The night started normally. Noah and Clara had long forgone the tradition of getting completely hammered every night, mostly for their kidneys, but also because it was getting incredibly expensive and the hangovers were a righteous bitch in the mornings. But coffee was complimentary in motels and easy to make without waking up Harvey, not to mention legal to drink on a rooftop (but to be honest, they were less worried about the legalities of it, as illegal drinking paled in comparison to their bank heists).

No matter what they were drinking, however, the night was normal enough: on the roof of yet another motel, so similar to the others despite being hundreds of miles away, passing a mug of bitter coffee between each other, swinging their feet and talking about everything but Heath's worsening sickness.

But then a motel door opened right beneath them. Clara and Noah had been almost caught before, and it all was quite hilarious, but this time, for a completely inexplicable reason, this opening door was like a gunshot. A chill ran down both their necks, and Clara and Noah inched together, the coffee completely forgotten, burning in Noah's hand.

Footsteps echoed off concrete walls – four feet, two pairs running through their minds. Two lumpy, misshapen figures ricocheted through the darkness, and if it weren't for the rustle of old chiffon and fallen sequins catching the flickering streetlights, Clara and Noah would not have even recognized Will and Fauna and Heath walking away. Will looked like a hunchback as he carried Heath on his back, they were so far away now, holding hands with Fauna, a thread between them.

Clara and Noah could only watch as their friends walked away, and Clara couldn't help but wish she had more time. More time to shop with Fauna, play made-up card games with Heath, and do something other than rob banks with Will.

And Noah? Once they had walked so far away he couldn't see them, Noah just missed his best friends and wondered who would leave him next.

The car seemed to engulf Clara, Noah, and Harvey as they drove on the next morning, no half of them had left with a hastily written, but heartfelt, letter in their wake. Not only that, but Fauna took her clothes (leaving Clara with a few choice garments, along with a lipstick-smeared "For you, sweetie!" on top of the folded pile) and the car was suddenly a cavern. The anxiety was palpable, and had been ever since Harvey woke up to an empty room, thinking they all had left him, only to find Clara and Noah sleeping on the roof. He was even more annoyed when Noah took the wheel, and downright pissed off when Noah let Clara take the seat next to him, leaving Harvey the hauntingly empty back or the cramped front. It was all very awkward, and Clara couldn't help but feel Harvey was mostly upset at her and almost jealous that she and Noah were –

Ping. Ping, ping, ping.

The car suddenly swerved, even though Noah had barely touched the wheel, windows cracking overhead as the wheels squealed in protest. Clara was terrified, gripping the seat as she scanned the empty highway ahead of them, searching to find the source of the noise cracking at the windows.

"Noah, what the hell – behind us, BEHIND US," Harvey barked back to the front seat, staring at a sinisterly anonymous black sports car behind them with guns – real guns firing real bullets cracking through the van – out the window.

Noah glanced quickly at his rearview mirror and back to the road, seemingly calm – but he sped the car up even more. "O'Mahoney?" he asked, somehow getting the car to drive straight. Clara had no idea who – or what – O'Mahoney was, but from the look Noah gave her, it seemed it was the gang Noah told her about. And it seemed that they had finally caught up with them.

"Who else would drive a Jaguar on an ambush?" Harvey spat out. "Keep swerving and go off the next off-ramp, we might lose them in the next town."

Gripping the steering wheel, Noah swerved off the highway, almost fishtailing into a tree before he got the car under control. He couldn't think of anything else but the road ahead and the car behind them.

They stopped shooting once Noah sped onto a busy street but pressed on even closer. Clara could barely hear Harvey yelling instructions at Noah over her heartbeat and the blood pumping through her ears and –

Red light. Noah screeched to a stop, and they all braced themselves for the –

Bump. Crash.

The Jaguar sped straight into the van, and they went flying. Clara's clothes jumped out of their pile, Noah's head cracked against the steering wheel, Clara's head hit a broken window, the glass drawing a red, jagged line across her cheek, and somehow, Harvey was so beat up his nose was bleeding all over the upholstery. Just as the Jaguar backed up, ready to strike again, the light turned green.

"GO, GO, GO, fucking go!" Harvey yelled as Noah made a quick left turn – too quick. The car groaned, and it felt to Clara it was on two wheels, but then it straightened out and they sped away, losing the O'Mahoneys.

But even once they had been driving for hours without seeing the black car, they were wary. "We'll have to be on our fucking guard tonight," scowled Harvey as they walked into another motel room. Clara knew there would be no nights on the roof anymore, and no wine or coffee along with it.

It didn't take long for the O'Mahoney gang to find them. It was some impossibly dark hour that night, and none of them could sleep. Harvey was sitting at the table, watching but not quite seeing out the window, quietly smoking his last cigarette to the snub. Noah was sitting, flipping through the only book in the room, a beat-up Bible, but not staying on a page long enough to read a single word, and Clara had stolen all the pillows and propped herself up on the bed, with Noah's sunglasses covering her face, shuffling a deck of forty-six cards she found under the bed. The night was quiet – relatively so, at least – until Harvey suddenly tipped back from his chair. As he scrambled to get back up, he looked up and said, "Get out, they're here. I'll – I can hold them off, I just need – look, don't wait for me, just go."

Noah stood up. "Don't be an asshole, Harvey, just – "

"Look, I love you – like a brother, man, and – just go, go out the back where the van is," Harvey said, pushing Noah back. He didn't even look at Clara as he turned away from them and walked to the front door to meet the O'Mahoneys.

"Come on, let's go," Noah said to Clara darkly, and they fled the sounds of bullets hitting wood.