The next day, Dodger was feeling a good few bruises. It seemed the kick he'd received had done a little more damage than he'd first thought. Shifting in his bed to try and get comfortable, his mind was once again on his mother. He knew he couldn't keep it up, he'd have to train himself to stop associating the barge with that sick woman- especially as now he was dedicated to sticking around. In a fitful night of sleep, Dodger had reached the conclusion that it would be best for everyone if he stepped down from his role of leader while he was still fixing up his head. Admittedly, it would dent his pride to give up a position of influence- if there was one thing he loved, it was the admiration he received from the rest of the gang, but in all honesty, they'd been not much of a gang in recent weeks. With Dodger missing in action more often than not, and Rita frequently taking time out with her father, it was now rare for more than three of them to be together in one place once they left the barge. Dodger had been sure they were onto something good, and if he was sticking around, he was going to make his gang work, even if it meant he needed help in the short term. His mind made up, all that was left was to put the plan to Rita, his proposed new leader.

The heroic rescue of Fagin was still the hot topic of discussion, and Tito was quickly bouncing around Dodger's bed, raring to hear another account of the altercation, while Francis shouted at him to keep the noise down, before quizzing Dodger himself. Einstein was sticking close to Fagin, tending to his cuts and bruises in a slobbery fashion. As per the norm, Rita was last to wake, but eventually joined the others. Discreetly, she checked Dodger over for any worrisome injuries.

It was only when Fagin pulled himself up and headed toward the door that Dodger saw a chance to talk to Rita about his plan- the others had been quick to run outside, while Rita was still concerned enough about her potentially wounded friend that she hung back. Dodger hated to admit to weakness- and an admission that he wasn't up to leading the gang would be tough to get out, but there seemed to be no other way around this. At least, he thought, Rita was already well aware that something was wrong anyway. That he was struggling would not be news to her.

"So I've been thinkin'," Dodger said, catching Rita's eye before she turned to follow the others, "things haven't really been workin' that well recently. It's all sorta fallin' apart. Being leader of the gang… I'm not sure I should be doin' it right now."

Rita was surprised, but didn't show it. "You're right, it has been hard. It's almost like we've got some rain cloud hanging over us that won't shift- it's been so much harder to be happy these days." She sighed, gazing wistfully at her old friend. Would she ever get him back- the way he used to be, the way he was meant to be? Rita had to put her faith in him, the one person she most believed in. "But we look to you, we- I trust you to get us through whatever this is."

The words gave Dodger a pleasantly warm feeling, but nonetheless didn't solve his problem. "I want you to take over. Maybe not forever, just 'til I get my head straight. You've always been the sensible one anyhow, it'd be better that way."

Rita shook her head. It hadn't surprised her that this was where the conversation was going, but she didn't like it one bit. She just didn't feel she could just take over leadership of the gang; she wasn't Dodger and never would be. He fit the role and had the full confidence of his friends. But there was more than that stopping her. "I'm sorry, Dodge, I can't," she said, watching as the fleeting hope slipped from his face. "You're the leader, and you're the leader for a reason."

"Come on, Rit," Dodger said, "you know you're more than capable…"

Rita cut across him. "I had someone look to me to take care of them once, and it didn't end well. I'm not stupid enough to think it was completely my fault, but it comes down to the same- I failed and she's dead. I can't, Dodge."

Of course, thought Dodger, Willow. He hadn't imagined that it would still be playing on Rita's mind after all that time. It seemed family left scars even when long gone- that much he could certainly understand. "All right. I get it," he said. It was a disappointment, but not worth pushing the matter.

Relieved though she was that Dodger was quick to drop the idea, Rita was touched that he had the faith in her to make such a proposition. "Anything I can do to help though- apart from lookin' after the guys, you know I'm always on your side."

"Maybe I should take you on as my personal advisor? Make use of that good head you got on your shoulders without layin' the responsibility on ya? You're pretty much second in charge round here anyhow," Dodger suggested.

Rita smiled warmly, her tail wagging appreciatively. "'Course. Whatever you need. But, honey, things will get better. I promise you."

She was sincere, and Dodger knew it, but just because she believed something didn't make it true. He tried to return the smile, and was relieved when a loud honk from the scooter outside acted as a distraction.

"Come on, you two! Let's get going!" Fagin shouted from up on the docks.


Stuck in his position of leadership, Dodger still didn't feel up to being surrounded by his comrades. It turned out, though, that he didn't have to. Young Tito was bouncing off the pavement within seconds of leaping from the scooter- he was looking for fun and wasn't going to wait around for the recently less-than-playful Dodger. He ran off, with Einstein racing after him, his enormous tail whipping the air in joy as he went. It was with a little sadness that Dodger watched them disappear into the traffic. He used to have fun like that- running wildly into the city with an expectation of adventure and the carefree spirit to love every minute. Would that be gone from him forever? He'd not really played since the run in with his mother… he'd join in half-heartedly every now and then, but it was just going through the motions, not really letting himself go. It was as though he'd fallen into a sort of daze, stretching on for weeks and weeks. He kept waiting to snap out of it, but it still hadn't happened.

"Dodge!" Rita barked, "Are you okay, sweetie? You look like you're miles away."

Dodger shook himself. "Yeah, sure. Musta drifted off a second," he said.

"Where to today, Dodger?" said Francis, his chest puffed out as though expecting important instructions that he would, of course, leap to. "I fear you a long overdue one of my performances; perhaps we might remedy that."

Dodger grinned. It was obvious that the bulldog shared his passion for showing off. "You got a point. I've gotta make sure you're puttin' out your best work, can't have you slacking on my watch."

Francis' corkscrew tail wiggled happily.

"If you don't mind," said Rita, "I might skip theatre school for the day. I'm still theatred out from all that Shakespeare stuff I sat through." She'd kept her word several weeks back and, along with the incredibly excited Francis, managed to sneak in to observe Shakespeare in the Park. Francis had been delighted, but Rita had decided that it wasn't really her cup of tea. She preferred a bit of daytime television, which at least didn't require getting translations for each line from her increasingly irritated cultured friend. Rita suspected that Francis might have been rather less patient with her had he not kept reminding himself that it was she who was responsible for his experiencing it in the first place.

"Off to find Pops again?" Dodger asked. It seemed that Storm was fast becoming Rita's companion of choice. He felt a slight prickle of jealousy every time she ran off, but reminded himself that he'd not exactly been filling his role of best friend, playmate and partner in crime in the way he used to. When he was with Rita these days, he usually just quietly enjoyed her company. In some ways they were closer than before, but the fun they'd once had seemed to be a thing of the past.

Rita shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. I'm bringing home some serious loot today," she said with a wink. "If I've still got time afterwards I might try and track him down." She glanced over Dodger, seeing a flash of what looked like longing behind his eyes. "You want to hang out with us later? We might go over Coney Island way- best hotdogs around. Bet ya can't say no to that?"

Francis sniffed. Coney Island was not his cup of tea. Dodger, however, looked tempted.

"I might take you up on that," the mutt said, turning to make a move. "See ya round, babe."

Rita flashed him a grin, and smoothly vaulted herself onto the nearest car. Before long, she'd raced out of sight.

For a moment, Dodger stared off into the distance, his eyes resting on the last place he'd seen the hound. He felt a strong urge to run after her. He wanted to be the way he used to; making a spectacle of himself for her benefit, fooling around at the expense of hapless strangers, feeling a part of the city he loved- no worries and no cares. Rita was just the same as she'd always been; older, more mature, though she was- a little tougher and a little more dignified, but she was still the same Rita he'd grown to love when they were pups. And what was he? He didn't feel like Dodger anymore. The old Dodger was still there, he was sure of it, but where?

A loud rumbling caused Dodger to grin and turn around. "Hungry, Francis?"

"It sounds that way," the bulldog chuckled.

"We might put theatre school on hold- I'll find ya somethin' out a trashcan to keep ya goin' in the meantime."

With no need to go far, Dodger knocked over a can right beside the skid marks on the ground from where Fagin had screeched his scooter to a halt. "Bon appetit!"

They tucked in, digging excitedly through the assorted rubbish. It was something that Francis had become well accustomed to, and no longer even thought to complain. Food was food.

"It seems I forgot to mention it," said Francis, looking up from his snuffling through the trash, "but it was really something yesterday, protecting Fagin the way you did. How fortunate he is to have you."

Dodger couldn't help but grin. He had a right to feel proud after standing up for someone of importance to him. "Woulda done it for any of you, and I'm sure you'd have all done the same."

Francis was still looking at the young mutt with the greatest of admiration. Had such attention been directed at less of a show-off, the expression might almost be taken as sickening, but Dodger lapped it up. "You really are a fine young dog Dodger, remarkable for one with such humble roots. I must apologise for ever doubting you as a leader," Francis said, bowing his head dramatically.

"No probs," Dodger said, "I guess I should apologise for givin' you a hard time when you were startin' out, shouldn't I? I'll admit it though; it was a load of fun."

Francis chuckled and walked on to the next narrow street. Barely had Dodger a chance to register his friend's movement when a strange scent hit him… a scent that made his blood run cold. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the scent carried fear… dogs in terror. And then there was a great howl ringing in the air.

Without a second's hesitation, Dodger flung himself toward the direction of that terrible sound. He had to get to Francis. There was a human pinning the bulldog, gasping for breath, against the wall with looped wire stick. In the seconds before Dodger could look at him before he bit into the leg of the attacker, he noticed that the human didn't look like a dogcatcher, not the ones he was used to. The human looked rough, stinking of alcohol and wearing a stained shirt that looked nothing like a dogcatcher's uniform. Whoever this was, Dodger wasn't about to let him take Francis.

"Dodger…" Francis gasped, his eye rolling back, searching. "Behind…"

Even before the words got out, a swooping sound behind Dodger caused him to look up, but it was too late. The wire noose was already around his head and tightening, holding him fast. Dodger hollered his defiance, snarls ringing in his throat, his legs flailing, clawing at the air, but he was lifted up off his paws. He'd been too charge in, not even looking to take in the situation. His panic to get to Francis had gotten the better of him. His heart pounding, Dodger watched as Francis was dragged, seemingly frozen in fear, toward a dark, windowless van and hastily bundled inside.

"Francis! Francis!" Dodger cried. If only he'd thought, he might just have been able to get Francis to safety, but he'd messed it all up horribly. If anything happened to Francis now…

Choking as he was lifted by his neck, Dodger found himself hoisted into the back of the same van. Immediately he knew that this was where the dangerous scent had come from; all around there was fear, pressing in on him, leaving his every instinct and impulse screaming for him to get out. The human shoved him roughly into a wire cage next to Francis, slamming the door before he could slip out. And then the van's door was shut and all was dark.

Even over the rumbling of the engine, Dodger could hear Francis' frantic panting. He pressed himself against the wire of the cage, feeling the body heat of his friend, who moved closer so that their sides brushed one another.

"What's happening?" Francis finally managed to say, his voice high and panicked. "Dodger, where are they taking us?"

Regaining control and composure, Dodger spoke steadily, hoping to calm the distressed bulldog in spite of his own fear. "I don't know," he said. "But I'll get us out. You'll be back with Fagin before you know it, I promise you that."

As memories of now haunting warnings of strange disappearances of dogs off the streets swirling around his mind, Dodger couldn't help but anticipate the worst. Wherever they were going, it couldn't be anywhere good.