((By the way, I'm sorry this chapter took nearly forever to finish. I got writer's block a trillion times on this one; it was BAD. Thanks for the patience!))

The Bridge

"So, what's yer story?" Spot asked Isabelle, to fill the empty, awkward silence. They had been walking for a good ten minutes, and neither of them had said a word, up until now.

Isabelle shrugged, then was silent for a moment. "I went for a walk last night. I came back, an-" She stopped de.ad in her tracks, and Spot turned to her. She was staring down the street. He followed her gaze, which was resting on charred frame of a tenement building on the corner.

When he realized what was going on, he looked back at her.

She closed her eyes tightly. They had begun to water, and she was not willing to let that happen. "I can't," she thought. "Not in front of him. Not again." She felt his hand touch her shoulder, and tensed. "I refuse."

Bringing her hands to her face, she quickly dried her eyes, turning herself around. "Come on. Is there any other way to get there?"

"Yeah," Spot said. "Turn left up there." He tended to be an inflictor of pain, not a consoler. This gi.rl, however, had a beauty he couldn't stand to see marred by tears and heartache. She had a way of exaggerating emotions. It was unintentional, since she very obviously tried to hide them, but it was clear. Like a flower in the middle of a downpour, she made the idea of unhappiness look pitiful; beautiful, but miserable.

Isabelle marched off, in the opposite direction of her former home. Not sure what else to do, Spot followed. With his directions, they got to the distribution center in about fifteen minutes, and stepped up to the window in the front of the line.

"A leadah's advantage," he explained to her in a whisper. Then he turned his attention to the bookkeeper and shoved three quarters under the window. "Hundred n' fifty."

As the papers were counted, Isabelle gaped at Spot. "Isn't… isn't that a lot?"

He hoisted the papers onto his shoulder and smirked at her. "Goil… wid' yer looks… we'll be sellin' even mo' tomorra'!"

She blushed and followed him down the steps and out into the streets.

· · · · · · · ·

Two hours later

"My god, goil. You'se definitely good fer business!" Spot exclaimed after he sold their last paper to an elderly gentleman. "A hundred n' fifty papes 's neah'ly unhoid of fer a day, much less 'n hour!" A large group of school-going teenage boys had come by in the morning, and each one had insisted on buying a paper from the beautiful gi.rl, severely reducing their load.

Isabelle smiled. "So what do we do now?"

"We get 'da rest a' 'da day off!" He made a quick decision and started walking in the direction of the river.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as she quickly caught up with him.

"Ya's gonna meet Jacky-boy."

Isabelle looked at him quizzically.

"Well, all 'da Manhattan boys, really. We'll get theah' jus' in time fer lunch, if we take a coupl'a detours along 'da way. Cowboy's –'dat is, Jack- 'e's 'da leada'," he explained.

She thought about this as they continued walking. She'd never been on the Brooklyn Bridge, much less over it. A quiet excitement started building in her, and slowly grew until she could barely contain herself. New situations, places, and people were things that she loved, and she couldn't stop wondering about it.

· · · · · · ·

Looking out at the East River from such an overwhelming height, Isabelle was sure she had never seen anything so magnificent. Spot smiled to himself, proud of what he thought of as his city. Her amazement was childlike, sincere, and obvious. They had had to stop a few times already, so she could look over the side, or comment on how tiny everything looked down below.

"Ya do realize we won't get 'deah fer a good two days if you'se keep gawkin' at 'dis bridge…" Spot said playfully, gently pulling her along by the arm.

She blushed. "Sorry… it's just… well, huge!"

He shook his head. "Don't be sorry. I guess it is amazin', when ya think about it. I don't no moh'—think about it, 'dat is."

"I could stay here all day."

"Well maybe someday we will, 'den."

She smiled at him and they continued on to Manhattan.

((Thanks to elleestJenn, Gamble, and Margie Driscoll for reviews!))