Hello, dears. This is my first official fanfic. I based it on the 1968 Oliver! movie just because I fell in love with Ron Moody's Fagin. I have not read the novel but might so things could change. They probably wont, but there is still that possibility. Of course, I only own Miss Estelle and the plot line. Everything else belongs to their rightful owners.

Enjoy!

Walking down the old street sent shivers of an oddly nostalgic feeling down my spine. Why I ever came back was beyond me. Maybe I really did miss him though I doubted he remembered me. I didn't know where he was or if he was still here. Had he left? Had he been hung?

I wondered into the tavern he had spent so much time in, hoping that if he was still here, his routine wouldn't have changed much. It wasn't as crowded as I recalled but it was still early; the sun was just beginning to set. After sitting at a lone table and ordering a beer, it wasn't long before the night crowd came in. The swoosh of a familiar green coat caught my eye.

It was him.

A strange feeling fluttered in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I wasn't used too, partially because it was the reason I left in the first place. Apparently I had missed him a lot more than I thought I did. He didn't look much different, just older and lankier. His clothes were the same, only dirtier. By now, he was 20 or 21; I had only been gone for a few years. I watched as he began to scan the room. His analytical stare hadn't changed much either. I glanced down as he gaze went over me. It was almost like I didn't want him to remember me. I almost jumped out of my seat when I looked up to see him sitting across from me - smiling.

"'Ello, Estelle, my dear. Been awhile, 'asn't it?" His voice was deeper. He was not the child I had met years back. His eyes said he had seen more, been through more.

"It 'as. Did ya miss me?"

"Of course!" He exclaimed with a smirk.

"To be honest, I didn't think ya would've remembered me."

"Not remember you? How could I forget! Ya lived with me for a year." He smiled again.

"I did, didn't I?" I leaned forward and took a sip of my warming beer. It seemed liked forever since I had shared a home with the pickpocket before me. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were taking in my changes, my attitude. Looking down from his stare, I found a long, blonde goatee that definitely was not there last I saw him. "What's this, Fagin?" I giggled as I pinched the hair on his chin.

"Makes me look more defined, don't it?"

"Makes ya look older." I pulled my hand away as he chuckled quietly. He looked at me again, except this time with his usual, unreadable stare.

"Where've you been?" His voice was riddled with a care I had never heard before.

"Away."

"But where, dear? I'm quite aware you've been away."

"What does it matter, Fagin? I'm 'ere now, ain't I?" I snapped at him but quickly regretted it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" I started to apologize but he stopped me.

"No need for apologies. It wasn't my place to ask."

"No, no. You 'ad every right to ask." I looked up at the thief and attempted a smile. He grinned an almost cunning grin.

"Why'd you come back?"

"You're determined to get some sort of answer, ain't ya?" I smiled as a mischievous spark appeared in his eyes.

"You left without a single word in the middle of the night! I deserve some sort of answer."

"I came back 'cause I needed a job." I half lied. "Pickpocketin' wasn't enough." Something in his demeanor told me that he knew I was lying but he didn't address it.

"You can stay with me while you're lookin' for a job, my dear. You're always welcome."

"I might take ya up on that, Fagin. I hadn't really thought about lodgings." I chuckled as I looked down at my empty mug.

"All your things are right where ya left them."

"Ya haven't changed flats? No close calls with the beaks?" I couldn't help but grin when I saw him begin to shake his head.

"No, no. I've had me share of close calls. Just never close enough for me to have to move."

"It'll be nice to be back." I turned my head to the side. "Do ya remember how I ended up here in the first place?" He smiled.

"How could I forget?"

She watched him with wide eyes as he strolled nonchalantly down the street, his swift fingers swiping a wallet from an unsuspecting man, who was more concerned with looking in a shop's window. The pickpocket continued down the street and she followed with haste, but only after making sure he wouldn't notice her. He looked the same age as her, maybe a year or two older; barely 17. It wasn't hard to tell this was what he did for a living. His clothes were torn and worn. The oversized green jacket he wore was the only article that looked somewhat new. But the girl didn't care about his appearance; she didn't look much better.

He ducked down a small alley way, causing her to stop at the entrance. He began flipping through the bills inside, counting his profit. As he began to look around, checking for followers, the young girl hid behind the wall. When she finally found the courage to look back, he was gone. She ran through the alley, attempting to find the boy again.

Her eyes fell on him stealing another wallet, then continuing down the street. Her heart raced as she ran up behind him. Something about the tall boy intrigued her. He didn't seem to notice the tag-along until she spoke.

"Could you teach me how to do that?" She asked quietly. He stopped abruptly and turned to her, giving her an odd look. He had a long face with small features and his sandy hair was pushed back, waving sightly.

"Teach you what?" He responded innocently, putting his hands in his pockets. She looked up at him with bright eyes, noticing the fact he was near two heads taller than her, if not a little more.

"You know what." She fired back with a sheepish smile. He fought smiling back and nodded for her to follow him. She kept up with him, though it was complicated. His long legs made it easier for him to walk faster. "What's your name?"

"Fagin."

"What an odd name." She giggled and looked up to catch his smile.

"And yours?"

"Estelle."

"You, my dear, are the one with the odd name." Fagin snickered as he grabbed her sleeve and pulled her down another road. They walked in silence until he was content with the area, sure that nobody would see them. She leaned up against the nearest wall as he yanked a red handkerchief out of his pocket. "Hide this, my dear. I'll demonstrate on you then you can try on me." The young boy smiled as he held out the cloth. She took it and turned, stuffing it into the left breast pocket of her jacket. When she turned back and looked at the pickpocket, he spun on his heel and began to walk around the small alley. He was humming to himself. She followed his movements before created her own route. Estelle turned quickly when he cleared his throat behind her. He was standing much closer than she suspected. "Excuse me, Miss." He faked a pristine accent.

"Yes, good sir?" She played along with the role.

"I was wondering what a young girl, such as yourself, is doing on the street?" He continued with the act but it was easy to tell he actually wanted to know. She caught on but continued the charade.

"Wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose." She stepped back, knowing at any moment he would make his move to take the handkerchief. He was quick to step forward, clearing more space in one step than she had in two. She stared up at him, clearly entranced. He brought his left hand up to cup the side of her face. In that moment, Estelle forgot about the handkerchief, forgot about her home, or really not having a home. She wanted to know more about this strange blue-eyed boy.

"Such a pretty girl. Too pretty to be thievin' on the streets." He spoke softly before retreating, skipping to the other wall. Her eyes followed him before darting to her pocket. The red cloth was gone. He was smirking at her, flipping the handkerchief around his finger. "Your turn."

"Ya tricked me."

"Yes, I did. But it worked, didn't it?" His eyebrows raised quizzically though it was a rhetorical question.

"I suppose it did. Did ya mean it, though?" It was the question that had been glued to the walls of my mind ever sense the day I met him.

"Mean what, my dear?"

"Did ya mean it when ya said I was pretty?" I was quick to look down, almost fearful of the answer.

"Of course. Why would I lie about such a thing?" He purred. It struck a nerve somewhere deep inside me. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I just shrugged and looked up into his blue eyes.

"I couldn't seem to distract you as well." I paused. "You're a very clever gentleman." His nose scrunched up at the word gentleman. His dramatic and animated facial expressions were one of the things I missed most. He was still a very interesting person. Very, very interesting.

"I always 'ave been, my dear Estelle."