A/N: This is a short story that I did for an assignment in Creative Writing. My sister, Kat1132, convinced me to post it against my better judgment. Please be kind and courteous and leave me a review if you enjoyed it, though keep in mind that it is an experiment in characterization written at around two in the morning.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cain Hargreaves or anything affiliated with Godchild.

Getting Even

Early on in his life, during his first of many trips to Paris, Cain Hargreaves had decided that it was one of the most abysmal excuses for a cultural center he had ever been exposed to. His option had not changed over the years, but his personal hobby of collecting rare poisons continued to draw him there. The streets were grimy and the air was thick with the smog of industrialization as he stepped out of his carriage. As an Earl, he had more than enough money for such extravagance.

He was crossing the street to his destination when he felt someone bump into him. It was a boy, no older than eleven. Whoever the boy was, he was undoubtedly a very good foist and made as much money as one could be expected to. Someone less aware would have never noticed him. Cain, however, being intuitive, realized that his wallet had just been lifted from his pocket. Reaching down quickly he gripped the boy's wrist. Pulling it up, effectively stopping the boy from fleeing, he raised a delicate eyebrow and looked at the boy expectantly. The boy looked shocked a first by the revelation of being caught, but his expression soon turned blank as he looked up at the Earl, waiting to be spoken to. A slight contest of wills took place, neither side willing to give in. They took that time to study each other.

Before the young urchin stood an Earl of the highest esteem, an impressive example of wealth and good breeding that was indicative of the higher class. Before the Earl stood a wisp of a boy. His cloths were ratty and tattered, his hair matted. They were on opposite sides of the spectrum. The lowest and highest. And yet there they stood, brought together by the twists of coincidence, fighting a small battle and no matter how far apart they were socially, in this conflict, they were on equal footing.

As Cain predicted, the boy gave in first. He looked away and Cain felt a small twinge of satisfaction. He held out his free hand. The boy stared at it for a moment. He twisted out of Cain's grasp, slippery as a fish, and stepped out of Cain's reach before he could react. To the Earl's surprise, the boy did not run. He would not have been able to catch him if he had, but the boy stayed. He pulled the wallet out of his pocket and tossed it on the ground in front of Cain.

"Only because you caught me," the boy said in heavily accented English. The boy turned and strolled away, his hands in his pockets and whistling a happy tune before turning down a side ally, disappearing from sight.

Cain bent down to pick up his wallet. He smiled wiry. It had been a while since he had had to pick up anything, and he knew that was the boy's reason for leaving it on the ground. So that even though Cain had 'won', he still was brought down a notch. Re-pocketing his wallet, he shook his head. Putting the event out of his mind, he continued across the cobblestone road.

The shop that he had spent the last three weeks traveling to was somewhat of a letdown, but Cain was never one to take things at face value, and while his young age and oddities made the other nobles of England nervous, his skills of observation gained him much respect amongst their circle. He entered the shop. The woman at behind the desk looked up from her embroidery. She looked startled by the darkly attractive young man, as the gold eyes he bore were not common. Cain flashed her a quick and charming smile.

"Hello," he said as he took off his top hat.

"Hello, sir. May I help you?" she said. Cain smiled at her.

"Yes, mCain. I am looking for a man named Guy D'Oily and was told that I could find him here. Is he available?" The man he spoke of was the owner of the shop and an alchemist who had developed the poison that Cain was seeking. The woman nodded and put down her embroidery. She walked through the door behind her, leaving him to look around the shop. Perfumes. How very French, but still, he could scarcely think of a better front for a poisons maker. There were many small vials filled with many liquids that a few extra would go unnoticed. The woman returned and reseated herself.

"My husband will be here momentarily," she said. Cain nodded in acquiescence.

A moment later, a rotund man with a large handle bar mustache that reminded Cain privately of a ferret burst through the door, his arms spread invitingly as he walked around the counter to shake Cain's hand and pat him on the back like an old friend saying.

"Hello Monsieur Hargreaves. So good to see you again. How have thing been in London?"

"Very well sir, thank you. Has my order been made ready?" Cain asked, returning the handshake with somewhat less enthusiasm than it was given.

"Ah, well, straight to business then? Don't fret. I have it here," he reached behind the counter and brought out a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid. Handling it gingerly, he walked back to the Earl, who was currently brining out the accurate amount of franks to pay the man. He handed Guy the money and extracted the poison from his grubby fingers, securing it in his breast pocket as Guy counted his money. Satisfied, the man turned to Cain.

"A pleasure doing business with you as usual, Monsieur Cain. I hope that when you are in Paris again, you will not hesitate to stop by. You never know what I may have in stock."

"You can be sure of it Monsieur D'Oily." Cain said as they shook hand again before he exited on to the street again. H sat in his carriage that had been waiting for him.

"Where to, sir," the footman asked.

"To my lodging, with haste if you will." Cain answered. He looked out the window and watched the city of extravagance pass by. The women in all of their fashion held no appeal to him as they appeared false and over done. They walked around with their noses so high in the air that if you looked hard enough, you might see the empty space where their brains were supposed to be. That is not to say the men were any better. They passed the courthouse, several salons, and the newly burned down Opera Populaire until they reach hotel he was to stay.

The next day, Cain rode down to the docks, where he was to sail down the Seine River, across the Channel and home to England. Cain stepped out onto the slippery wooden piers. The fog was thick as he and the manservant who was carrying luggage passed through the heavy morning crowds.

There was a disturbance to the side of the crowd that had attracted some attention. A guard was shouting and people had gathered in a circle. They had begun to filter away as Cain, curious, approached. To his surprise, it was the boy from the day before that was at the center of the problem. A guard had him by the arm and was hauling him off. While the guard was furious and yelling, Cain picking up a few words like 'thief' and 'filthy' in the rapidly incoherent French flying out of his mouth, the boy looked almost pleased, smug even. He caught sight of Cain and smiled slyly before he stumbled as the guard dragged him along, forcing him to focus on where he was going. The pair moved closer to Cain and he surprised himself by calling out.

"Excuse me Guard," he said. His voice was commanding in the way of someone who was used to being obeyed and it caused the guard to stop. The boy looked at Cain, startled. "Perhaps you might let this one slide, as this boy is an acquaintance of mine." He continued, eyes never leaving the guard. Even though he had said 'perhaps', there was no 'perhaps' in his tone. The guard looked wide eyed between the boy and the English nobleman, disbelieving.

"S-sir, this boy is a thief and he has picked his last pocket," the guard struggled to get out as the force of the unnatural amber eyes bore down on him. Cain reached into his pocket and brought out two gold coins.

"Would you reconsider?" He said, with a bored kind of patience. The guard swallowed. The money the young man was swinging around was more than a month of wages, two even, and as much as he wanted to take the boy in, the bribe was too good to pass up. He released the boy roughly and took the coins from Cain's waiting hand, before stalking off.

Cain turned to the boy, once again impressed that he was still there. The little brat was smirking in an antagonizing manner. Cain returned his gaze.

"You owe me." Cain said flatly. The boy's smirk grew wider as he replied, before once again disappearing into the maze of streets and people that was Paris.

"We're even."