don't have to forgive him, if that's what you're wondering, Katie."

Katie nodded, still watching as Cook brushed shoulders unintentionally with a mountain-like man standing near the railing perhaps thirty meters away. The man looked up angrily as Cook continued on past him, his gaze following their friend for a pace or two, then turning and focusing right on Katie and her sister. His gaze lingered then continued past them and he looked off up the Harbour, but not without unsettling the elder Fitch.

She turned and looked at her sister, finally verbalizing an answer, "I know I don't, Emily, but I feel like...was that guy?"

"Yeah, I think he is," whispered Emily as she noticed the large man was looking towards them again. Neither could quite make out his face, but his body type and the short hair were distressingly familiar. With the hairs on the back of her neck rising, Katie noticed over his shoulder that Cook had slowed and was turning back around with a dangerous look even from this distance. The bus...

"HEY! You, there," Katie heard Cook shout, jarring her from memories. Simultaneously, she felt a tugging on her left wrist; Emily was moving away from the railing and attempting to drag her sister with her. Between glancing down at her feet and to her sister, Katie stumbled after her away from their exposed spot on the railing.

She risked another look at the imposing man and immediately wished she hadn't. Emerging from underneath his windbreaker, glinting in the early afternoon sun, was a black pistol. Katie hardly noticed her peripheral vision was turning hazy and a loud buzzing was growing in her inner ear as her senses collapsed in focus to the end of the barrel pointed directly at her and her sister.

The last movement her eyes registered before the flash was Cook launching himself towards the man's back.

A/N: Whew it's good to be back. To those who've kept the Skins fire burning (no pun intended sorry) brightly while I've been out of the world, thank you. I'm glad to see it's still burning brightly and people are still just as invested in these amazing characters as they were when I left almost 10 months ago now. I'll try to update more frequently, yeah? If you're into the whole reviewing thing, go for it. Take care!