A/N: Well, well, well. It only took a year, apparently, but here's something new. And marsupial1974 is very much to blame for getting me back in the saddle. I've had the first part of this written for the better part of the past year and couldn't bring myself to write any more. Well...now I have and boy did I do a bad thing and leave it at another cliff hanger. I'm sure there's only like two or three people out there that are going to read this, but if it still lives up to expectations and doesn't feel off...please let me know!
Never have and never will own 'Skins.'
Naomi finally slipped out from underneath the sheets just after 4 in the morning and stumbled drearily out of their bedroom, across the landing, and into the guest bathroom, one eye forced open to navigate in the deep purples of pre-dawn darkness. She carefully shut the door and opened the linen cabinet, extracting her travel kit of toiletries from its storage place on the top shelf (guilt rose rapidly in her throat as Naomi tried desperately to not think of it as a hiding place instead). Placing the small pack on the counter, she proceeded with an expedited morning routine, refreshing herself and trying to build some sort of courage to go downstairs and walk right out the front door. The five hours of fitful sleep she'd logged were counter-productive to both; knowing a hopeless cause when she saw one in the mirror, Naomi repacked her travel kit at half past and silently descended to the foyer where her knapsack waiting accusingly at the end of the buffet.
Hitching the sack—finally full with the travel kit sequestered inside—and unlocking the deadbolt as softly as she could, she winced at the 'click' nonetheless. Her hand was wrapped around the doorknob when a voice from the sitting room to her right—a room which she and Emily kept furnished if only to provide the appearance of a lived-in home to those passing by on the street below but never actually used—startled her.
"You walk out that door, you're a fucking idiot, Naomikins."
Naomi tasted blood as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent from screaming at the unexpected voice. She turned to find James Cook perched on the arm of a wingback chair, leg swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Releasing the doorknob from her death grip, Naomi stalked towards her college friend.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking? Or is breaking into my flat a hobby of yours?" she hissed in passing, heading for the fireplace. She had half a mind to grab the poker dangling from its gold-hued holder next to the gaping mouth of the fireplace, but somehow stopped herself. Whirling, Naomi glared at Cook instead, hoping he'd spontaneously combust and she could get the fuck out of there.
"Ah come on, it's only been twice!" Cook pivoted and stood, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.
Through gritted teeth, Naomi pronounced, "Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence..."
"I can promise there won't be a third; I'm not your enemy. But neither is Emilio, so why are you leaving before the sun?"
"No way, James. You don't get to break in and start interrogating me in my own flat—"
"You gave me the keys last summer, remember?" interrupted Cook as he waved them in her face.
"And I have half a mind to take them back," she retorted. Naomi crossed her arms. "I can't tell you where I'm going. How did you possibly know I was leaving anyway?"
"I got a frantic phone call from a Fitch about two hours ago. Never could hold her gin, Katiekins...she said you were running off on a crusade and wouldn't listen to anyone but me." Cook threw his arms wide and grinned. "And here I am!"
Naomi winced and motioned for him to keep it down. "I have to do this, James. I can end all of this today."
"In London?"
"No, not London...somewhere."
Cook's eyes narrowed. "I fucking love you two, yeah? So stop fucking around and just tell me, alright?"
"The Balkans, alright? Like fucking thousands of kilometers away. I can't tell Emily, she'll either demand to go too, or beg me not to leave. Neither is acceptable to me. I have to do this, Cook. You understand that, don't you?" Naomi squeezed her eyes shut as her voice threatened to crack. "Hating what you have to do, but needing to go through with it anyways?"
Cook closed the distance to his shaking friend and wrapped her in a hug. "Yeah, I do." He rocked her back and forth lightly and stared down a small picture of the two women on the mantle. It was covered in a fine film of dust like most things in the room, which seemed appropriate, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.
After a moment, Naomi pulled away and sniffed indignantly as she wiped her eyes. "Goodbye, James."
"Come back, yeah?"
Not trusting her voice any longer, Naomi just nodded and silently departed the room, leaving Cook by himself in the sitting room once more. After a long pause during which he noted the faint sound of a car starting well down the street, he moved to the door and locked it behind Naomi. Reentering the neglected front room, Cook hesitated before sitting down. Unable to bear the accusatory stares any longer, he turned down the picture of Naomi and Emily posing after commencement at university.
Only then did he sit and resume his silent watch.
Cook's head lolled forward and his body spasmed as he jolted awake some time later that morning. He blinked and shook his head to clear the cobwebs; the front room was just as deserted as when he'd first arrived. Nevertheless, whether it was the light spilling in through the front drapes or the scent of coffee wafting down the hall, something had woken him from an unintentional nap.
He stumbled down the narrow hall and leaned a forearm against the molding of the kitchen doorway, yawning silently behind Emily's back as she drummed her fingers on the counter waiting for her toast to pop.
"Fuck me if that isn't the best thing I've smelled in years." He nodded appreciatively—and froze wide-eyed when his comment was met not with a laugh, but a surprised scream as his unsuspecting host jumped in shock. Emily snatched a butter knife off the counter and whirled, brandishing the small utensil like it would ward off any attacker.
"Cook?! Jesus," she exhaled and placed a hand over her heart. "Knock next time, maybe? Or, you know, show up at a reasonable bloody time of day, tosser." As if to punctuate her point, the toaster popped.
He shrugged nonchalantly and sauntered into the kitchen as she returned her attention to preparing her breakfast. Cook made himself at home at the kitchen table, spinning a chair around and straddling it with his arms dangling over the backrest. Emily was mid-way through buttering her second piece of toast when she spun slowly, the butter knife held uncertainly in one hand.
"Why are you here so early in the morning anyway?" Her visitor glanced up and smiled; nevertheless, he was unable to mask the momentary guilt that clouded his eyes and tugged his mouth downward slightly. She noted the momentary slip and stepped forward, butter knife yet again brandished in Cook's direction. "You know where Naomi is, don't you?"
"Are you tryna threaten me with that, Emilio?" He laughed, pointing at the knife. "Didn't realize that's how you felt 'bout me after everything that's happened."
"I'm—no! No! Cook, Jesus," she muttered, snatching the small plate of toast and walking over to the table with a sour expression as Cook roared with laughter and slapped the back of the seat. She sat down and jammed a bite of toast in her mouth, chewing angrily as Cook settled down and leaned back to appraise her.
"Aww, relax, Emilio man; no worries! Cookie knows when it's best to cut loose and when he needs to steer straight."
"So?"
"So what?"
"Cook! Naomi—my fiancée? The one that left our bed at God knows when before sunrise today? I'm not a mong; you're involved in that somehow."
"You've got me wrong, Em." He shook his head, drummed his hands on the backrest, and stood up to pace the small kitchen. "I 'ad nuthin' to do with Naomikins leaving you high 'n dry. I was actually here to stop her."
Emily scoffed. "And you obviously failed. So since she's clearly not here, where is she going?" She arched an eyebrow and waved her toast in the air as Cook finally gave direction to his pacing and retrieved a mug from the pegs lining the back-splash above the dish washer. He hoisted it, twisting the mug back and forth as he looked at the chain of pictures of Naomi and Emily in various states of amusement and adoration, before pouring a cup of the offending coffee for himself.
Finally, he pivoted and saluted her with the steaming hot mug. "Cheers, yeah." After a scalding hot sip—and subsequent wince of approval—he met her steely gaze. "As for Naomi, she didn't tell me exactly where. Not sure she even knows. But I can tell you that you'd best try her mobile before there's an international fee, if you catch my meaning."
Emily set down her piece of toast and groped across the table blindly until her hand brushed the plastic case of her mobile. Her fingers wrapped around it and from across the room, Cook could see the device shaking in her grip. He stared impartially as her thumb played across the glass touchscreen—it was still shaking as the detective pressed the 'call' button emphatically and pressed the mobile to her ear. As she waited for the ringing to end, she toyed with her toast.
After a moment's pause too long for her liking, she heard the call connect and the hustle and bustle of a public place was jarring in the background after sitting in the tense silence of the kitchen. "Hello?"
"Naomi, what the fuck are you doing?" Cook pursed his lips and tried to hide behind his mug at the scathing timbre of his host's voice. There was a pause as he was sure his college friend tried to defend her actions; however, she was interrupted. "You honestly expect me to believe that? I am not some uninformed voter who just wants to hear bullshit clichés and rhetoric! I am your future wife! No—don't you dare hang up this phone, Naomi Campbell! Hello?"
Cook winced as a second scream pierced the morning; the light crunch of a mobile phone hitting the opposite wall punctuated the final note. He sipped his coffee as Emily sat, sobbing quietly at the table. He took two hesitant steps towards comforting her before pausing awkwardly as she addressed him softly.
"Cook?"
"Yeah, Ems?" He placed the mug down on the table and sat next the detective, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She let him guide her into an awkward sideways hug and sniffled.
"I think I need to get a new phone." He started laughing and after a moment's pause, Emily joined him, her pained chuckles dancing with his in a melancholy two-step she felt aptly suited the despair and disbelief in her heart.
Katie sat, legs crossed, in one chair—she filed her nails idly, tactfully ignoring the war being waged just meters to her right—while her twin fought a battle unaided against a force of nature both women learned early in their youth was best countered by acquiescence and guerrilla tactics. Unfortunately, Katie noted with derision, Emily had forgotten that life lesson; or else was throwing caution to the winds that whistled down the Avon Gorge.
"We are not doing this in a cathedral! Jesus Christ, Mom, I can't even name the last time I stepped foot in any type of...worship facility, let alone a church."
"House of worship?" Katie said sideways under her breath.
Emily leaned forward and nudged a biscuit onto her saucer. As she sat back, she leaned over to her twin. "Thanks for the help, bitch."
"Your wedding; your battle," she retorted in kind. Emily gritted her teeth thinking of the dozens of times Katie had, in fact, elected to weigh in on their wedding on her sister's behalf. This afternoon, however, did not appear to be one of those times.
"Emily. What is so wrong with having the service at the largest church in Bristol—I'm not even making a point about it not being the right denomination!" Jenna Fitch turned her palm up and arched an eyebrow as if she'd made a huge concession.
Her daughters simultaneously rolled their eyes; her youngest elected to speak as well. "Mom, stop."
"But!"
"Just...stop, alright? Will you just listen to what I think is best?" Emily could feel her steely façade cracking ever so slightly under the combined force of her mother's obstinence and Naomi's departure debacle from that morning. She took a long breath and nibbled at her thumbnail. "And this is completely besides the point because we had to book the venue ages ago."
"I know the event planner who usually helps the parishioners there and he says there's nothing on the schedule for the weekend you and...you two have selected."
"Christ, mum, her name's Naomi. Stop acting so downright petty," Katie muttered loudly enough for the intended recipient to hear; not once did she look up from her nails. Jenna, on the other hand, bristled visibly at the criticism from her eldest daughter. Understanding she was fighting a losing battle, she shifted gears and returned to an outstanding issue.
"Right, well. It's not as if she's been to a single planning meeting, now has she? And what to do about the reception dinner options? Here's what I was thinking: why not—Emily?"
The daughter in question was finished with the conversation, standing and storming out of the living room on a arrow-straight path for the front door. As her foot made its first mark on hardwood instead of cream-colored carpet, however, something drew Emily back; she whirled, arms crossed.
"For the record, Mum, over half of these 'planning meetings,'" she began, punctuating her comment with sarcastic quotations, "you're alluding to happened during family dinner to which Naomi was not invited. Furthermore, every time I tell you what Naomi thinks about something, you scoff and wave it away like it's a nuisance or the worst idea you've heard yet. And finally, as often as you like to remind me that she's in London, you seem to forget why she's there; the catering options at the Institute of Contemporary Art have been the furthest thing from Naomi's mind right now because she's leading one of the most important investigations Parliament has ever held. Maybe once that's done, we'll be able to sit down and have a little chat about chicken or vegetarian options but until then, leave it, yeah?"
Emily caught her breath as her mother swallowed hard, turning on her heel before the Fitch matriarch could reply. Instead, she turned to Katie who held up her hands to deflect any sudden attacks, eliciting a heavy sigh from her mother.
"Do you think I was unreasonable too?" She asked, feigning ignorance.
Katie sneered, scooped up her purse, and left without a word. She hurried down the hall and caught the front door just as Emily was trying to slam it shut. "Can you hold on, like, five minutes, alright?"
Emily huffed and continued down the walk, fumbling in her own bag for her keys. Katie stormed after her, grabbing her younger sister by the bicep and turning her around in the middle of the drive. "Ems, I asked you to hold on."
"And I want to get the fuck out of here."
"Look, I'm standing out here with you and not in there with her, alright? Doesn't that say enough? You made your points, and besides the fact that I know just how little Naomi's actually provided real input and Jenna doesn't, your points were valid. If you've already got so much of this sorted, why even let Mum in on this anyway?"
"Because..." Emily felt that morning's emotions well up suddenly, her lip trembling. "Because I need to still feel like it's real and that sounds terrible, but it's true, especially today."
"Emsy, why today? What—oh, Christ, no she did not."
"Katie? Did...you didn't...please tell me you didn't know Naomi was leaving and didn't tell me." Emily could feel Bristol condensing down into the cubic metre surrounding the two of them in the momentary pause before Katie unleashed her justification.
"I couldn't tell you because I had no fucking idea where you were yesterday; I mean, honestly! You told me that you were going to see Tony Stonem about these attacks—"
"Which I did!" Emily interrupted. She crossed her arms defiantly, an eyebrow arched.
"—And yet you told Naomi that you were going to see Sophia's brother, the biggest sack of shit this city has ever produced, which is saying something, but you failed to tell me about that little plan, didn't you?"
"What, so I decided to withhold something from you and you paid me back in full by not spilling Naomi's secret destination?"
"It's Monte Cristo, or something," Katie said exasperatedly.
"That's a book, sis. Read something for fucking once, will you? Honestly."
"I said 'or something!'" Katie hissed. "And I really didn't think she'd be that thick to go through with it. I even called in an insurance policy."
"Cook?" Emily said, putting the pieces together. "A fat lot of good that did; he was asleep this morning when I woke, nearly scared me half to death."
"Ems, I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night; really, I am." Katie rolled her eyes at Emily's derisive snort. "But I tried to fix it and I'm sorry Naomi actually decided to go through with it. She's doing this for you, though."
"That's what she said on the phone," Emily whispered, cheeks still wet. "And...look, I know her deciding to leave isn't your fault, Kay. It's just hard feeling like I had no control over it either."
Katie stepped dangerously close; nevertheless, Emily met her the remaining distance, seeking out the security of her twin's embrace as they stood in the drive and tried to gather their emotions so viciously splattered across the pavement and front lawn. "She'll be back, Em. She'll be back."
Naomi squinted, one hand pressed to her brow in a futile attempt at warding off the cold afternoon sun, as she stood on the curb of the Podgorica Airport taxi stand. Potholes riddled the pavement in either direction and she winced as a white cab with green trim rattled through the crater-ridden asphalt and came to a halt in front of Vic. He turned and waved for her to join him and she snatched up their two bags, slinging them over her shoulders, before walking down the taxi stand two stalls.
"He says that it'll be a ten minute drive to the train station, no problems," Patterson announced once she was within earshot.
Naomi checked her watch. "And you said we have 45 until the next train?" She glanced up to catch his affirming nod. "Right, then why don't you take that, and I'll keep this and walk around to the other side?" She handed him his backpack and crossed in front of the taxi, jumping back at the last moment as one of the cabbies brethren nearly ran her over—just before he hit a pothole and the car nearly shuddered into two pieces
"Maybe you should have gotten in the front seat," quipped Vic as he stooped down into the back.
Naomi flipped him the bird and climbed into the backseat on her side. "Arse. I saw him coming."
"Like hell you did." The cab pulled away from the stand smoothly and exited the airport traffic pattern, heading towards downtown Podgorica and the main train station. As their driver dodged errant Renaults and Citroёn lorries with a skill that would make a Formula One driver jealous, Patterson continued glancing out the rear windscreen over and over. After his seventh or eighth peek, Naomi finally sighed and turned around with him.
"What is it, Vic?"
"Probably nothing," he said quietly, green eyes locked on a BMW several cars behind them on the freeway. "But that Bimmer has been there ever since we left the airport." Naomi swallowed as he tore his gaze away from the vehicle and looked her in the eyes. "I think we're being followed."