Ingrid awoke before any of the boys the next morning. Careful not to wake Gunnar, she crawled out of bed and made her way onto the roof. She stopped short when she realized that Spot was standing across the room, his back to her. She had been asleep when he returned and she had no real desire to confront him after his actions the night before.

Spot took another drag on his cigarette. The cold wind blew, carrying the smoke away quickly. He didn't even flinch as the cold air blew through his thin jacket. He had been on the roof since long before sunrise and he no longer felt the cold.

Unable to sleep, he had crawled up onto the roof. Images of his parents and Stella swam around in his head whenever he closed his eyes. And he couldn't bear the emotions that those images conjured up.

And then there was Ingrid. Even keeping his eyes open could not keep her from his mind. He felt pangs of guilt for walking out on her, but Striker's words kept repeating in his mind. Would she understand? After hours of consideration, he concluded that, despite his feelings for her, distancing himself from Ingrid was for the best.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he straightened and turned slowly. His heart skipped slightly when he saw Ingrid standing before him.

"Good morning," he said hoarsely, his voice suddenly failing him.

She regarded him silently and moved to lean on the half-wall of the roof. Spot sighed and moved beside her, offering a cigarette.

Ingrid took it from him, trying to hide her eagerness. It had been weeks since she had had a cigarette and the temptation was too great. He lit it for her and she quickly breathed in a smooth stream of smoke.

Watching Ingrid enjoy the cigarette, Spot felt his stomach tie in knots. All his determinations to distance himself from her melted away when they were in close proximity. He reached out and took her hand. "Sorry bout last night."

Taking another drag, she glanced up at him. Exhaling, she shook her head in defeat, a smile creeping across her lips. It was hard to stay angry at him when looking into those grey-green eyes. Her resolve quickly crumbled.

Returning her smile, Spot wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Whatcha gonna do today?"

Ingrid leaned back against her chest and shrugged. "Since you are taking care of Gunnar, I thought that I would search for a job."

"Ya that anxious ta get outta here?" he asked softly, leaning close to her ear.

She glanced up and quickly pulled herself out of his arms. Confused, Spot followed her gaze until he saw Striker standing by the fire escape, glaring disapprovingly.

When he saw Spot and Ingrid embracing on the roof, he tossed his unlit cigarette aside in disgust. When was this boy gonna learn? "The boys're ready to go."

Spot nodded. "I'll be right in."

When Striker had vanished back down the fire escape, Ingrid leaned against the wall. "Obviously not everyone wants us here as much as you do."

"Ingrid--"

"Go," she interrupted. "The boys are waiting for you."

He kissed her gently on the cheek before starting back to the bunkroom.

"Spot."

Selling his final paper to a businessman hurrying through the cold, Spot tried to ignore Striker's call as best he could.

"Spot. You can't ignore me forever," Striker called drawing near.

Spot moved to Gunnar, who was selling a few feet down the street. "How's the sellin going little man?"

Gunnar held up two papers, all that was left of the stack that Spot had given him.

"We gotta talk, buddy boy," Striker said, grabbing Spot's arm. "Can ya ditch the kid?"

"Ditch the kid?" he asked in shock, pulling his arm fee. "No I can't ditch him, Striker. He ain't old enough to be out here on his own. Whatever ya got to day ta me, ya say it in front of him or wait til later."

Striker rolled his eyes. "See I would wait, but it seems lately that when ya ain't with the kid, ya can't keep yer hands off his mama."

Unable to control his temper, Spot grabbed Striker by the collar and shoved him against the building. "You had better watch yourself, boyo. Ya don't know what you're talkin bout."

Striker smiled slightly at Spot's outburst of anger. This was the Spot he knew, the Great Brooklyn leader that he was proud to call his friend. Glancing over Spot's shoulder, he saw Gunnar staring at them in shock. He motioned with his chin and Spot turned his head.

When Spot saw the fear in Gunnar's eyes as he watched the argument, he released Striker and took a calming step back. "Get outta here."

Striker straightened his jacket and stalked off down the street.

Spot watched him vanish around the corner before kneeling beside Gunnar. "Come on, lets get those last papers sold."

Heading back to the lodging house after they had finished selling, Spot tried to forget about Striker and relax. He stretched as they walked, loosening muscles that had been unconsciously tensed for days. Cocking his head to the side, he strained the muscles in his neck. With his head tilted to the side, he caught sight of a sign handing overhead. Fifth Street Orphanage. He cringed as he read the words, unable to stop the flood of images that flooded into his mind. By now, they were images that he knew all too well: Stella, lying on the bunk, sleeping peacefully; her beautiful smile as she watched the clouds over Central Park. Then finally came the memory that he dreaded the most, the one that haunted him for over a year. The day they came to take her away. He closed his eyes tight, but there was no stopping it. Flashed of images played over and over in his mind, set to the soundtrack of steady sobs.

Suddenly, his eyes jerked open. There was something different this time around. He noticed something that he had never remembered before. Striker. He was holding Spot back, keeping him from going after her.

Spot was pulled from his thoughts by Gunnar pulling at his arm. "What is wrong?"

"Nothin, kid," Spot lied, mustering a fake smile. "Let's getcha back to your aunt."

Spot felt a sudden need to find Stella, no matter what the consequences, and he had to do it quickly. Striker had intercepted any of his efforts before and Spot was determined not to let him get in the way.

"Ey, Spot, how was the sellin?" Pokey asked as they entered the bunkroom.

Spot quickly scanned the room, slightly deflated when he didn't see Ingrid. "Alright I guess. Is Striker here?"

"He just stepped out ta buy some cigarettes, should be back soon," Pokey said, shuffling his cards absently. "Whatcha need him for?"

Spot mentally cursed, waiting for Ingrid meant a run in with Striker and that was the last thing that he needed. "Listen, Pokey, can you watch the kid till Ingrid gets back? I got somethin I gotta take care of."

"Yeah sure. Commere kid, I'll teach ya ta play pokah."

Satisfied, Spot started for the door. Once outside, he stopped on the steps to light a calming cigarette. When he looked up, he groaned.

Striker had come around the corner and was blocking his path. "Where ya goin, buddy boy? You and I still need to talk."

"I ain't got nothing to say to you, boyo," Spot said harshly, pushing passed him. "Sides, I got some business to attend to."

"What business?" Striker asked, pulling Spot by the arm. "You're goin to find her, ain't ya?"

Spot loosed his arm and pushed Striker back. "So what if I am? Ya ain't gonna stop me this time."

"Oh I see. You're blamin me for what happened. I wasn't the one who took her away, Spot. But it was for the best. You ain't yourself when she's around."

Spot's anger was boiling up in him, but he forced to hold it back. "That ain't for you to decide, boyo."

"Face it, Spot, Stella ain't part of your life anymore. The sooner ya learn that, the easier life will get fer ya."

Spot shook his head. "I lover her, Striker. And whether I see her or not, she's a part of me and I ain't gonna give that up."

"Are ya telling me that you'd choose Stella over me, or any of the boys in there?" Striker asked, pushing Spot against the building.

Trying desperately to keep his temper in check, Spot replied coolly "In a heartbeat."

"What about your precious Ingrid? How do you think she'll react when you tell her about Stella?"

"She'll understand," Spot said firmly, pushing Striker off of him and walking away.

"You sure about that, buddy boy?"