The sun was rising, and the only thing on her mind was that as soon as she made it back to the apartment, she could fall onto her creaking, tiny bed, and sleep. Sleep for a good long while. Hours. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, there was the niggling hope that maybe she wouldn't wake up.

Bruises faded, nearly broken bones healed, new ones formed, cuts and scratches hastily bandaged. Life, in a hazy blur, one night stringing into the next, a carousel of loud and smoky pubs, and dark alleys, and the streets between. Her life, spinning, horribly, sickeningly, out of control. She had nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep her feet on the ground, and only the thinnest ties even keeping her from bolting, running, headlong and blindly into the night.

Whisp was starting to show, in spite of malnutrition, and her drinking. She had tried to convince the girl to stop working, maybe find one of those homes for wayward girls, but the horror stories were enough to keep Whisp on the streets, getting lost in a haze every bit as bad as her own. It was painful to watch, to be a part of.

In fact, the only one the whole thing wasn't wearing down was Imp. And it was probably because the girl was a born con artist, already a skilled pickpocket, and more than just a little loose with her favors. She had settled in nicely, and eventually, over time, even Jack learned to joke with her, at night, in the bars, when he allowed himself to be seen with them.

In spite of everything, amazingly, he had managed to hold his other life together. His girl, so smart, apparently, so clever, and perfect, either knew and wanted to ignore it, or was blind, and refused to see, and the same went for his partner, the one with the silly grin, and the stick up his ass.

Not that she saw them any more, and of them. She never did, unless she wandered into the wrong streets at the wrong time of day. Unless she was horribly hungover, and taking the wrong path back. Unless a pack of newsboys nearly ran her over as she was trudging home. Unless a smirking Jack Kelly came to a stop right in front of her, forcing her to come to a stop before she ran into him.

"Well, well, Goldilocks. You look worn out. Too many drunk sailors wanting your company last night?" His voice drawled, loud enough to be heard, as though he hadn't seen her the night before, as though he hadn't had a drink with her.

She winced, and prepared to duck around him, hurry on her way, startled into stopping when Race's voice piped up.

"Leave her alone, Cowboy. It's your damn fault, anyway, anything she's done. How much of a cut do you get at the end of the night?" He wasn't looking at either of them, his voice off-handed, and he didn't stop walking, passing them and continuing on, as though intending to just pretend he hadn't said anything. But the chorus of whispers and gasping forced him to stop.

"What was that, Racetrack?" Jack's smirk had faded into a slight snarl, and his fingers were clenching and unclenching, balling into fists, and then slacking again.

"I said it was your damn fault. You were the one who bullied her into it. And the others. And Whisp? Yeah, I saw her the other day. She's pregnant. She's a kid, Cowboy. And she's givin you, what? Half? Of what she makes on the street, knocked up with god knows who's baby." He turned and caught Jack's partner's eye, amid the crowd that was gathering around them in the small square outside the distribution center. "Did you know that, David? What your friend does at night? Where he gets that extra money he's hoardin away?"

The curly-haired boy gave Jack a confused look, hesitating a bit. "What's he talking about, Jack?"

Before Jack could actually answer, Race answered for him. "Goldie here, and Lia, and Haze, and Imp and Whisp, you remember Whisp? Tiny little girl? Yeah, Jacky-boy here has them workin for him, at night, out of the Dancin Dove down the way a bit. He takes half of what they make, for doin nothin, just sittin around in a bar, drinkin. That might be something Sarah would want to know."

David's face went from white to red, to darker red, jumping back slightly when Jack fist took a flying swing at Race's nose. And while it might be said that Race didn't stand a chance, when it came to a fight with Jack, he held his own in the ensuing fight, both landing punches, and kicks, and only stopping when other boys pulled them apart.

That ugly look that Goldie had seen on Jack's face, the one she hadn't known if anyone else had ever seen, well, everyone was seeing it now, as he snarled at Race, spitting blood at his feet. "What did you think tellin everyone was gonna do, Race? Did you think maybe she'd stop hanging around the street corner and take you back? You want to be with her? She's nothin."

"If she's nothin, then you're less than nothin, you bastard." Given the amount of blood dripping off of Race's nose, it was obvious it was broken. And while her instinct was telling her to run, she hurried to Race's side, fumbled for a handkerchief, offering it to him. She was aware, of course she was aware, that by going to Race to check on him, rather than Jack, she saying she cared more about him than she did about keeping Jack happy, and she would pay for it later, she could see it in Jack's eyes.

Jack shook off any attempt at helping him, straightening, tugging his hat up onto his head, his eyes narrowed, ignoring David's look of betrayal, the whispers of the other boys, the crooked looks he was getting. "At least I'm not stupid enough to think a girl like her is worth wasting my time on. You're welcome to her, just remember to pay her when you're done. Unless she gives you the stupid sap discount." Hands in his pockets, he walked through the small crowd, parting it without effort, as though suddenly, no one wanted to even touch him, just in case. He seemed to be heading back towards the lodging house, but she was more worried about Race than about where Jack was going.

"You shouldn't have said that, Race. It isn't as though I don't have enough trouble already without Sarah Jacobs tracking me down to kill me." Her voice was light, meant only for Race to hear, but apparently David had better hearing than she thought.

"Is it true? Do you...work for Jack? Like that?" He had that look that vets sometimes got, when they were recalling a missile going off too close to them, blank and sort of shocked.

"David...everythin's really complicated, and it's not really what it seems-"

Race cut her off, his voice flat, blunt. "Yes. She does." He pulled away from her, shoving the bloodied handkerchief into her hand, and storming off into the distribution center without another word.

David didn't seem to have another word for her either, silently drifting after Race, the others slowly following. She was left standing alone in the little courtyard, shaking and on the verge of tears, finally just bolting for her horrible little apartment, desperately hoping that if she just got some sleep, she could wake up and have that entire disaster turn out to have been nothing more than a nightmare. She couldn't make sense of it, why Race would do something like that, why Jack would have punched him for it, why Jack bothered to talk to her at all, except to make her feel small and unimportant.

He was going to be so angry with her.