This chapter is short, I know. But I hope it's a good one.

A walk was exactly what Pocket needed to clear her head. She didn't know what to think anymore. Deep down, she'd long since forgiven Spot for his high handed bossiness. She knew his attitude stemmed from a strong desire to protect her, and she knew he would never change. And if she allowed herself to admit it, she couldn't ignore the fact that his over-protectiveness, though frustrating at times, made her feel safe and cherished.

But seeing him with that girl had wounded her deeply. Based on Fivers story, and Race's comment about ego, she was starting to piece together the truth about that night. Pocket began to suspect that Spot had allowed the floozy to drape herself all over him as a salve to his bruised pride. And that was the part Pocket couldn't get past.

Without her realizing, her steps had turned toward Brooklyn, either out of habit of a need to see him. Deep in thought, she was halfway across the bridge before a voice stopped her.

"Katie."

She froze, head jerking up. Spot stood in front of her and she took a moment to look him over. Race was right, he didn't look like himself. His face was grey and tired, his eyes dull. Gone was the aura of tightly leashed power that normally surrounded him, replaced by a heavy mantle of hopelessness.

Spot studied her just as intently, noting the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were limp and grimy, as though, like him, she hadn't been able to muster the energy to change.

They stood facing each other in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, both wanting to speak, both unsure where to begin.

"I'm sorry."

Pocket spoke first, surprising Spot.

"I shouldnta said that, bout not bein ya goil. I was mad at ya for tellin me what to do, an' for sayin I couldn't keep the strike goin. I didn't mean it though."

Spot's heart lightened at her admission.

"I know you'se tough," he told her. "I just hate seein ya chase afta trouble. I just want ya –"

"Safe," she finished for him. "I know. I was just mad. I'm was comin ta apologize, the othah night."

"An' ya came in ta find that bitch all ovah me," Spot bit out, his tone laced with self-recrimination.

"Yeah," she agreed softly.

"Ya gotta believe me, baby, nothin happened," he explained desperately.

"I know."

Her softly spoken words gave him hope, and he rushed to continue.

"I didn't touch her, I swear. I spent the whole night tryin ta get away from her. Only reason ya saw . . ." he hesitated, " what ya saw, wsa cuz I hoid some of me boys sayin I lost me touch."

"Ah," Pocket murmured, suspicions confirmed.

Spot was encouraged when she didn't argue or yell at him, and he closed the distance between them, reaching out to take her hand.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I nevah meant to hoit ya."

His eyes held hers, his expression hopeful.

"Can ya . . . d'ya think ya can forgive me?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "I forgive ya."

With a joyful whoop he swept her into his arms, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. For a moment he simply held her, until he noticed how she held herself stiffly in his embrace. Spot pulled away, searching her face.

"Will ya be me goil again . . . please?" he asked nervously, holding his breath as he awaited her answer.

Pocket took a long time to respond, every second pierced his heart like a spear. Finally she spoke, her voice thick with tears.

"I can't," she muttered brokenly.

"What d'ya," he swallowed around the lump in his own throat and tried again. "What d'ya mean ya can't?" he demanded.

"Spot, I don't wanna be without ya," she began.

"Then don't," he interrupted.

"But I can't go through that again," she continued, ignoring his outburst. "What's gonna happen the next time we fight? Ya gonna console yaself with a different goil every time?"

"I said I'se sorry," he insisted. "I don't wanna fight with ya anymore."

She rolled her eyes and let out a mirthless laugh.

"Spot," she said, "there's no way in hell we won't fight again. I won't be able to stand it, wonderin if you'se off with somebody else."

He could hear the finality in her words, knew it was pointless to argue. She had made her decision. Shoulders slumped in defeat, he let go of her and turned to leave. Spot turned back after a couple of steps, eyes roaming her face, memorizing every feature. He ran a shaking hand over his face, knuckling away the tears that threatened to spill from his tightly closed eyes.

"I need ya ta know, Katie," he whispered hoarsely, "that I love ya. I always have. An' I ain't gonna stop. Rememba that."

With one last lingering look he turned and walked away, leaving Pocket alone in the middle of the bridge, tears streaming down her face.

Ooooh, poor Spot and Pocket! Next chapter is the last one . . . .