<strong>Day Three</strong><br/><br/>Irene lay atop Sam, pleased and comfortable.  “If I crush your chest, just shove me off, Sam,” she said.  “I feel like a fallen cake; sort of oozy and shapeless.”  She shifted, moving her lower body to the side so she could drape across Sam and have an easier view of his face as she rested her head on him.<br/><br/>“You sound like you mean that...about giving up on chasing fugitives from justice,” Irene said, watching Sam’s expression as she traced designs on his chest with a fingertip.  “What would you do?  If you could pick whatever profession in the world that you wanted, what would it be, Sam?”<br/><br/>Irene watched Sam, aware of the brightness and warmth of the room as the day fully bloomed.  She would have drawn the shutters by now on most days.  And, she’d be downstairs, getting the bar set for the day.  She hoped Guinevara would understand...  She felt torn; she owed Guinevara a lot for giving her a job and a place.  But, Sam wasn’t someone she was willing to risk losing and she figured the madam would understand; it wasn’t everyday that people like them found someone willing to treat them like people.<br/>