This is basically "Something to Believe In," so kind of an extension of The Kiss? Also, I didn't really edit this that much, so there might be a few mistakes, but I'm also ridiculously happy with it, for no particular reason :)

In other notes, sorry that I haven't really been responding to anyone who reviews lately . . . I swear, I'm going to try to do better with this one, so please please please tell me what you think! It's just, I've been so busy filling out scholarship applications that I haven't had time to check reviews as often, and by this point I've kind of just forgotten who I responded to (oops :), so a general shoutout to everyone who reviewed in the last couple of weeks: THANK YOU!

Standard disclaimers apply.

He is angry, so angry, that she kept her identity from him. Not only did she not trust him — which hurts more than he'd ever admit, because the only thing he's ever had to call his own besides the clothes on his back is others' trust in him — but her father is the man who's trying to starve his boys, the reason Crutchie is in the Refuge right now, and that's not okay. He has every right to be angry. She should expect him to be furious.

But that's not why he pushes her away.

He holds the true reason in his hands, the wrinkled and water-stained rolls of rough paper clenched in his fists. If he's being honest with himself, the fact that he's still learning such enormous secrets about her only serves as a reminder of the things he wants to — has to — hide from her. She was never supposed to see these drawings. How could she ever want him if she knows that he was locked up, and not for no reason? What would she say if she ever found out everything that happened to him there?

Then again, why would she ever want him anyway?

He has nothing — nothing — to offer her. He's never exactly been nice to her, either flirting with or yelling at her but always acting, if he's being honest, like the uneducated street rat that he is but desperately doesn't want to be. He could never buy her a home they could share or a fancy dress, or support any potential children. He can't be particularly interesting to talk to, and he probably doesn't even smell very nice right now. His one purpose in her life was to help her with her article, and now that's over and done. So why is she still here?

And then, on top of that he's also a wanted criminal, and he's been beaten more times than he can count, slept with more girls than he can count, has more scars than he can count. And on top of all of that he wants to leave New York and move far away and never come back, and that means he could never see her again.

Really, he can't pinpoint a specific reason he's pushing her away. There are too many. He just knows he has to.

But she's not listening. She's plotting, and then kissing him, and now expecting him to go along with every insane idea her crazy mind comes up with. So he's angry.

"Why are you mad at me?" she asks, so quietly he barely hears it. Her hand is still in his, and though he's turned away again so he's not facing her, he still hasn't let go. He shrugs, and she scowls. "I know you're angry that I lied, and I'm sorry. But you didn't tell me everything either."

That's why he's mad. But he can't exactly articulate that. Because it doesn't really make sense.

"It's just been a long day," he mutters finally, and that's part of the truth at least, but he can see that she doesn't believe him. She bites her lip, and he realizes that his being angry with her has an unintended side effect — it makes her sad. He never really meant to do that.

"I tried so hard to get my father to change his mind, about everything," she whispers, shaking her head. "It's not my fault he didn't. Please don't hate me."

She blinks up at him then, and when he meets her eyes his stomach clenches up in a strange squirming sensation. "I don't hate you," he says once he catches his breath. "How do you honestly– I could never– I mean, look at you!"

He eyes her up and down, smiling teasingly, and sticks out his tongue at her when she snorts in disbelief. It's easier to go back to this shallow flirting than to actually acknowledge what's actually happening between them.

"Watch it, Kelly," she says, bumping her shoulder against his. He bumps back, lightly.

"Seriously, though, Plumber," he murmurs. "After everything you've done for the boys — for me — I could never hate you."

"Then you're not mad?" she says, eyes shining, and when he shakes his head she throws her arms around him. She burrows her face in his neck rather than aiming for his lips this time, and she's not exactly gentle.

He flinches back, hissing, then curses himself for making the smile disappear off her face again.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice a mix of worry and confusion. Her hands linger on his sides for a moment, then are retracted quickly as she wraps her arms around herself.

No, he's not okay. His best friend is locked up, his other friends hate him, he hasn't worked in days and can't afford dinner, and he's a wanted criminal. Oh, and most painfully right now, he was just beaten by her father's loyal employees in her father's basement, and then attacked by his own friends after he did something he honest-to-God thought would save them all. So yeah, he's feeling a little tired and bruised, thank you very much.

"'M fine," he manages to force out through gritted teeth. She eyes him warily but doesn't speak. Is it because she doesn't know how to make him feel better? Or because she doesn't care to?

"I tried to get to you last night," she says suddenly.

What?

"The Delancies wouldn't let me past at first, and my father was upset I even tried to follow you," she adds, not looking at him now. "But once he was back upstairs in his office, and the Delancies thought I'd left too, I snuck back to try to talk to you."

Damn.

Nothing good could have come from that. He wants her to stop talking, but she doesn't. "And I— I heard you yelling, and I knew they were hurting you, and the door was locked so I ran to get the key, but I couldn't find it and by the time I got back everything was quiet—"

"Katherine," he says, his voice low and rough, but he doesn't know what else to say. What can you say to that? She blinks at him — it's the first time he hasn't called her "Plumber," he realizes, and it's not because he knows now that's not her real name — but there are tears in her eyes.

"I thought maybe you were asleep, but I also wondered if they knocked you out, and either way there was nothing I could do . . . That's why you should be mad at me," she says. "I couldn't even protect you in my own home. Why did I ever think I could protect you boys out here in this horrible, cruel world?"

"But you can," he says, grinning at her suddenly even though he feels anything but cheerful. He may be tired and hungry and hurt, and ashamed as hell that she was anywhere near the basement last night while the Delancies tried out their new brass knuckles on their favorite punching bag, but he knows he doesn't want her to cry, more than anything. He wants her to smile, and laugh, and maybe even kiss him again. "Because your plan was pretty damn good."

"You think so?" she asks, looking at him curiously, like she honestly wasn't sure. And maybe she's not — she probably doesn't get much support for her endeavors either, he realizes. He nods.

"I really do," he assures her. "So let's do it tonight."

If he thought that would throw her, he's wrong — she sets her face into a determined expression and nods, marching to the edge of the roof and starting the long climb down the fire escape. "We'll just have to stop and get my keys so we can get in, and then we can start," she says as she descends.

Jack follows her down the roof and to the street, but she turns in the opposite direction of Pulitzer's building.

"You don't live with your father?" Jack asks, both because he's genuinely curious and because there's no way in hell he'd ever want go back there once this is all over. Not that he's necessarily going to see Katherine ever again, but there's always the smallest possibility . . . She shakes her head, smiling.

"Of course not," she says, grinning. "You're not the only one who finds him insufferable, you know. I have my own place — I moved out just after I got my job at the Sun."

"Well. Okay, then," he says, feeling a little lighter, and then they're on their way to her apartment so they can save the world.

I've been looking for a way to explain how Jack knew where Katherine lived to find himself in her room at the beginning of Aftermath, so there you go! Thoughts? Reviews are confidence boosters!

Much love,
KnightNight