A/N: Dedicated to Kimmie.

~*~

The house's white stone and glass exterior, cold like a snow palace, nevertheless seemed dark and forbidding in the rain overnight, looming like a malevolent spectre against the blurry black backdrop of a weeping sky. Heavy thick curtains drawn, shutting out the threats, and there was only one spot of weak, flickering light.

Had it not been for the rain, one might have been able to see the shadow of a girl sitting, moving as though she was organizing something. In her teens still, small, with her head bent perhaps in repentance, perhaps in a silent prayer.

But the time for contemplation had passed, and despite the complete silence of the mansion, the girl in the lit room moved busily about, pulling clothes and papers from neat, well-groomed closets and desks polished by maids and bought with tears and blood for money. Sweaters, skirts, pants and shoes. Blouses, dresses, hats and good cashmere stockings. She had the best, and she had always had the best. But this suburban princess wore no crown, and no queenly smile. Barefoot she slowly pulled back the latch that shielded her velvet boudoir from the elements and the world outside, from the freedom and the wind song and the caress of the rain.

A rustle and a creak, and the girl opened the door of a delicate bird cage, polished too, a white dove moving somewhat restlessly inside. It was a pet... a present from her brother-who-had-fallen-into-darkness a year ago, but things had changed, and that was the past. The dove was named Fiona, for purity, except nothing was quite so pure any more, no matter how they wanted it to be. No matter how much they lied and said that it was.

The dove gave a somewhat restless coo, but the girl gently eased the bird out of the cage, caressing its feathers before moving towards the opened casement. There was already rain on the windowsill, and the sheer curtains were damp. They would have to be cleaned, perhaps.

The dove needed no coaxing. Perhaps it knew what had happened. Perhaps it understood the girl's heart and soul. Doves were for love and peace, after all, and the girl was sure that it had a home before it was led into a cage. Doves always returned to their homes, where their hearts led them.

She smiled only after the bird had flexed its pristine white wings and flew out of the open window.

And then she finished her own packing.

~*~

That her brother had been guilty and wrong, that was certain. That the girl in the other car would be alive today had her brother not drank the vodka that night... that, too, was certain.

But also was certain was that her brother, her pure-kept clean-cut paragon, free of fault or defect... the perfect brother who had everything... was not going to lose anything. With the necessary manipulation, even seemingly-indelible stains can be whitened.

She knew the outcome of the case that was simple and wrong. But though marks can be erased and stains whitened, there were thoughts and memories that could not be removed, and there was but one choice now.

Heaven help her, she didn't know what she was doing, or what would happen, or all the hard nuances of the big world out there that had so been purified for her clear blue eyes.

And then, there was the tinkle of a pebble, almost bell-like, against the glass window-pane. She gave a start and glanced downwards, before abruptly picking up the designer suede valise, white for purity and limited edition, and then she was descending from the heavens to the rain and wind outside.

The cool drops of water hit her hair and the white sweater she wore, and as she met him standing there, waiting for her, all sandy hair and frayed denim and REALNESS in his dark green eyes, she had never felt so clean or pure in her life, more like a princess.

It was not her parents' Jaguar, or the shiny black SUV that had been her brother's ride until That Night. His car was old, a dent in the rear bumper, a medium plain blue with a broken ashtray. He opened the door for her, because not all gentleman were clad in tuxedos, and she sat down in the worn passenger seat, her eyes curiously bright even as he silently crawled in next to her. Two doors shut, and then they were off, off... away, leaving the arching curved driveway and moving down the lane, to a street with lights softened and blurred by the rain. She had set her valise in the backseat, because there was nothing else, and though she clasped a matching designer purse in her slender hands, her eyes were only for him.

"Where do you want to go, Emily?" he asked her, because it was all for her, up to her, and she was his princess not because of her wealth or her beauty.

But they were already leaving the town behind, and there were only tall white lights that illuminated the highway in the dead of night. There were no other cars around; it was nearing two in the morning.

She gave him a glance, a long look, knowing that there was no returning to the past and no certain future. And for some reason, as he smiled back at her, his strong, warm hands steady on the wheel, she wasn't at all afraid.

The names on the signs weren't quite clear, because of the falling sheets of rain, but she gave him a sweet, meditative smile.

"Anywhere."

That was what escape was about, really. Love and uncertainty and taking a gamble... with the right person and the right mindset and knowing that it was what they wanted.

It didn't matter that they weren't at all like each other, that he was poor and she was rich and her existence in a plush prison had come to an abrupt end.

She idly watched the streetlights stream by down that endless stretch of road, as the rain kept coming and he was always right there with her, and she knew that everything would fall into place when they reached 'anywhere', and thus, completely safe, she closed her eyes.

~*~

When he took a stop to pump more gas into the small blue car, he took off his jacket. Old, frayed, a rust stain here and there, a broken zipper and worn thin at the elbows, perhaps. But it was warm from him and he carefully covered her slumbering form with it, bluish denim against white cashmere and cream-coloured skin and a sheaf of silken dark hair. She gave a slight sigh of contentment, and unconsciously hugged the old, beat-up garment closer to her.

He allowed himself to watch her for a few moments, before starting the engine again. But as the car traveled down that empty yet not quite lonesome stretch of road, he couldn't stop smiling.