Cordelia didn't know much about New Orleans, but from the moment she stepped off the bus, she knew she was home. She couldn't say why, exactly. Perhaps it was Misty's hand resting on her shoulder. Perhaps it was the colours, so different to the monotonous greys of the school. Perhaps it was simply the fact that she was away from Fiona, and felt truly free for the first time in her life.

She couldn't say for sure. But she knew that she loved it. For a moment, she and Misty just stood on the sidewalk, holding all their luggage, gawking at the busy, bustling city surrounding them. Neither of them grew up in the city – both of them were small town natives, and so Cordelia knew she wasn't the only one feeling out of her depth. Even at night, there were people and cars bustling about.

"We should find somewhere to go," she said. "A hotel or something for the night. Then we can look for something more permanent."

Misty smiled at her. "I'll go where you go, Dee."

Cordelia wanted so badly to walk hand in hand down the street with Misty. But she was still shaken up from the diner – she didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention.

They hailed a streetcar, and travelled further into the city. It looked quite seedy, but Cordelia would put up with that if it meant cheap hotels. They did find a hotel – though seedy, it was marginally better than the last crappy place they'd been in. They didn't stay long, though – they were both antsy after being on the bus for several hours, and they agreed that it would be far easier to hide in the city.

Before they left, though, Cordelia had an idea. Flicking through the little notebook Myrtle had given them, she went to the New Orleans section, and immediately grinned. Written there on the page was an address. And suddenly, Cordelia knew exactly where to go.

0o0o

"How does Myrtle know a gay bar?" Misty shouted over the lively jazz music.

"I don't know!" Cordelia shouted back, grinning widely. "Don't question the mysterious ways of Myrtle!"

"Right now all I want is to give her a hug!"

Cordelia felt so happy she could burst. She didn't know anyone in the underground club apart from Misty – and yet she felt as though she was surrounded by friends. She could kiss Misty deeply, right here on the dancefloor, and nobody would blink. So she did. She slung an arm around Misty's waist and pulled her close, pressing her lips to Misty's.

She felt Misty smile against her mouth before she deepened the kiss. They stayed there for a moment, just because they could, and then Misty grabbed Cordelia's hand and spun her around.

They danced until exhaustion set in, and, just as the sun peeked over the tops of the buildings, they stumbled back to their hotel room and collapsed onto their beds.

0o0o

Cordelia woke with a groan. Her head ached. After drinking a full glass of water, she felt marginally better. Misty was still dead to the world. Cordelia smiled to herself, and tucked Misty in – she had a habit of kicking her blankets off as she slept.

Sitting down, Cordelia flicked through Myrtle's book again. She hadn't had a good look at it yet, in the chaos of the last couple of days. But if the gay club last night was anything to go by, Myrtle had listed some very valuable places.

And people.

Cordelia squinted. The ink had smudged a bit. Quentin Fleming, read Myrtle's loopy handwriting, 7 Salem Street. Real estate agent, pain in the ass but will help if he receives something in return. Subtle.

Real estate. Subtle. He could be the answer to the Cordelia's main question, pain in the ass aside – where would they go next? As tempting as it was, they couldn't stay in this hotel forever. Not that she wanted to – it just seemed safer here than walking around in the open, than renting an apartment with nosy neighbours, or finding a cheap house with probably Suddenly feeling more hopeful than she had in a while, Misty crossed the room and gently shook her sleeping girlfriend. "Misty, wake up."

Misty, ever the elegant sleeper, raised her head slightly off the pillow slightly. "Hhnnuggrrf?"

"Yeah," Cordelia said, biting back a laugh. "Totally agree. Come on, wake up, we've got to go somewhere."

"Where?" Misty asked, opening her eyes slightly. "Can't we just sleep?"

Cordelia dangled to notebook in front of Misty's face. "I've found someone who might be able to help us."

"With what?"

"Somewhere permanent. To stay. To live. A friend of Myrtle's."

Misty's eyes widened in understanding. With a groan, she sat up. "Why'd you let me drink so much last night?" she grumbled.

Cordelia laughed. "Baby, I drank just as much as you did." They made sure they were matched, drink wise – perhaps not the smartest thing to do, for two girls in an unfamiliar city, but they hadn't been too wrapped up about that last night. They'd both needed to put everything for a few hours – to dance and sing and kiss and be stupid teenagers. Cordelia didn't regret that – although by the way Misty was acting, she definitely did.

Misty glared at her. "How're you so… functional, then?"

Cordelia smirked at her, and pointed to the glass of water she'd left on Misty's night table. "Drink up." The truth was, it hadn't been Cordelia's first time drinking. She'd never had that much before, of course. But she'd used to sneak out with Mabel and the friends she'd had at the time – they went to clubs, they went to parties. Sometimes it was just her and Mabel, sharing a stolen bottle of Fiona's best whiskey between them.

She used to look on these memories with pain – though it had been fun, what Mabel did destroyed her, and ruined everything Cordelia associated with her. And then Cordelia grew. She met Misty. Now she could remember those nights with Mabel fondly. She was quite proud of herself for that – she knew how to separate bad endings from the good times that came before them.

0o0o

"You're a demon," Misty groaned, dragging her feet. "Can't believe you're makin' me walk. Can't we just get a cab, or somethin'?"

"I don't want us to go through our money too fast!"

"I know, I know," Misty said, sticking out her tongue playfully. "But right now, I don't care."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, laughing. "We're nearly there, you big baby." Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to bring all their luggage with them – but they'd only paid for the night at the hotel, and Cordelia didn't really want to let their stuff get out of sight. It was all that they had.

"I don't understand why you don't feel as bad as I do."

Cordelia smirked. "Guess I can just hold my liquor." She was, however, beginning to wish that they'd just left their stuff in the room. Dragging a heavy suitcase in the heat of the New Orleans sun was not an enjoyable experience. And it must have been unbearable for Misty – she had far worse a hangover than Cordelia did.

"Never again, Cordelia," Misty replied. "We are never doin' it again."

"I thought you had fun dancing!" Cordelia protested.

Misty grunted. "Yeah, well, next time we're dancin' without the alcohol."

"Deal," Cordelia said, offering Misty her free hand, which Misty shook.

7 Salem Street wasn't anything too impressive. A small-looking house, decorated with a perfectly maintained front yard, with crisp green grass despite the heat. The two of them walked up to the front door. "I hope we can trust him," she said quietly, suddenly doubtful. They'd made it this far without too much help – it felt weird, and kind of wrong to be asking for help now.

"We can trust Myrtle," Misty said, squeezing Cordelia's hand reassuringly.

Immediately Cordelia felt better. Myrtle would never send them to someone if she didn't trust them 100%. "Yeah. You're right."

She raised her hand and knocked.

She didn't know exactly what she'd been expecting, but still she was somewhat surprised by the man who answered the door. Small and round, wearing trim dress clothes despite it being the middle of the day, Quentin Fleming was not someone she would have picked out as a friend of Myrtle. "Who are you?" he asked, looking the two of them up and down.

"Quentin Fleming?" Cordelia asked. He nodded. "We're friends of Myrtle Snow's. She gave me your address."

Quentin stared at them both for a moment, before ushering them inside. "I know where I've seen you," he said, closing the door. "You're the runaways. From Myrtle's school."

"Yeah, that's us," said Misty.

"Why are you here?" He looked at them curiously.

"We need somewhere to stay," Cordelia said. "To live, actually."

"Preferably somewhere we won't be found," Misty added.

"Ah," Quention said. "I see." He walked down the hallway into a sitting room, gesturing for them to follow him. "Here, sit down."

"Can you help us?" Misty asked.

"I can," he said, nodding slowly. "But not for free."

"We know. We have money." Cordelia wasn't sure she trusted this man. But Misty was right, of course – they could trust Myrtle. And Myrtle would never send them to someone she didn't completely trust.

0o0o

"This piece of land actually belongs to me," Quentin said. "I haven't been here for years. Used to come camping here when I was kid – and then the cabin collapsed, and I haven't gotten around to gettin' someone to fix it."

After a brief conversation of what they were looking for – somewhere away from the main city, where no-one travelled – Quentin had taken them to a patch of swamp off the main tourist trails. It was quite a walk, and Cordelia found herself glad that they'd left their bags at Quentin's. Cordelia was nervous – he could easily be leading them here to murder them, or something – but she reminded herself of how Myrtle had put herself at risk to help them escape the school. She may not trust Quentin, but Myrtle she trusted with her life. And Misty's.

"Oh, you're so lucky," Misty said dreamily, looking around. One look at Misty's face told Cordelia that going to Quentin had been the right idea – Cordelia hadn't seen Misty look this at peace since… well, since never.

It was beautiful, she had to admit. The cabin, though dilapidated, sat in a small clearing, a way away from the swamp itself. Tall cypress trees concealed it from the river (and people) and she could tell that the cabin had once been beautiful, too. Though it had collapsed in the middle, the stilts holding it above the ground seemed strong, and the stairs leading up to it looked to be made of some sort of fine wood. Cordelia knew that with a bit of time and a lot of work, she and Misty would be able to make this place beautiful.

"Lucky?" Quentin laughed. "Oh, my dear, I wouldn't call it lucky. I don't ever use it. I mean, look at the state of it! I can't even fix it up and market it to tourists without spending more than I want to!"

"Do people ever come here?" Cordelia asked.

He snorted. "Never. Look around. Not only is it a pain in the ass to get to, there's nothing to look at except swamp. There are far better tours marketed to tourists."

"But what about locals?" Cordelia asked him anxiously. It was deeply important that no-one – nobody who'd rat them out, anyway – knew about this place. It needed to be somewhere they'd be safe. "Does anyone at all know about this spot?"

Quentin shook his head. "No-one but me and my pops, and he's been dead for twenty-two years. Just as well, he was a real asshole."

Misty and Cordelia looked at each other. The corner of Misty's mouth turned up, and she gave a small nod. Cordelia smiled back at her, and glanced at the cabin. "Quentin, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"We can't thank you enough," added Misty.

"Don't thank me. I'm happy to get it off my hands." He shrugged. "Besides, I owe Myrtle a favour, and any friend of hers is a friend of mine."

"How much?" Cordelia asked.

Quentin tilted his head, thinking. "Let's say two hundred. I'm losing money, but I didn't buy this dump anyway."

"You've got a deal," Misty said, a huge smile on her face. Stepping forward, she took Quentin's hand and shook it.

He looked them both up and down, his forehead crinkling. "This really ain't a place for two young ladies. Or little old me, for that matter."

"It's perfect for us, though," Misty said earnestly. "We'll fix it up. It'll be home." Cordelia smiled at her, and squeezed her hand.

"You're crazy. You're both completely nuts." He scratched his chin, and then his eyes widened, as if he'd suddenly remembered something. "Oh, and there's gators. Don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he turned on his heel and walked back the way they came.

They looked at each other. "…did he just say gators?" Cordelia asked nervously.

Misty glanced around nervously. "Uh, I think he might've, yeah."

"You comin'?" Quentin shouted over his shoulder.

They both jumped, and hurried after him.

Cordelia decided to worry about the gators later.

I apologise if Quentin's OOC, I don't really know how to write him since there wasn't much of him in the show. Hope he seems okay.

Chapter title from 'Everywhere' by Flootweed Mac.