Follows Season 2 Episode 4...

She could hear the soft patter of rain against the windows, a sound that normally she found relaxing, one that often eased her into sleep.

But not tonight.

The upholstery of the couch was napped and frayed, with spongy tufts of filling that spilled out from ripped corners, and the whole thing gave off the distinct odor of sweat and weed. Sally Ann tried her best to ignore it, to angle her head a little more so her nose wasn't quite so close to the fabric. It wasn't like last night, as they lay in the hammock, every breath filling her lungs with the air of the mountain, as cool and sweet and intoxicating as he had once described it to her. She still wasn't quite sure why they had needed to leave. Up there, he had family, he had people who could help them. Because they would need help, what with all the things that were about to happen to them, all the things she wasn't really letting herself think about, not just yet.

Down here, they didn't have anybody. She didn't have a home, not with James, and Naomi's house was nothing more than a distant – but still beautiful – memory. The only person they had been able to turn to for help was the last person in the world she would have imagined.

She was surprised he knew Butch. It was a small town, though; everyone knew Butch.

Even she knew him, although they had never been personally acquainted. He had been a few years ahead of her in school, a senior when she was a freshman. But even after he graduated, he never seemed to actually leave, somehow always on the periphery of the school, his Trans Am continually idling not far from the parking lot. And everyone knew, if you were a white kid looking to get shitfaced, you went to Butch, and he would help you out. The cops always looked the other way – they had bigger problems in this town – and Butch and his Trans Am were somehow always around, just as much a fixture as the Zippy Bee after church or Tony's on payday.

She would have thought he would have lived somewhere nicer, for all that he was so well-known.

Sally Ann knew she needed to sleep, but she couldn't, not with the smell of the couch or the strangeness of this small and dirty apartment Hasil had brought her to, not with all the things that had happened in the past few days running through her mind like a movie on endless repeat.

James screaming at her in the alley, his voice so loud in her ears as her foot finally found the gas.

Her hands clenching around the wheel as she suddenly pulled it to the right, the windshield slapped by moonlit branches and her breath catching up to her in shaky gasps.

The silent girl, who took her hand and guided her through the darkness, as if she knew every step by heart.

Hasil's hesitation before he reached out, and then the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, so solid and warm, a sensation of pure comfort she couldn't believe she had denied herself for so long.

The fear that had nestled deep in her belly as they walked together under the yellow circles of the streetlights, the gnawing sensation that they were somehow on the run from something, that they were all alone, about to face a future that neither of them could even comprehend.

It was hard to know what he was thinking. The Hasil she knew – or had known, before the mountain and before their captivity – was an open book, his thoughts and feelings broadcast for the whole world to see. But maybe all that had done something to him. Maybe having to leave his family – this time for good? – had done something to him. Because now, he seemed quieter, cagier, nervous about something he didn't want to share with her. She hoped and prayed that it didn't have anything to do with her, or this baby, or how they were possibly going to take care of it and each other.

Sally Ann let out a tiny sigh and felt him shift behind her on the couch. And then she knew he wasn't asleep either.

"I'm scared," she whispered, so quiet it could barely be heard over the rain.

At that moment, she wasn't sure why she had said anything. Was it just that she needed to say it out loud, to voice the feelings she had been carrying alone for weeks? Or was it that she needed to know that he was there with her, that he cared enough about her to try to make it all go away, if only for a few hours?

"I know." His arm tightened around her waist, but gently enough that she knew he was thinking about the baby, just there, innocent and unaware as it grew inside her.

"You're not?" she asked, this time a little louder.

"Didn' say tha'."

She wasn't sure what she had wanted him to say. Maybe if he had said that he wasn't scared at all, that he had it all figured out, all of it, their lives, their baby's life, that she would never have to worry again… well, she probably would have laughed at him, but at least now she wouldn't be filled with an icy sense of dread that neither of them really knew what to do, or what might happen. To hear him voice the same fears she had been secretly keeping in her heart was too much – she needed him to hold her up, not drown with her.

"Jesus," she breathed, "what are we gonna do?"

His head nudged closer to hers, the side of her neck warming with his breath.

"Hey, shhh…"

Her eyes squeezed shut as she quickly shook her head back and forth. She could feel panic edging into her voice. "I don't know what we're gonna –"

"Listen," he said, softly quieting her, "we don' gotta think 'bout anythin' 'til mornin'. All we gotta do right now is go ta sleep, an' dream sweet dreams, an' then tomorrow, we gon' figure wha' ta do, alright?"

"I just…" And all at once, everything began to flood over her, emotions she couldn't even name pushing up past her throat and filling her eyes with impatient tears. She covered her face with her hand even though she knew no one could see her, until she heard him whispering softly against her hair.

"Hey, hey, now… shhh…" His voice was quiet and calm, as if he were talking to a spooked animal. Sally Ann felt herself getting angry – she didn't need him talking down to her – and then she heard him start to hum… or to sing. She couldn't really tell. If it was singing, she didn't understand it, not the words or the language, but the low, intoned sounds he was making were somehow beautiful in spite of their strangeness. From the hazy recesses of her mind, she suddenly remembered how her momma had used to sing to her when she was little, how she would jump into the bed on dark nights and press her face against the thin cotton of her momma's nightgown, strong spindly arms wrapping around her as she fell asleep to the comforting verses of mercy and salvation. And then she started crying again, crying for a mother she had lost, for the family she had never really had, for the child they had made that now needed her – and her love – more than anything.

"It's all gon' be alright, I promise," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her shoulder.

Was that what she needed to hear? Maybe it was. Because after a time she nodded, sniffing a little and breathing steadily until everything had settled down, into a place somewhere near her heart, and she stilled, her tired body eventually surrendering to the warm embrace of sleep.