Hello! That last chapter was a bit intense! Well, this one is much calmer. Thanks again to all my reviewers! Everyone (in case you didn't notice), I have reached ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS!!!! Thanks! Here's the next installment!

Chapter 28: What Friends Are For

Upon closer examination, it was decided that Charley's bullet-wound was probably not fatal. Nancy removed the bullet, cleaned the wound, and announced that it was "the best she could do." Having decided that Bill was a little unsafe that night, Nancy suggested that she "handle" Bill and that the Dodger, Guinevere, and Charley all head over to Fagin's.

They winded through a number of alleys to avoid being noticed. The Dodger supported Charley with one of his arms and Guinevere (who was still quite distressed) with his other. However, walking up the stairs in Fagin's apartment proved to be even more difficult. It was decided that Guinevere, who was now somewhat recovered, would take one side of Charley while the Dodger would take the other. The fact that they had no candlelight made them extremely noisy, and Fagin quickly interrupted their progress by coming down the stairs to investigate.

The candle Fagin was carrying afforded him a look that was somewhat shocking. Guinevere's eyes were red and puffy, the Dodger had a bit of blood on him, and Charley (who was the cause of the blood that the Dodger was displaying) had a bunch of blood-stained fabric wrapped around his left thigh which was slightly bare because Nancy had ripped his pants to better access the wound.

"What happened, my dears?!"

Charley couldn't help but grin at the look on the old Jew's face. It was so comical. He let out a small giggle.

"What happened?!" Fagin repeated more urgently.

This time, the Dodger attempted a quick, but direct answer. "Charley visited Guinevere, Bill showed up, and Bill shot Charley."

Fagin just stared in shock at the three of them.

Charley's face was quickly contorting from a look of mirth into a look of pain. Guinevere, glancing at Charley, spoke. "I think 'at we need ta' get Charley upstairs so's he can sit down."

Fagin nodded and led their way, carrying a candle.

Once they were upstairs, Guinevere led Charley over to a chair, and the Dodger led Fagin off into another room so that he could relay the events of the day in a more detail.

Guinevere started bustling about, trying to get Charley more comfortable.

"I'm just fine," Charley protested. "You are the one who should be having a lie-down!"

"Nonsense! You're the one who's injured." She stopped her frenzy to rest Charley's leg on the chair next to him. Looking at him, she shook her head. "You REALLY should be sitting in a bed!"

Charley just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, and I really should get ta' laundering your clothes! You've got blood on your shirt AND your coat!" she pulled at his jacket to remove it. She stopped and stared at him for a moment, "You'll need a blanket! What am I thinking? You're probably freezing!" She rushed off to find a blanket, leaving Charley to gape and stare after her. He shook his head slowly. Why in the world would a leg injury make him cold?

Guinevere reappeared carrying two blankets. "This one is thick,"she pointed to one, "but this one is a bit thinner," she pointed at the other. "I brought both just in case you got a bit too warm and wanted a thinner one." She set the blankets on the table in front of Charley and resumed her removal of his coat and shirt. "I 'ope that this blood comes out! It would be a shame if you had to get a completely new coat…" she rambled on for a few more minutes, then, after wrapping Charley in a blanket, left to find a washbasin and some soap.

The Dodger came out of a nearby room, closely followed by Fagin. They both approached Charley. Once they were close by him, they stared.

"What?!" Charley asked confusedly.

"We want ta' know," began the Dodger, "why Bill shot you. Make it quick, Guinevere will probably be back any minute!"

"You know Bill!" Charley said, barely holding in a giggle. "He'll shoot if you sit wrong!"

"Why did he shoot you, this time, my dear?" Fagin questioned.

"There's a piece to this puzzle that's just plain missin'!" suggested the Dodger.

"Well…," Charley stared at the floor for a moment, "I, umm, kinda got too close to Guinevere – closer than Bill likes…"

The Dodger glared at him for a moment and started to speak, but Guinevere entered carrying a washbasin. Bestowing a smile upon Charley, she began to scrub the blood out of his coat. The Dodger, observing the way she looked at Charley, just shook his head and turned to head upstairs.

"Hey, Dodge!" Charley called after him. The Dodger stopped and looked back at Charley. "Sorry about dragging you into everything!" he smiled wildly at the Dodger.

Jack looked down at his feet. He shook his head and smiled. "Well, if I didn't get involved, we'd be in a worse spot." He looked over at Charley and, with a serious countenance, made his next remark, "What would we do without you, Charley?" He smiled weakly, turned, and continued on his way up the stairs.

Charley stared after him in wonder. He almost looked like he was going to cry – if that's possible! It was probably just a trick of the light. Charley shook his head and redirected his attention to Guinevere.

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Once the Dodger reached the top of the stairs, he walked over to his bed and sat down. A single, hot tear streaked down his slightly dirty face. He smiled and shook his head. How could he be so selfish? You've got the best friend in th' world, what more could you want? He 'as a girl that loves 'im and if you really were his best friend, you'd be 'appy for 'im instead of tryin' to get 'er for yourself! He thought for a moment. I am 'appy for 'im. Another tear streaked down his face. He had a friend. An honest, kind friend. An image of two people presented itself in his mind. No. I have two friends. Two of the best friends I could ever have. Charley AND Guinevere.

He got up determinedly, and headed for a washbasin. Cleaning off the grime, he thought of all the things he needed to do. Charley can't work… an' Guinevere don't even work for Fagin… we'll need more pickpockets. Mentally writing up a to-do list, he finished making himself presentable and then headed back downstairs. After announcing to the others that he was "going to work", he headed off, leaving Fagin, Charley, and Guinevere all to gape after him in wonder. How could he go to work after all the horrible events of the day?

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