Well, I'm back. And for those of you who would be polite enough as to ask, my trip was lovely, thank you. But now that I'm back, I am going to get right along with this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to review as always.


Chapter Twenty Eight: Coming Home

Nearly a week later, Newkirk exited the prison as a semi-free man. The incredibly gracious judge had given him pardon due to the fact that it was Newkirk's first offence, and the information he was able to give them helped to recover two-thirds of the stolen money. It was also determined that Newkirk was not the mastermind behind the whole affair and honestly knew nothing about the whereabouts of the true Artist. But the pardon was given with two conditions; firstly, at the insisting of the Air Marshal from whom he stole, Newkirk was required to join the Royal Air Force in service of the King for a predetermined length of time; and secondly, if Newkirk was ever known to continue in illegal activities, he would be arrested at once and shown no mercy in the British courts.

So Newkirk walked down the streets of London, still clad in his formal suit, which was by now quite dirty and frazzled. It had been over a week since his arrest, but Newkirk was struck by the change in attitude he saw in the public. As he walked through the city, people recognized him and were not subtle in their disapproving stares. He could hear conversations begin as he passed people.

"It serves him right."

"Oh, does it now? Well, what's he doin' out of prison? He can only do more harm free! Blokes like him are better off locked up."

Newkirk tried to ignore them. He focused on the toes of his dusty shoes as he marched along the sidewalk. Newkirk didn't know which he hated more, being openly confronted by these people, or knowing they were watching his every move and talking about him behind his back. Before, it was as if he couldn't leave the tailor shop without someone hounding him for his name. But now his name had been revealed. He had been identified as Peter Newkirk by the reporters who were present at the party.

Newkirk scoffed bitterly. The one time he publicly claimed his own name was now the one time on earth he wished he could just disappear.

After a while, he made it to the Stitch in Time tailor shop. Newkirk opted to enter through the back entrance just in case they were dealing with clients. He didn't want people to know that he lived at this shop. Considering his current reputation, Newkirk knew it would only harm Marty's business if customers knew the old man housed a criminal in his basement.

Peering through the storage room entrance, Newkirk was able to observe as Nina finished with a customer at the front desk while Marty was hard at work, bent over a smoking jacket at one of the workbenches. When he was convinced the client was not going to turn around, Peter finally entered the shop.

The old tailor must have heard the door close behind Newkirk because he turned in his seat to observe who had entered. When he saw his young friend, Marty drew in a long breath as he stood from the bench. With two blinks, the tailor's kind, blue eyes started to shimmer. Marty stretched out his arms towards Newkirk as he approached him, gasping weakly, "My dear boy," before wrapping the young man in a tight embrace.

Newkirk's tired and emotionally-spent body fell into the warm hug with relief. It would be impossible to describe how secure he felt in that moment. That environment was safe, it was familiar…it was home. "I'm so sorry," Newkirk apologized in a sad whisper.

Marty just hugged him tighter. "I know," he replied, ignoring the welling-up of his own tears.

"You were right, Marty. You and Nina were both right about me." Newkirk felt the smaller man sigh.

"I know," he repeated softly. "I just wish you didn't have to learn it this way." After a few moments longer, the two men broke apart. Marty reached up to clasp the face of the young man he considered a son. "But you're home now," he said, "and you're safe."

Newkirk nodded his head. Slowly, that nod turned into a sad shake of the head. "But I've lost Stephanie," he lamented, "I've lost 'er for good this time, Marty."

"Peter!" Nina called from the other side of the room. She had managed to contain her outbreak until the customer had left the store. But as soon as the door had closed, she spun around and hurried towards Newkirk.

She too reached out her arms towards Newkirk as she approached him. "Oh, dear Peter!" she cried, falling at last into a hug of her own after her husband had stepped aside. "Oh we were so worried about you! We saw the story in the paper, but when we went to the prison, they said we couldn't see you!" She leaned away from the hug long enough to nod towards Marty. "Oh, you should have seen Martin argue with the guard! For twenty minutes he stood there, arguing for us to get a chance to see you! But they wouldn't have it. They sent us home. We tried again the next day, and the next day, and the day after that…but it was always the same story. You could take no visitors until you'd had your trial, which they certainly took they precious time about!" She snuggled back into the hug, reveling in the ability to simply put her arms around him again. Everything had been so empty without him there, and her heart just ached to think of him alone in some cold cell, being fed who knows what kind of slop. Needless to say, she was thanking God every moment for the lad's safe return. "But oh dear boy, I'm so glad you're home!"

Peter held the short woman against him. "Yeah," he said, "me too."

At that moment, a noise came from the back room and Harry was heard calling, "Hey Marty, I'm back with the crate of fabric." The other crook stuck his head in through the door. "Where do you want me to-" he stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on his newly released partner-in-crime.

Newkirk and Harry regarded each other for a long time, but didn't speak, and didn't embrace. They merely stood there, staring at each other, communicating several sentiments without uttering a single word.

Martin and Nina exchanged puzzled glances. They would have expected the friends to rejoice at the reunion. But the stern and almost bitter greeting that really took place was hardly the anticipated response. "You can just place it in the back, son, by the wall," Marty answered at last. "I'll sort it out later."

"Right," Harry answered, continuing to look at Newkirk before moving towards the backroom once more.

"I'll 'elp you," Newkirk offered, stepping towards the door and leaving the confused couple in the workshop.

Perhaps Nina and Marty hadn't expected such a reaction from Harry, but Peter knew his friend would respond this way. It was quite obvious that they needed to talk about it. But no words were exchanged until he and Harry were alone in the storage room.

"Well?" Harry asked in a low tone.

"'Well' what?" Newkirk responded, matching his friend in volume.

"You know ruddy well what!" Harry whispered harshly, "What'd you do with me money?"

"It wasn't your money, Harry! That's what this whole bloody thing 'as been about. It was never our money!"

"Oh come off it, Newkirk! What'd you do with it?"

Newkirk sighed, this wasn't going to go over well, "I told the bobbies right were to find it."

"You did what?" Harry exclaimed in a barely contained whisper.

"Hey, I wasn't too keen on it either, mate; but I 'ad to do it."

"You…you," Harry tried to formulate a chain of words, but somehow, his vocabulary ran dry. He couldn't believe his friend would sell out everything they had worked so hard for. "How could you do that? You 'ad no right, Newkirk!"

"Aw don't you start preachin' at me about rights. Don't you get it, Harry? We broke the law! We're not the ones with the rights 'ere."

"But did you 'ave to give it all to the bobbies? Blimey Newkirk, they don't need it!"

"Look, it was either tell 'em right where to find the money, or right where to find you! So don't go off about your missin' pounds, cause I'm really not in the mood. Just be grateful you ain't in prison for it all!"

Harry's eyes widened. "You'd turn me in?" he asked, sounding like a betrayed child.

Newkirk eyed his friend seriously. "Careful mate," he warned. "Don't you be testin' our friendship by askin' such a stupid question. Peter Newkirk's nothin' if not loyal to 'is mates."

Harry sighed in subdued admission. Then shaking his head, he pleaded, "But wasn't there any other way? Did you 'ave to give up all that pretty money?"

"Yes, I 'ad to, so stop plaguin' me about it. They wouldn't 'ave let me go otherwise; and I wasn't about to spend years in the nick for a job I wasn't sure about in the first place!"

Harry's face dropped. "All that lovely money," he grieved, "lost."

"Don't come cryin' to me about it," Newkirk said with no remorse. Then his heart clenched as he added with a low voice, "You 'ave no idea what I've lost."

Then, for a moment forgetting his own grief, Harry looked up at his friend again. "You're talkin' about that bird of yours?" he asked gently.

Newkirk refused to make eye contact. "Forget about it," he said, turning away and focusing his attention on the crate of fabric.

"I guess she must 'ave reacted pretty bad to it all, huh?" he persisted.

"Harry," it was another stern warning. With one steady glare, Newkirk commanded his friend to take the topic no step further. For the past few days and nights, Newkirk had been a mess in prison. He was in no rush to see those emotions be dragged back to the surface again.

Harry read the message loud and clear and dropped the conversation. Newkirk's emotional issues would just have to be like the crate of fabric, which the pair moved to the corner of the room, leaving it to be unpacked and dealt with at some later date.


Canon Inspiration for this Chapter: In the episode "The Great Brinksmeyer Robbery", when Klink unknowingly burns the money needed to pay Ludwig Strauser for an important map, Newkirk pulls the charred bills from the furnace.

Newkirk: It's the story of my life. I never could hang on to money.