CW – the 'd' slur

It wasn't big. It wasn't grand. It was nothing like the home she'd grown up in, or the mansion she'd moved into when her parents got rich. It was nowhere near as big as the Academy, and it certainly wasn't very clean. But still, Misty thought it was pretty. It was simple, of course. Planks of wood to keep the wind and rain out, a single sheet of glass for the windows. A flat tin roof – logs they'd chopped in half to replace the termite-eaten stairs. They'd bought most of their furniture from second-hand stores and yard sales. Quentin had found an old wood stove and given it to them for free. They had made the food cupboard themselves, and put up a mostly secure fence to keep the animals out.

There was a small veggie-and-flower garden in the front, and a well they'd discovered half-buried under ivy in the back. The outhouse was three walls and one creaky door, home to spiders and the occasional frog. The natural but not unpleasant scent of the swamp mixed with Cordelia's perfume, and the sprigs of herbs and flowers they'd hung up all over the place. Sometimes, they climbed up onto the roof and watched the clouds. They had everything they needed.

No, it wasn't much, not at all – it was only a single room, two if you counted the separate outhouse. But it was the best home Misty had ever had. The only one, really. It was their sanctuary. Their haven, their protection against the cruelty of the outside world. Sometimes Misty even forgot there was an outside world – it often felt like she and Cordelia were the only people in their own private universe. Of course, she missed Lizzy. Their friends. Myrtle and Stevie. But she found it was near impossible to be anything but happy here, with Cordelia.

"You're deep in thought," Cordelia remarked. Climbing up onto the roof, she laid down beside Misty, and snuggled up to her side.

Misty propped herself up on her elbow and gazed down at her girlfriend. "I am," she agreed. Cordelia had changed since they lived here. Her pale skin now had a light golden tan. There was a peppering of light freckles across her nose and cheeks. The bags had gone from underneath her eyes – the bitten lips and nails had disappeared with her anxiety. Being away from Fiona had apparently done wonders for Cordelia's health. Misty smiled down at her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Just thinkin' of how lucky I am. It's so good to see you happy, Dee."

Cordelia smiled. She reached up and tucked a loose curl behind Misty's ear. "I am happy," she agreed. "It's hard not to be. I do miss everyone, of course, but it's paradise here, with you."

"Our own little garden of Eden."

Cordelia smiled, and snuggled up to Misty's side. Misty buried her nose in Cordelia's neck, inhaling her sweet scent. "So I've been thinking," Cordelia said. "We should go into town tomorrow, send some letters. And we need to do some shopping, as well, we've nearly run out of sugar."

A pang of anxiety shot through her at the thought of going into town. They'd gone back to New Orleans a bunch of times, of course – to buy furniture, send letters, buy things they weren't able to grow themselves. But Misty didn't like it. Every time they left the swamp she got paranoid – every glance their way, every second look, every frown was someone about to jump them, report them, turn them in to the police. It had only been two months since their faces had been all over the news – nowhere near enough time for people to forget. Occasionally Quentin dropped by with a newspaper – there had been a total of twelve articles printed about them since they'd disappeared. And so Misty didn't think it was completely irrational for her to worry.

But she didn't want to upset Cordelia. She didn't want to spoil their happy life here by bringing up the past. So she gulped down the worries, as she always did, and smiled. "I've got all the sugar I need right here," Misty said, poking Cordelia in the cheek.

"You are so corny, Mist," Cordelia said, laughing. "Seriously though, we do need to go shopping. We need flour, sugar, pepper, salt, chili powder, tea… oh, and we need some new candles, too, we've nearly gone through all of them."

"Sure," Misty said, forcing herself to smile and ignore the bad feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach. It's nothing, Misty, she told herself. Stop being irrational. "We can go."

Cordelia glanced at her. "I know you don't like leaving here. But it'll be fine, I promise. Nobody's noticed us yet and I don't see any reason why they should tomorrow."

"It's bound to happen at some point."

"But it might not. There's no point worrying about things that haven't happened yet."

Misty didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. How could she put into words her deep terror for anywhere that wasn't their sanctuary? How could she explain her terror that at any moment someone might recognise her, haul her to the police, and arrest her for being a sexual predator and abductor? Her name had been everywhere. Her face had been on every screen. She'd thought it was bad when it had happened back home, before the academy – when people she'd thought of as her family had turned their backs and done everything but chase her with pitchforks. But nothing compared to how it had been when they'd run away. Nothing she'd ever experienced had been more terrifying than seeing her and Cordelia's faces on every TV screen.

Cordelia squeezed her hand. "I know you're scared. But it's going to be fine. We'll wear our hats and scarves. We won't draw attention to ourselves. It's going to be okay."

Misty didn't answer her. "We've swapped personalities, have you realised?"

"What do you mean?" Cordelia frowned.

"Before we came here, you were the anxious one. And now you're happy, and I'm the one who can't stop worryin'."

"Are you saying you're not happy?"

"What?" Misty asked, glancing at her. "No, not at all, that ain't what I meant. I just meant –" she sighed, and pressed her hand to her head. "Fuck. I'm just so scared, Delia."

Cordelia sighed, and pressed a kiss to Misty's shoulder. "I know you are. I am too. And just because I'm happier now doesn't mean I'm not still anxious. I'm still the girl I was before – except now I feel safe."

There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Misty let out a long breath. She propped herself up on one elbow again."I am happy, you know. How couldn't I be? I have you."

"It's okay if you're not, you know," said Cordelia gently. "It's a big change, being here. I know you miss your sister. And Zoe. And the others. But we'll see them again. We just have to give it time until it's safer."

Misty sat up, and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping herself in a hug. "That's the thing, though, Dee. What if it's never safe? What if they never forget us? I know your mother ain't gonna forget. And neither will Robichaux. And if they haven't forgotten, they're gonna do everythin' in their power to remind the world who we are." Cordelia lay still and silent, gazing up at the sky. Misty continued. "We embarrassed them, Dee. I haven't met your mother, but if she's anything like Robichaux – and I get the feelin' that she is – she ain't the type of woman that'll lie down and take not gettin' her way."

There was truth to her words. They both knew it. Cordelia didn't say anything, and instead extended a hand to Misty. "C'mon," she said quietly. "You need something to eat."

0o0o

It was strange weather for New Orleans. Overcast and rainy, with a strong wind that whipped through the streets. Nothing like the clear skies of yesterday. Hank sighed, and took off his sunglasses in his fifth attempt to clean off the stubborn smudge on the left lens. It had been two months since he'd last had a sign of Cordelia and her bitch. He was beginning to think they'd died, which would be quite unfortunate – not only would Fiona flay him alive, he'd also have to find a new wife.

He'd lived out of his car for the first two weeks, parked on a main street in the day, hoping for any sign of them. He'd visited every single hotel, motel, and shitty tourist hostel. He'd even tracked down a gay nightclub as a last resort – he'd asked around, but apparently there were a lot of blonde dykes in New Orleans. He had, of course, reported the club to the police after he'd left.

He was beginning to wonder whether he'd have to start searching the swamps. With another sigh, Hank put his sunglasses back on. The smudge was still there, and he growled, before shoving them in his pocket. Coffee. Coffee was what he needed right now. It was much too early in the afternoon to start drinking – he still had standards.

The usually busy shopping district was strangely quiet. An escaped umbrella flew down the street. His most recent call with Fiona had left him with a splitting headache – she had grown more and more agitated with each day that passed without a sign of Cordelia. She blamed him, of course – never mind that she was the one who had failed to properly parent is future wife. He would have a lot of work to do in order to tame her.

Striding into the nearest coffee shop, Hank took a window seat and waved over a waitress. She smiled at him, and tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear. Obviously an attempt to flirt with him. Sneering at her, he leaned back in his seat. "One flat white. No sugar."

"Right away, sir," she said.

He gazed listlessly out of the window. He was good at his job. He'd found a missing child once, a whopping seven months after his abduction. A miracle, considering the statistics. But this case was different. Usually when it had been this long without a trace of his subject, he assumed them dead. He didn't want to believe Cordelia was dead – that would be like admitting his failure.

The waitress set his flat white down on the table. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No thanks," he said, giving her a charming smile. He looked her over – yes, she would do nicely. He wasn't technically married yet. Betrothed, yes, but since his woman had disappeared… he still had needs, after all! And he did not intend to damage his dignity by going to a brothel. "Take a seat, sweetheart, give your poor feet a rest."

"Oh," she said. "I, uh, I shouldn't. We're busy today – "

"No you're not," Hank said, glancing around. "Do your eyes work? I'm the only one in here."

She smiled nervously. "I-"

"Go on, sit!" he said. He took her arm and tugged her towards him, helping her into the booth until she was sitting next to him. "What's your name, darling?"

"Sir, excuse me, but I really can't sit –"

Hank's patience was growing thin. "I asked you a question," he said, tightening his grip on her arm, "what's your name?"

"E-Emma."

"It's nice to meet you, Emma." He grinned at her. "What's a pretty girl like you doing working here all day? Shouldn't you be at home with your husband?"

"Well, no, sir, I'm sixteen. I have this job so I can save up for university."

"Sixteen?" Hank raised his eyebrows. She didn't look fifteen. Her breasts were as large as a full grown woman's. Much better than Cordelia's – and likely hadn't been groped by some dyke. "Well, I'm impressed," he said. "I would've guessed you were at least twenty-four."

Emma gulped. The poor thing was obviously nervous at his presence – no doubt unused to the attention of an attractive older man. The girl wasn't ugly, but her face wasn't anything to write home about. Her breasts were really her only redeeming quality. "It was nice talking to you, but I really should be getting' back to work now."

She made to stand up, and Hank grabbed her arm again. "Well, wait a moment, you're not getting away that fast. Why don't you let me take you out for a drink? I'll tell you all about university –" There was movement in the corner of his eye, and Hank turned to look out the window. His jaw fell open. Because either he was going crazy, or that was Cordelia – his Cordelia – strolling down the street with her lesbian friend on her arm. He'd only had the briefest glance, but he knew it was her. Hadn't he spent the past two months poring over every photo ever taken of Cordelia, read every mention of her name, gone through her diaries and school notebooks in case there was anything there that might help him? Yes, it was her. So much for all him work – he never would have thought, in the end, that it would come to pure dumb luck. A single glance in the street. Good luck on his part – and Cordelia's, of course. Bad luck for the dyke.

He stood up so quickly he knocked his mug over. Shoving Emma out of the way, Hank charged out of the shop, just in time to see them turn the corner. There wasn't enough time to get his car, but that was fine by him. His favourite part of his job, after all, was the chase. And he would do just fine on foot.

Ohhhhhh my god, it always feels so godDDDDdamn ICKY to write from Hank's POV. I hate that bitch. But something tells me he's the type of guy to hit on sixteen year olds. Oh also he's a really really really shitty PI in case you hadn't already figured that out. Fiona should have fired him by now (and probably would have in canon buuut I NEED HIM FOR STORY PURPOSES, sue me)

um also it most definitely has not been three months since I last updated. shut up. I'm in year twelve this year and it FUCKINGBG SUCKS I hate it so much, I legit have no time to myself anymore. I'm probably going to do unscored VCE because I will def fail exams if I attempt and I would prefer no ATAR than a shitty one? So? That's a thing. Idk why I am justifying my academic choices to strangers on the internet but u know what? Idc Honestly hate everything right now. At least I'm not in lockdown as well because that would suck ass

Chapter title from 'Sara' by that fuckin band, you know the one, uhhhh yeah that one band you know?

Full disclosure, it is probably going to be another six months until the next chapter. enjoy yourselves, drink water