************************************************************************

Sunshine eyed Angel as she walked away from the Distribution Office. She was worried about her sister, and from the look on her father's face as he watched her go, he was too. Angel had run into the house late at night, out of breath, and covered with soot. Her face was almost black and as her parents ran to her asking what had happened, she blabbered the event to them breathlessly. She had been stuck in a fire. She couldn't say where for she didn't even know herself. But she had been saved. By whom she didn't know. Angel had then slipped into an unusually silent Angel and hadn't really spoken since. That worried Sunshine. It seemed alright if she herself could slip into that untalkative state, but that was because she had talkative Angel to be with her. If Angel was the one not speaking, it would all be strange, for SHE would have to be the one holding her sister up.

Sunshine set her chin on edge and flipped through the paper. On the second page she found what she was looking for, an article on the fire. It had been started in an abandoned lower Manhattan sweatshop and had spread to several of the other buildings surrounding it. There was considerable damage, but all were abandoned. Sunshine set the paper down on her lap thoughtfully. Then she stood up and began to sell her papers, knowing full well where she would be afterwards.

After she finished selling her papers, Sunshine set off towards Brooklyn in a determined stride. She would be brave. She would be brave and gutsy for Angel. She had to find Sketch. She found him at one of his hideouts. It was on one of the many docks in Brooklyn. He was sitting hunched over on a crate, occasionally shooting marbles at the bottles he had lined up on another crate. Sunshine stopped short at the sight of him. Now that the moment had come, she was even more frightened, but what also took her aback was the apparent look of anger and hurt on Sketch's face. She took another step forward and cleared her throat.

Sketch started and eyed her. He relaxed somewhat, but not very much, and not enough for Sunshine's comfort. "Hey Sunshine." He said quietly, taking aim with his slingshot. Sunshine smiled and walked up to him. "Hey Sketch. Kin I tawk ta ya fer a second?" She asked gently. Sketch shrugged and shot another bottle with grim accuracy. "Sure, you're the only one who does. What?" He asked shortly. Sunshine drew in her breath at his words. They were harsh. Sketch was hardly ever harsh, even with her. "It doesn't matter. Never mind." She blurted out. "Yeah, it does. Obviously you wouldn't have gone lookin' fer me! Now whaddya want?" Sketch burst out angrily.

Sunshine's eyes widened and the familiar feeling of the hard lump rising in her throat washed over her. Her eyes began to fill with tears, but she quickly gulped them down again. "Whassa matta wit' you? You neva act dis way!" She yelled. Sketch was taken aback at the sound of Sunshine yelling, but he quickly struck back. "No one cares how I act! All anybody wanted was me ta be jest like me fadda! 'Oh Sketch, yer gonna be jest like yer fadda!' Well dose days are gone an' I might as well be lyin' in a gutter fer as much attention as everyone gives me!" Sketch yelled. "Oh shudup! What are you tawkin' about?" Sunshine yelled back. "Since I ain't gonna be leada of Brooklyn no more an' Flames is, I seem ta be of no importance no more! So why are you even here? Huh? So you kin gloat?" Sketch asked fiercely.

Sunshine's angry face melted into tears as she spoke. "Why would I do dat ta you Sketch?" She choked through the tears that streamed down her face, all the pent up anxiety pouring out of her. At the sight of her tears, Sketch realized what he had done. He took a step towards Sunshine, but she instantly jumped back. "Don't come anywhere near me Sketch Conlon! Jest, don't!" She choked. "Sunny, I," Sketch started. "Don't call me Sunny! Me names' Sunshine! You obviously don't care enough ta call me Sunny! I jest wanted some advice! Some simple advice as ta what ta do wit' Angel, an' here ya jest explode on me fer no reason! Do ya, oh geez, jest fergit it! Fergit it!" Sunshine stormed as she turned around and ran away, tears still streaming down her red cheeks. Sketch stood still on the dock. Then his sat down on the crate, cradling the slingshot in his hand. As he did so, one tear slid down his cheek, but he wiped it away fiercely and whispered over and over, "Conlons don't feel pain. Conlons don't feel pain."

************************************************************************