It had been a long couple of days, and Hank Foxx was exhausted. He'd hardly stopped to sleep, and had subsisted mainly off beer, coffee, and shitty diner food for the last 48 hours. He'd learnt from experience, in cases like this, that the first couple days were crucial in tracking down his subjects – once they got to big cities, or left the country, it was virtually impossible to track them down. And this time was different. This time, he was personally invested – he was tracking his future wife. He couldn't let her escape from him. He always won, and he wasn't going to lose this time.

After going to the school and talking to the Headmistress, who seemed just as angry with the situation as he was, he had a rough estimate of the time they'd left the grounds. Then he went down to the town and looked at bus records, finding a bus that left not long after they would have escaped the school. A few weeks before, someone had purchased two tickets. There wasn't a name, or bank records, or even a time when they would have purchased them – but no-one else in the whole town had bought tickets. It was just those two – it had to be Cordelia. From there it was a matter of figuring out where they would have gone – the bus made very few stops, which made his job a whole lot easier. He'd managed to track them to a small town which was basically no more than a pit stop on the way to the bigger city a couple of hours away.

It was a cheap, seedy looking town, filled with motels, cheap tourist shops (he didn't know why people would willingly visit here), and greasy diners. He'd been through about a third of the motels looking for clues with no result. But he had a good feeling about this one.

Walking up to the front desk, Hank slammed his hand down on the bell. The woman sitting behind the desk was reading a book – some cheap romance, from the looks of the front cover – and didn't react. Clearing his throat loudly, Hank rung the bell again and again and again until the woman finally sighed and looked up at him. She reeked of bubblegum and cigarettes, and he tried not to pull a face.

"Yes?" she said irritably, not putting down the book. "Whaddya want? I was just up to the good bit."

Hank frowned at the irritating woman before him. "I am looking for two young women who I believe may have stayed here recently."

"Oh, you mean the lesbians what were on the news?" The woman said eagerly, putting her book down. From her posture alone, Hank knew she'd been bursting to tell people who she'd seen. He could practically hear her. You know those two queers on the news? Yeah, I saw em'! Walked right in and asked for a room! "Yeah, they were here. You just missed em' in fact, they left not two hours ago. Are you interested in staying here?"

"Where did they go?" Hank demanded, not answering her question.

The woman scowled. "How should I know? I'm only paid to sign people in, not to know where they're going. Besides, I don't really care. Single or double room?"

"Do you have any idea at all?" he asked, ignoring her again.

"I told you, I'm not paid enough to care," she said, rolling her eyes. "Probably got on a bus or something. Rooms are three dollars a night – "

Sighing, Hank got out his wallet. "I'll pay you. Tell me about this town. It's on the way to New Orleans, right? Do buses go there regularly? Did the girls get on a bus?"

The woman – Donna, according to her name tag – held up a hand. "Slow down, buddy. How much are we talking?"

"Twenty dollars," he offered, suddenly regretting his offer to pay her. He didn't need the money, sure, but who knew if her information was reliable or not? Still, he needed all the clues he could get, good or bad. Cordelia had left virtually nothing for him to go off. He'd had nothing more than breadcrumbs so far, and as much as he hated to admit it, this infuriating woman was the best chance he had at finding Cordelia before the next century.

Donna scoffed. "You mustn't care too much about finding out, if that's all you're offering." She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

Hank sighed. "Thirty."

"Fifty," Donna said, raising an over-plucked eyebrow.

Hank scoffed. "Forty, or I'll find someone else willing to help me." It was the most he'd paid for information before. It was also the most he'd ever wanted to find someone, so he didn't care about the money that much. It wasn't like he could buy another Cordelia, after all, though if he didn't find her soon he might have to look into it.

"Deal," she said.

Hank handed over half the cash, and raised a hand when she began to argue. "I'll give you the rest after you've told me what I want to know."

Donna rolled her eyes again, but stopped arguing. And she began to talk. She was a surprisingly observant woman, or maybe just bored. Regardless, Hank finally felt like he was getting closer to the prize.

Five minutes later, with a wallet forty dollars lighter, Hank smiled. They were on the way to New Orleans, alright. He might even be able to meet them there, if he drove quickly.

"I'm going to get you, Cordelia," he said to himself, turning the key in the ignition and putting his foot on the gas.

He would get her eventually. And he'd make sure she was sorry for thinking she'd ever get away.

I know, another short one. I really wanted to get Hank's perspective, though – and I enjoyed writing this!

Chapter title from 'Thrown Down' by Fleetwood Mac.