Warning: this story contains general references to and deals with the aftereffects of child abuse, rape, and murder. Contains nothing specific or graphic

The other boy leaned over his notes, absently tapping his pencil though he stared through both paper and the ground below. Arthur shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat. Tim still did not acknowledge him.

"Hey, Tim, you still coming?"

Tim startled, barely preventing the scrap of paper from fluttering to the ground. A quick glance checked the sun's angle before he focused on Arthur's map, then Arthur himself.

"What happened to the morning?"

Arthur could not restrain a laugh. "It slipped away, just like every other morning this week. George is waitin' by the door. Do I need to ask Jones?"

Tim quickly shook his head. "No, I'm coming. I was just trying to remember what Lily said might help Betty."

"A teething toy," Arthur supplied. They had alternated chasing that little one around all month, but the budding tooth had caused the most fussing. "Her gums hurt, and chewing on stuff helps. Beth said that's probably some of why she wants to grab everything."

"Thank you." He quickly scribbled the term in an unused corner. "Did Beth mention what the toy looks like?"

What it looked like? Why would—oh. He always forgot that Tim had never had younger siblings. A half shrug covered his hesitation.

"Small enough to fit in her hand but too big to put completely in her mouth and risk choking. Most of 'em are hard, like pearl, but some are kinda squishy, like rubbers but firmer."

Tim stopped writing at the detailed description. "You must've been paying attention the last time we had a toddler."

Another, smaller laugh escaped despite the stronger pang of guilt. "My little brother cried a lot when he was teething, and only my toy soldier made him stop. By the time I got it back, Owen had chewed a large dent in the arm, so Father made me a new one."

Tim's notes finally landed in their cubby to let him follow Arthur towards the door. "I didn't know you had a brother."

The memory came of a smaller body curled against his side, shivering against the night air and the accompanying fear. He firmly shoved it away.

"Had," he repeated. "Owen disappeared years ago, then mum died, and Father went crazy. You know I left to avoid the factories."

"You and half of this courtyard." George pushed off the wall as they reached the archway. "One would think the big wigs'd find another solution. They have to know how many kids chose sleepin' in an alley over workin' in their nasty fact'ry orphanages."

"You know better'n that," Arthur shot back, glad of the topic change. They did not need to discuss the baby brother Arthur had failed to protect. "Only a handful of grown-ups in this city even notice us street kids, much less care why we ran away. D'you think even the other Mr. Holmes could do anything about those factories?"

A snort adequately conveyed Arthur's opinion, and Tim's chuckle said his matched. "He has a point, George. There's too much money involved. Public opinion has to change before the adults will remember that children eventually grow up. Too many factory kids get stuck in the East End, barely making enough to eat. Only someone who grows up to become a big wig will ever do something about it."

George grumbled something about blind grown-ups but decided not to comment. "What did you say you wanted to do today, Arthur? Finish mapping that street?"

Arthur nodded, carefully refolding his map to show the area as they walked. "There's a few stores that weren't there the last time we went, and I think they added some when they rebuilt that hotel. It shouldn't take long, but you know the danger of going alone."

"Especially when you're lookin' at your map instead of your surroundings," Tim agreed. "The worst of the creepers seem to like that area. We'll watch your back."

"And it's nice being able to check your map when we're planning something."

George's comment sparked a laugh from Tim, but Arthur smothered his to scowl. "Oh, so that's why you were so willing. You just wanna use my map!"

A careless wave easily saw through the ribbing. "A few hours helping you on Montague Street seems fair payment for keeping our own detailed map of the city. That thing was really helpful when I had to track that crazy lady during Mr. Holmes' last case. I spent most evenings studying the streets I'd be watching the next day."

"Didn't you say it helped you trap her?"

A nod confirmed Tim's memory—and avoided a man's swinging elbow. "Against a dead-end alley. The doctor caught up just before she tried to fight her way free."

Tim did not quite hide his discomfort. "You were chasing her alone?"

"No." They split to avoid a loud family. He continued once on the other side. "Doctor Watson had been watching with me, but I left him behind after a couple of blocks. She was fast. Thought a few times I was going to lose her, and I only caught up because she kept getting lost and doubling back." He paused again to dodge a wildly gesturing street woman. "She was more than a little crazy, anyway—not to mention tiny. I doubt she could have done anything. I probably outweighed her by at least a stone."

Mr. Holmes had promised them years ago that no Irregular would ever be asked to confront anyone remotely dangerous, but while something about George's story obviously bothered Tim, Arthur refrained from asking. He could get the details later. A simple question started George talking about his days at the smith shop, and the topic diverged from there until Tim stopped them in the alley leading to Montague.

"What areas do you need? Specifically," he added at Arthur's expression. "The inspector mentioned a lot of problems in this area. We need to get in and out quickly."

Arthur swallowed his cheeky reply, quickly pointing out four spots that needed more detail.

"And this one just needs a name," he finished, one finger on an empty storefront. "If we start on the south end and work our way north, it'll dump us out at Russell Square right next to a constable's beat. Meet at the southern statue if we get separated."

Tim studied the map for a long moment, carefully noting the areas that Arthur referenced before he nodded. Arthur refolded the map to expose the entire street, and they dove into the crowd.

The drunk on the corner immediately leered at them, calling something about food and if they wanted to work for it. Arthur ignored him to rapidly sketch the museum's new footprint. His old version had an alley where the building now sat. If they ever needed to navigate this area, such an error could get one of them hurt.

There. That was fixed, and a simple line corrected the next storefront. Tim and George kept a close eye on passing and stationary adults as they jogged up the street.

"Stop a moment." They flanked him as he noted a construction area, the current progress, and the date. He would have to revisit that in a few months. "Alright. The print shop."

That store had expanded into the building to the south. He erased the dividing line and added the new name before noting the other store across the street. "Montagu Massage" soon labeled the formerly empty building—along with a note to stay far away. He started to wave them to the next spot when George suddenly stared hard at the opposite alley.

"Put the map away."

Arthur froze, then hurriedly shoved paper and pencil into his pockets. "What is it?"

Silence, but George's focus remained on that alley. Tim edged slightly closer. "George?"

"Shh! Where is that coming from?"

They stilled, and only then could Arthur faintly hear the scuffs and grunts of a struggle. Tim scanned the sidewalk around them before a silent gesture sent them dodging cabs to the other side of the street. The shadows concealing the narrow alley could not hide the young voice.

"Let me go! You're not my father! Help! Someone help!"

Tim immediately broke into a full sprint, Arthur and George right behind him. A young boy kicked and fought a large man's iron grip just out of sight of the street.

Delta George, Tim signaled. Child priority.

Arthur veered slightly to the left, Tim far to the right though George never slowed. The cruel-faced adult failed to note their approach until George's muscular frame slammed into him.

"Oi!" He spun, only realizing Tim had moved behind him when a well-placed foot made him stumble. Arthur landed a solid hit to the hand still gripping the boy's shoulder.

Which produced a grunt but not freedom. The man regained his balance to give them an evil smile. "Fresh prey."

No. His downfall. Arthur ducked the man's fist as George aimed for his legs, and between the three of them and the boy's constant struggling, they kept the kidnapper from leaving with the boy. The adult refused to release his grip, however, even when Arthur clamped his teeth on that arm. George's fist made glancing contact as footsteps pounded the alley behind them.

"Hey!"

"Behind!" Arthur adjusted to guard from the newcomer even as he aimed a foot at the kidnapper's middle, but the young one instantly renewed his fighting.

"Father!"

"Let go of my boy!"

With Arthur using the distraction to blacken the man's eye, George put his entire weight behind a swinging kick, and the blackguard gained a limp as the father's order devolved into an echoing roar that grew ever louder. Tim landed a hit to the man's hip just before the other adult entered the fight with all the force of a protective parent.

"I told you to let. Go!"

A full-speed tackle slammed into the ruffian, aimed almost directly at the meaty hand holding the boy in place. The blackguard's arm audibly popped, which let Arthur's next punch free the boy's shoulder. The child instantly ran to hide in the shadows as Arthur swung another low kick. With the young one out of range, this man needed to go down so they could drag him to the nearest constable.

"Arthur, check on the kid."

Or he could make sure that rapid disappearance had not stemmed from some injury. That worked too. One last fist impacted the ruffian's stomach—the contact easier with an angry father creating a gushing nosebleed—before he broke off towards the alley wall.

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