Author's Note: This was a pretty fun chapter to right, as were many of the ones coming up. I'm really gonna miss a lot of these characters once this story is officially posted and finish. I feel like I've gotten so close to a lot of these characters. It'll be sad to see them go. Are there any characters in particular that you're going to miss most when this story comes to an end?

Chapter 38- Natural

"I am affected by you
I know I really shouldn't stay
But I wanna know the way you feel
I wanna know the way you taste
I am affected by you
I'm so aware of when you go
But I'm not the one who's gonna save you
I'm just another girl you know."
~Affected: Meghan Tonjes~

Jenna ran her tongue along the cut in her lip. It was just to the left of the middle of her lower lip, and it cracked a little every time she moved her mouth. It tasted metallic, the way blood somehow always tastes. Listener looked down at her and she quickly drew her tongue back into her mouth, suddenly self-conscious about her new nervous habit. He stood beside her, the two of them leaning against the cool brick wall of the shoe factory the lot backed up to. The ground beneath her was gravelly, covered in light grey rocks that she could practically already feel piercing into her skin. Would she have to dig them out of her knees and elbows when this was all over? Not all of the ground was covered with the sharp little devils. In fact, a majority of it was covered in a heavy layer of green that was more weed than grass, though it was pretty. It reminded her that it was spring and a time when things were meant to be green and beautiful and new. She tended to forget there were seasons in New York City other than cold and hot or colder and hotter.

She made a mental note to make sure she landed in the grassy part if she went down during the fighting. Then again, it was pretty likely the rocks were just as thickly layered beneath the greenery, so maybe that wouldn't do her much good anyway.

"What happens if they don't show?" she asked, more to take her mind off the fact that this lot could easily be just as red as it was green by the time the fight ended. It was also a good way to distract him from watching her with that crease between his eyebrows steadily growing deeper.

"Oh, they'll show," Listener answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Brooklyn literally can't back down from a fight. It'd make Jett look weak. They don't tolerate weakness much over there."

She wrinkled her nose at the idea. "Must be rough."

Listener nodded in agreement, his eyes now on Les and Runner who were conferring a few feet away from where he stood. "Definitely. I've always felt lucky I ended up in Manhattan. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she answered truthfully, looking up at him. "I never had a family before. Or friends. Or anyone who cared about me for anything other than what it did for 'em." She thought unpleasantly of her uncle and aunt, almost surprised at how long it had been since she had given them any thought at all. They were a part of her past now, not her present, and that felt unbelievably good.

Listener smiled at her words and wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, squeezing her gently into him. She couldn't help the smile that blossomed on her lips, or the warm feeling in her stomach when he stopped squeezing but kept holding her there at his side.

"I'm glad we found you, too," he said quietly, almost whispering it into her hair. His arm was strong and warm around her and it made her feel safe.

She would have forgotten about the impending fight with Brooklyn completely if they hadn't chosen that moment to come around the corner, all loud and riled up. Jenna studied them as they swaggered their way into the lot, streaming in through the opening in the fence looking too cocky for their own good. Didn't they know that only made Manhattan want to fight that much harder to put them in their place?

There were about fifteen of them, which meant the sides were almost evenly matched, which was a relief. She had been half worried their entire borough would show up and leave Manhattan without a chance. They were all boys, where Manhattan had at least three girls besides Jenna ready to fight. She didn't know their names, but she'd heard Les go on about the tall, fair haired Rosa enough to know she was one hell of a fighter and she never gave up. He was actually a little scared of her, therefore Jenna had always been too scared to even try speaking to her.

She and Listener straightened. She missed his arm around her shoulder almost as soon as it dropped away, but tried not to think about it. There were more important things to worry about right now. The two moved toward Runner and Les, who were standing ramrod straight as they watched the procession. Nearly everyone was looking to them to see what to do next. The rest were still watching Brooklyn.

"You ready for this?" Les asked no one in particular as they stood together. Jenna's hand slipped into the pocket of her long, olive green skirt and wrapped her fingers around the slingshot Les had procured for her. She squeezed until she felt like something, the wood or the bones in her fingers, would snap. She had stuffed a few nice, round stones in her other pocket, but knew she would have to resort to finding pebbles on the ground before long. That is, if she had to use a weapon at all. She hadn't yet decided whether she was for or against that happening. She didn't want to have to deal with weapons, but she also liked the idea of getting to stand apart from the fighting and still help.

"Ready as we're gonna be," Runner answered before taking long strides to the middle of the field. Listener followed, leaving Les and Jenna in their wake. Les took a step closer to her side, but didn't bother saying anything. They were both too focused on what was happening in the middle of the field.

She recognized Brutal as he moved to meet them, his step every bit as predatory as it had been the day she met him. A shorter boy walked beside him who must have been Jett. His coppery hair was dancing away from his forehead in the breeze and his eyes were narrowed into slits. A dark scar hung menacingly over his left eye. Les had given him that scar. Jenna looked up at her friend and saw Les glowering at Brooklyn's leader. All the excitement that had fueled his sprint from the school seemed to be gone, leaving only malice in its place. For all his joking around, she knew Les wanted to pay those assholes back for what they had done to him. Jenna just hoped he didn't hurt himself more in the process. She could still see his conscious effort he made to keep from wincing when he so much as breathed too deeply.

Earlier, Runner had asked him to at least try to hold back when the fighting started. Even that simple suggestion had launched Les into vehement protests, but Jenna saw the deep concern in Runner's eyes when he asked it of him. He had watched Les sadly with those deep blue eyes while his friend yelled about how he couldn't just sit back and watch. He had looked so worried that Jenna had pulled him away roughly and told him off for being mean, reminding him that Runner was only saying it to make sure Les didn't get himself killed. "Besides," she had added. "If you stay back, you can stick with me and make sure I don't get in over my head, since I'm not exactly a great fighter just yet. And we can shoot from the slingshots better if we aren't in the thick of things, anyway."

He had laughed and ruffled her hair annoyingly before apologizing to Runner and reluctantly agreeing to stay in the back for as long as he could manage. "Only to make sure this one doesn't take an eye out with the slingshot," he had added, elbowing Jenna with that infuriating grin of his plastered across his face. She had rolled her eyes and ignored him after that.

Now the two stood tensely together as the top two from both boroughs met in the middle. The tall grass obscured their feet and the light breeze swept up their hair and made it move as if it were alive, carrying with it the almost suffocating scent of crushed grass. The lot wasn't wasn't particularly big, only wide enough to display about two decent-sized store fronts if anyone ever bothered to develop it. But no one would, because it was on a sparsely trafficked side road, wedged between two factories, and nobody would bother coming if someone tried to open one. It would be a waste of building materials and a waste of time.

Jenna didn't pay much attention to what the boys were saying, letting the sound wash over her instead so she could get a good look at everyone. She knew the moment the words stopped, the moment they started letting their fists do the talking, she wouldn't have time to think. That would be the moment all hell broke loose and she would be in the midst of it. She would have to do her thinking now.

Everyone was tense and nervous, even Brooklyn, and the field was silent except for the four who convened in the middle. Everyone was watching them or watching the enemy across from them. Jenna could see Rosa tying up her hair so it wouldn't get in her way, while Scotch began cracking his knuckles one a time from where he stood a few feet to her left. She recognized a couple of the Brooklyn boys, including Snark, the one who went out of his way to insult her and call her a whore. He was watching Jett and adjusting his cap. She made a mental note to make sure she got the chance to hit him at least once.

He caught her looking and leered. Her upper lip curled in disgust. Okay, at least twice.

"Get ready," Les told her quietly. Jenna snapped to attention and fisted her hands in anticipation. She was glad she had cut her nails short yesterday. After her first few practices with Listener, she had noticed that if her nails weren't short, they would cut into her palm every time she threw a punch and had since taken to making sure they were as short as possible. She was thankful that was one way in which she had managed to be prepared for today, even if it was unintentional.

To her surprise, it was Listener who threw the first punch. Admittedly, Listener had also been the one to make the first move in the only other fight she had been in with him, but he had been provoked. She started to wonder what they had managed to say this time to make him lose his cool so quickly, but abandoned it when she saw the Brooklynites barreling toward them from their side of the lot.

Les chuckled darkly, "You got my back, Freckles?"

"As long as you've got mine."

Genie took her time climbing the steps to Al's apartment. Why was it that she was the only one who ever looked winded when she made it up to Al's floor? Everyone else acted like it wasn't even a challenge, while the Irishwoman was usually out of breath by the time she made it to the third floor, much less to Al's floor. Even Al, who had always complained about stairs and running, seemed not to break pace when it came to the stairs . . . and she was pregnant! But even then, Genie had always been of the opinion that Al was entirely made up of barely concealed muscle. On the other hand, Genie was all curves and rounded lines. She liked it that way, except when it ensured that she was always the last one up the stairs and the one who tried not to let on how out of breath she was because it made her feel like the weakest link. It was deeply annoying, especially now that she had a sort of enemy in this house.

Maybe Jack wasn't exactly an enemy, but he was someone who got under Genie's skin in a way few others managed. This was mostly due to the fact that she was angry with him on Sarah's behalf and he insisted on acting like they were friends despite her willingness to convey that she wasn't one of his loyal fans. Everyone else might be willing to coddle him, but Genie wouldn't. She went out of her way to let him know he wasn't wanted and yet he acted almost as if he enjoyed her animosity. It was infuriating.

She topped the stairs and made it to the landing outside of Al's apartment. As she usually did when she came here alone, she paused and worked on regulating her breathing so that she wouldn't appear wheezy in front of her friends and whoever else was inside. That was another thing about Jack, he seemed to find great humor in her weaknesses and it made her want to rip his hair out. Al's brother or not, he was one annoying comment away from seeing the damage a florist could really do with a pair of shears.

The door to the apartment creaked open just as she was thinking this and Genie figured, with her luck, that it would be the annoying older brother of her friend. However, it was Racetrack who stepped out instead. His blonde hair and beard looked much less foreign on him now that she had gotten used to it, and she was almost sad to see the dark roots coming in beneath them. She would miss the way the golden color made his skin look darker and his face that much more cherubic. His dark eyebrows knit together as he lit his cigar and puffed at it.

She was still watching him when he looked up and startled. "Hey, when did you get here?" he asked.

"Just now," she answered, which was mostly true. Her chest was still moving more rapidly than it normally did, but Race either didn't notice or pretended not to. Whichever it was, she was grateful.

"If you're here to see Al, she fell asleep on the couch about fifteen minutes ago," Race told her. "I wouldn't suggest waking 'er up. She's been a grouch all mornin'." She watched him fiddle with the cigar, letting some of the ash fall off the tip. The smell of the smoke made her crave it, as it always did, and she stepped closer to him and held out her hand wordlessly. He smirked and passed it over.

"Why's that?" she asked, before taking a puff.

"She didn't say, but David left this mornin' looking just as tired, but with a spring in his step, so it ain't too hard to guess that they were up late doin' things other than sleeping." Race shuddered and made a face. "I guess she got even less sleep 'cause of it."

Genie burst out laughing at his reaction and passed the cigar back.

"Good," Genie commented. Racetrack choked on the smoke and gave her a look that managed to be both grossed out and reluctantly curious. She continued, "I told Al they needed to be having more sex. It speeds up labor'n helps their relationship all in one go."

This time, Race really choked on the smoke and it took a few minutes of hacking and wheezing for him to calm down again. He pounded at his chest while Genie watched in amusement and smoked away at the cigar that would have been sadly neglected if she hadn't been there.

"Gross," he ground out, when the choking was mostly under control. "I did not wanna know that."

Genie shrugged, still deeply enjoying Racetrack's discomfort. "You asked."

"Did not!"

"Not ou' loud, but with yer eyes. Same thing, really."

Racetrack shuddered again, but he was smiling underneath his disgust. He snatched the cigar from her before she could smoke it all without him. "I thought goils weren't supposed to talk about sex."

"I thought lads weren't supposed to be uncomfortable talking 'bout it," she shot back.

"I am when it involves Al. She's practically my lil' sister."

Genie laughed. "Fair enough," she answered him. She put a hand over her heart and tried to make her face as solemn as possible. "I promise not to tell ya anythin' else about Al'n Davy's sex life."

"Agh, don't call it that. It makes it worse," he grimaced.

Genie rolled her eyes fondly. "Whatever you say. Never thought you'd be so squeamish about it."

"And I nevah thought you'd be so . . . un-squeamish about it."

"Why should I be?" she asked, pushing some of her bright orange out of her face. Some of it must have gotten loose from the clip that held it to her head in the back. "Takes two to tango, doesn't it? Women talk about it just as much as men. At least, the women I know do."

This time, Race laughed loudly instead of grimacing. Now that it was more vague, he seemed less inclined to be grossed out and more intrigued by it. "Never knew that, but I guess it makes sense. Guess I don't spend as much time with goils 'less it's you, Sarah, or Al."

"Or some other woman you're wooing, right?" she said, shoving him with her shoulder playfully. The contact made her stomach feel all warm and she tried to ignore it, especially considering the conversation they were having.

"You know I only got eyes for you, doll," he said, looking at her with that wide smile that could be just as irritating as it was endearing at any given moment. He was grinning, but she saw that seriousness that lay just below the surface of his mirth. It was always there when he said things like this, like he wanted to remind her that he really did mean it, even if she did keep resisting his advances. She had to admit that it was getting harder to do just that. He never tried to push her or reason her into falling for him, he was just simply there, making little comments like that to let her know he was still holding out, still hoping.

She coughed and steered the conversation back in a direction that didn't make her feel like she was going to lose her resolve. "Come on, ya can't tell me you've never had eyes for another goil. Bet you've even bedded one or two of 'em. "

He reddened and coughed awkwardly. "Well, um, that . . ."

She prodded him with her shoulder again. "Don't matter to me one way or the other. It's only natural."

He relaxed and raised an eyebrow at her. "What about you?"

Genie considered steering the conversation in another direction or lying, but saw no point to it. Besides, some part of her wanted to see his reaction to the truth. She wanted to see what he would do. And if he reacted in disgust? It would hurt. It would hurt more than she cared to admit, but then maybe it would stop that weak feeling she felt in her knees whenever he looked at her with those brown doe eyes of his.

She shrugged. "Sure," she answered. "Ya can't expect all women to be maidens forever."

She watched him for a reaction, trying to look for all the world as if his response wouldn't matter to her. To her surprise and relief, he only nodded, like her statement made complete sense to him. She couldn't help the involuntary sigh of relief that slipped through her lips.

Race's eyebrows dipped in concern when he heard it. "Did you think I would treat you differently for that? Even after I just told you I'd done the same?"

Genie hesitated, this conversation was getting heavier than she had intended. "No, I- I don't know. You wouldn't be the first to treat me different after findin' out."

"You said it yourself: it's only natural," he reminded her.

"You're right, but it's different when you're a lass. People treat ya different, look at ya like you're somethin' dirty," she told him. It wasn't fair, but it was true. She regretted sleeping with the man she had, but not because she had slept with someone she wasn't married to. She regretted it because he had turned out to be a worthless son of a bitch.

"That's bullshit," Race told her seriously. "There's nothing dirty about you, even if you do tell me details about Al'n Davy that I'd rather not know." He cracked a smile.

She couldn't help laughing at that. It was times like these that Genie seriously appreciated Race's penchant for humor in moments of seriousness. It lightened some of the heaviness of their current discussion.

He took a step closer and Genie felt her breath catch despite herself at the intensity she found in his eyes. "This doesn't change how I feel about you, Genie. I like you. I like all of you."

"I like you too," Genie said, surprising herself at the confession. She hadn't meant to say it aloud. It was true, though, and she was apparently on a roll in telling him things she meant to keep to herself.

She watched hope and excitement surface in his eyes and make the corners of his lips twitch upward. This was why she had never encouraged his advantages, because she didn't want to crush that. She didn't want to watch the hope slip away. He reached up and pushed her hair back behind her ear, then left his hand there. She fought the urge to press her cheek into the warmth of his hand as he looked down at her with those lovesick eyes. Her heart pummeled her ribs and took everything in her to step back, away from the warmth of his hand and the way it made her knees feel weak.

"I can't."

His hand dropped and even though he tried, he couldn't mask the disappointment in his features.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

To her surprise, the disappointment didn't reach his eyes. The hope and the lovesickness, it stayed, and the smallest of smiles appeared on his lips. "I understand."

She startled, surprised by his words. "What?"

"I understand. You've been hurt and you're not ready. But I'm willing to wait and I'll be right here when you change your mind." He smashed the half-smoked cigar into the railing to his left until the tip went dark, shook it, and stuffed it in his pocket. He offered her another smile before settling the cigar back in his pocket and letting himself back into the apartment, leaving Genie standing by herself in a stunned silence.

The breeze whipped that orange strand of her hair around her face again. This time, she did nothing to tame it.