May 19th, 1899. 2:04 pm.

Time wanted to spite Clara. The clock hands that moved so fast during her reunion with Andrew now refused to tick except for at an agonizingly slow pace. The next four hours passed – nay, they dragged - in a series of back to back meetings, but she could barely pay attention long enough to keep any useful notes. The dozens of questions that she'd battled into the back-most corners of her mind for the last eight years now clambered for her attention as she tried to puzzle through the answers on her own. Of all the places she'd finally found Andrew – in Manhattan! As a Newsie, of all the professions! She thought of all the times she'd visited across the bridge with her mother, all the times she'd picked up a paper from one of the scores of kids that walked the streets looking for the next customer, all the times she'd walked past him on the street and tried to ignore the feeling of familiarity that fate sent to try and push them together.

And now fate wanted her to suffer for her stupidity, it seemed. She checked her watch.

2:46 pm.

Andrew tried to focus his attention on moving his afternoon's load of papes, but to limited success. He found himself zoning out as he watched the crowd, looking for the tall blonde among the scores of people even though he knew it was far too early for her to be released from work. The headlines died on his tongue as his mind wandered to his childhood. More than once, he caught himself quietly singing the old songs he made up as he rested in the upstairs bed to pass the time, the ones he performed for Clara to keep her from worrying too much about him. He shook himself from his reverie to sell a paper to one of his regulars before losing himself in thought once again.

He resigned himself to taking the loss for the papers that evening, but he never stopped smiling. It didn't matter, not when he'd found his friend.

3:38 pm.

Wouldn't her parents get a laugh out of all this? Oh, how she couldn't wait to tell them the wonderful news, and how she couldn't wait to learn Andrew's story. She expected they'd be talking for a long time – she wanted to spend every minute she could with him until she'd learned the answers to all her wonderings, and told him all about what she'd done in the meantime. But as soon as they'd finished tonight, she'd rush back to the apartment and tell Hannah everything and get the clothes she'd packed for the weekend. Then she'd catch a carriage home to tell them right away. Hopefully they wouldn't be too annoyed with her tardiness when she broke the exciting news. What time was it? She must be close to getting out of here by now…

4:25 pm.

So close…

Crutchie turned back towards the park and the corner of sidewalk where he'd met Clara. He'd never look at Jacobi's the same way again, that was for sure. Even though his bad leg dragged as limp as ever, there was almost a skip in his step as he quickly made his way along the street. He had a promise to keep after all, and he wouldn't lose a second if he could help it.

4:59 pm

Clara all but threw herself out the door of the office with her hastily assembled collection of things, and rushed back towards the street corner. Andrew stood there, just as he'd promised, finishing a sale. She called his name and he turned and fixed her with his smile and a wave, just as usual.

"How was work this afternoon?" He asked cheerfully, "Did the meeting go well?"

"Andrew, do you really mean to tell me that after all these years the first and only question you have for me is about something so mundane as work?"

"No, but I do want to know how your afternoon went." They began walking towards the park, and Andrew pointed out a street vendor that he often bought his dinner from. They each got their food as they spoke, before continuing on their way to find a good place to sit and talk without even breaking the flow of the conversation.

"It's not that important," Clara said with a shrug. Any other day, she'd be more than happy to talk about what she was doing at the office, but this was not an ordinary day.

"It seemed important to you earlier," said Andrew stubbornly, "so I want to know about it."

"Well, it's not as important as catching up with you. And if you must know," Clara said, "It was insufferably boring. And not just because I was eager to see you again. The traffic minister does always drag on... Appropriately enough. But wanting to see you certainly didn't help."

"That does sound boring. I hope it's not always like that."

"We don't do the same things every day. Today just happened to be a slow one," She said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If we're exchanging simple pleasantries, how was your selling?"

"If you must know," He answered, mimicking her previous statement so that she had to laugh at his impersonation, "It was alright. The headline's lousy and I didn't get through 'em all but it ain't a big deal."

"Oh, so they'll buy back the papers you don't sell?"

"No. But it ain't a big deal." He shrugged, settling his bag into a more comfortable position. In truth, such a setback would cost him tomorrow's breakfast, though that was the farthest thing to from his mind at the moment. "How did you get the job with Roosevelt?"

Clara gave a rueful laugh as they reached the park and found an empty bench. "Being stubborn."

Andrew raised his eyebrows, "Glad to hear nothing's changed."

"I seem to remember you were the one who decided to walk all the way to the West which tops anything I've done. You still haven't told me about that."

"I wouldn't call that stubbornness so much as childish optimism. And I didn't get very far."

"I've noticed."

"You didn't really answer my question about the job though. I'm sure you musta done something real exciting to catch his attention!"

Clara briefly recounted what she'd be doing in the lost time – skimming over how she got through each school year and gradually took on more volunteer work at the orphanage, then graduated to the adults table as she began to organize events. Nothing very riveting, to be sure, and she was more than a little impatient for her turn to hear about Andrew's story, but she couldn't begrudge him the history. She shared the story of how she'd been rejected from the Mayor's office twice, then chased her employer around the city for a fortnight, much to Andrew's increasing amusement as he smiled at her through bites of his sandwich.

"And how is Hannah doing, and your parents?" He asked once she'd finished.

"My parents are well - still as involved as ever at the orphanage and the clinic. Hannah is working for Pulitzer as his personal secretary now," Clara answered shortly. She'd talked quite enough about herself, and barely touched her dinner. She picked open the wrapper of her meal.

Andrew grinned at the good news. "Hannah was always real smart. I'm glad she's doing well. What about-"

"Wait wait wait," Clara interrupted.

"I'm waiting."

"It's your turn to tell of all the grand adventures you've had." The words without me floated unsaid in the air behind her last statement. "I have a few questions for you first. Why did you leave so suddenly? I know you wanted to find your family but did you ever track down where they are? Since you didn't find them, then why didn't you come back to us, or even bother to write?"

Andrew's face fell at the barrage of questions. "Clara-"

She shook her head empathetically which sent a few stray pieces of hair flying, "And how in the world did you become a Newsie? Where do you stay? Have you been in Manhattan all this time? How about letting a friend know you're alive?!"

Andrew took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. Of course, she was cross, she had every right to be, and in the excitement of finding his friend again, he'd nearly forgotten the less-than-favorable circumstances that had initiated their separation.

"I'm sorry," He said finally. "I know that don't make up for any of it, but I'm sorry and I want to make it right. Do you think we could put the past behind us? And work on making the time we have now count?"

She nodded.

Slowly, he began the story of how he became Crutchie - about how he was too afraid of losing his family to not risk everything in finding them, the frustration at not going West after all, and how he'd nearly given up when Jack found him and brought him to the lodging house.

It occurred to him how different this occasion of telling his story was so much different from when he told it to the new newsies on their first night. In that case the situation was somewhat reversed. The newsies, being more than acquainted with the experience of making a living on the streets, needed the past to be filled in only as a way of getting to know each other better. Clara had their shared history, but knew nothing of his current situation, and he found himself stumbling several times over the particulars of the ordinary details of his day to day life and the workings of the lodging house.

Clara listened quietly as he told her about his friends and the first several years of life as a Newsie – wanting to go back but unwilling to leave the new family that needed him, and unable to scrape together the money or time that he needed to make such the trek when he was barely living from day to day on the meager funds he did have. Part of her wanted to march down to his lodging house and drag each of the boys back to Graham Windham for a proper meal and cleaning and education, though she knew that overturning the lifestyle of so many boys would be impossible to do overnight. Anger at his excuses for never getting in contact and concern for his well-being warred in her chest, and she bit her tongue as more indignant questions sprung to mind. He'd done his best. They'd given up on searching for him too. The fault lies with both of us, she told herself. He was right. Now it was just a matter of making up for lost time, even if it hurt to know how much time they'd truly lost.

He told her of Niner's time in the Refuge, and how the horrible experience haunted even the bravest of the boys. Clara crumpled the now-empty remains of her sandwich wrapper and swore. Andrew looked up at the sudden outburst.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but the Refuge is not. I'd hoped that in five years' time that my little outburst would have convinced Roosevelt to look into it, but that was a vain wish. I just wish that something could be done about it."

"Jack tried," Andrew said quietly, wondering what she meant by 'little outburst' but wanting to move on with his story.

"How could he possibly try to take on the Refuge?" They both knew too well the difficulty that lay in trying to be taken seriously when one was barely older than a child, a poor newsie or a woman at that.

Andrew briefly explained the events that led up to Jack's capture, his protectiveness of all the boys, and then the story of his great escape – how he'd tied a sheet do the bedframe, tossed the end out the widow, climbed down, then took off like a shot, only to catch a ride away in the backseat of Roosevelt's own personal carriage. At least, he told the story as truthfully as he could remember it. He laughed at the idea that Jack and Clara both knew the Mayor, though in such different ways, but when he looked back at his friend, Clara wasn't laughing. She sat straight as a rod, looking curiously at Andrew and searching for some element in the tale that she could place.

"You're sure that's how he escaped?" she asked. "With the bedsheet and the window?"

"Yes, that much I do remember. He was on the second story, and there's not a fire escape on that side of the building."

"Do you remember there being a distraction? What year was this?"

Andrew looked up at the sky as he counted the years. "It musta been… 1894? Jack took over the lodging house from Niner two years ago, whenever he left to be a mailman and it was a couple of years before that too."

"A mailman?!"

"Do you know 'im?"

"I saw him this morning!" Clara exclaimed, then waved off the wild coincidence before Andrew could comment. "What about the distraction?"

"I remember them saying that there was a hullaballoo out on the street. Snyder and Roosevelt was talking on the pavement, and there was a kid yelling at them. I don't remember what about. Why?"

Clara shook her head and laughed in complete disbelief as she pulled the old business card from her blazer pocket and handed it to Andrew.

"In 1894, Roosevelt was the city's police commissioner, you can read it there. My mother and I knew the Refuge was bad, but I'd just begun to get into helping the orphanage and I wanted to see it for myself. I ran into him – not literally – when we were there."

"No way!" Andrew exclaimed. "You saw Jack's escape?!"

"I started yelling at Roosevelt and Snyder to get them to look at me, instead of spotting him!"

Andrew grabbed her hand and lifted her arm in the air like the victor of the races at Sheepshead. "You're the best! Did you know that?"

"Not until now! I always wondered if he got out ok!" Clara said, shaking his arm in triumph before dropping it. "I don't think he made it into the back seat, though he did ride the carriage."

Andrew could only laugh. "I can't wait to tell all the guys about this, they're not goin'a believe it. I can't believe it! All this time!"

"We were so close so many times."

"It makes a good story, and I do happen to be in the business of collecting those," Andrew said with a wink. He patted his bag of papes for emphasis.

Clara shook her head again and smiled. In the lull of conversation, another newsie passed by, and noticed his friend. The younger boy waved to them, and Andrew waved back.

"You coming back to the lodging house, Crutchie? It's almost sunset!"

"I'll be back before it's too dark, Romeo," he called. "Let Jack know I'll be a few minutes late."

Romeo saluted and skipped off in the direction of their group home, and Clara turned back towards Andrew. "That's another thing, why do you go by Crutchie?"

"Because I walk with a crutch," he snarked and Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "It's just a nickname, Clare, most all the Newsies got one. Romeo there is quite the flirt. I'm sure he's going to give me a hard time about having a chat with a girl."

Now Clara did roll her eyes. "Good luck with that. Though I won't keep you from your interrogation if you need to be getting back."

Andrew nodded and started to stand. "Will I see you again tomorrow?"

Clara shook her head with a bittersweet frown. "I'm going home for the weekend to help with an event. But my parents will be so happy to hear the exciting news that I've finally found you! You should come back with me sometime when you are free. I'll arrange everything. I know they'd be so happy to see you!"

Andrew gave her a grateful look. "I'd like that. Enjoy your time with your family!"

"You too."

A/N: They've reunited but there's a lot of catching up to do yet! Thank you again to everyone who reads and reviews! I love reading your nice comments and I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far!

To the Guest who commented on the last two chapters: Thank you for leaving your thoughts! I hope you enjoy this conversation between Clara and Crutchie. There's not a "conflict" over where Crutchie belongs, but they do discuss it in a later chapter, so I hope you'll find that interesting. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on it! I do plan to continue this story, all the way through the Strike, in fact, so there's still quite a few adventures in store for these two :) Thank you again for reading!