Running away was never in Alex's plans. Taking her even less so.

That was Nigel's doing, as always. "If you're in hell, hug the devil," he always said. Of course, he was the devil himself. And Alex wouldn't give him a hug. But taking her? That had to be a joke.

But it wasn't. And before he knew it, he was helping Nigel get the girl out of the convent. Where the hell they knew each other from, he didn't know, but then again, Nigel always had his secrets.

He didn't think she would agree to drop everything to live with two unemployed, fugitives from the police and weirdos. Girls. There she was, following them through train stations and dark streets.

Saying he liked her was rash, but he did. He's thought so ever since he saw her. The problem isn't her, it's Nigel. He's always in the middle of things, damn it.

As for Nigel, it's good. He's already used to where they live, this abandoned house. They share a rotten mattress that she managed to wash. They steal, do everything illegal, and go back "home." He doesn't care, as long as he wakes up every day with her between him and his Jack. For Alex, trying to hide his morning wood every day when it presses insistently against her back is paying for his sins. He'll never get used to this life, but he knows that he will never be another. Nigel always reminds him of that.

Well, the house is musty and old, but Nigel has managed to make it his "basement." There are books everywhere, the mattress thrown in the corner, a table with his taxidermy things, some things Alex has been bringing (he's accepting the situation), a makeshift stove where she cooks the things she steals. Eating from the trash, never.

Acting weirdly, committing crimes; family business.