"Outta the way," Race loudly announced, though the aggravation in his tone was entirely put-on and his gracious request was met with rolling eyes even as boys complied, whether shuffling aside or merely leaning away as he moved through the tunnel. "One side, one side, comin' through here."

Farther down, he caught a glimpse of a slight frown of puzzlement appearing between Spot's brows at the commotion he was causing. Spot's eyes widened just a fraction as he approached, and when it became fairly clear that he was the intended destination of Race's noisy journey, the what the hell do you think you're doing written on his features was as clear as if he'd barked out the words.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Race inwardly cursed his own ability to read faces and tried not to cringe. "Hey, Spot."

There was a late supper in progress, which meant that Spot, for the moment, was alone. He'd sent his boys off to join the crowd at the other end of the tunnel waiting to get their share. They'd always gotten him his, too, but from what Race had observed that hadn't meant much. In the few days since he'd come here, Spot had occasionally taken a few bites before stopping cold, and the majority of his portion he'd given right back to his boys. To their credit, they'd objected. And he'd snapped at them, and they'd given in and let him be, every time.

Well, this time it was going to be different.

Well, potentially different. Maybe. If Spot didn't tear his head off first.

"I'se still waiting," Spot said.

"Special express delivery." He came to a stop in front of Spot. "Just for you."

"Yeah. So's I gathered. Delivery of what?"

"Supper, what else? All right, all right—" he added hastily, to forestall the coming objection. He would have held up his hands as well, but they were full, and anyway it wouldn't have made a bit of difference...not to Spot, not anymore. "I know, it ain't quite the entray der joor at Delmonico's, but you'se just gonna have to lower your high-class standards, 'cos it's all we got."

He knew it was the wrong thing to say the instant Spot's expression changed, going from annoyed suspicion to something much more bleak. "I—" Spot paused and swallowed, and his tone had lost its sharpness. "Race, I ain't—"

Race hurriedly sank to a crouch so he could set down the items he was carrying. "Forget what I said, forget it. I didn't mean it how it came out." The bottom of the tin cup made a small scraping noise against the rough floor as he shifted it to a more stable position, and he nearly yelped in surprise as Spot's hand darted out at the sound to unerringly grab his wrist.

"Listen," Spot said, his voice low, insistent. "I'se serious. That ain't why. I ain't tryin' to say you and Jack don't provide."

"I know."

"Nothing like that."

"I know."

"If." Spot bit the rest of his sentence off, his grip tightening on Race's wrist, his gray eyes still unflinching, revealing nothing. The increased pressure didn't hurt, but Race could feel the urgency behind it, whatever it was that Spot was keeping locked away. After a long moment, Spot continued, his words steady. "If you hadn't found us when you did. I don't know where my boys would be right now."

Race did his best not to react, but inwardly, it was as though the breath had been knocked out of him. For Spot to openly admit that he'd been at a complete loss as to where to go or what to do with his boys...well, Race had never expected to hear it, not now, not ever. Eventually, he managed to say, "And you."

"And me what?"

"Where you'd be right now. Your boys and you."

Spot shrugged.

"I mean it," Race told him. "In case you hadn't noticed, I ain't exactly heartbroken here over the fact that you'se still walking and talking. Not to mention coming in here and practic'ly giving me fits by bein' your never-ending hard-headed self."

Nothing changed in Spot's face except for the slight compression of his lips, but the strong squeeze around Race's wrist was unmistakable. "And you," he muttered.

"Well," Race said, and had to stop to cough. It had come out much huskier than he'd intended. "Guess that makes us even, then."

Spot's reply was his usual unhurried drawl. "I guess it does."

"'Course, we don't gotta be one hundred-percent even. F'r instance, I don't mind if you feel like you wants to owe me just a little bit..."

Spot scoffed and released his wrist to lounge back against the wall again. Despite the ostensible dismissiveness of it, a wave of relief washed over Race at the flippant gesture. No one owed anyone here anything, of course. It could be argued that they'd saved Spot and his boys by taking them in when they had, but the newcomers had swiftly repaid it in kind by helping save Jack the very next day—which meant, by extension, that they'd also saved David. You couldn't tally these things up, and they'd stopped trying to long ago; these days, the impossible escapes and last-second chances they'd all fought for were far too great, and the sacrifices ran far too deep, for words to ever be adequately put around them.

Race settled into a more comfortable position on the floor, rubbed his hands together briskly. "Fine, all right. Let's see what they sent up from the kitchen, huh? Don't know about you, but I could do with some feed."

"Go ahead. My boys'll be back soon with ours."

"Uh," Race said. "No, they won't."

"You'se gonna need to repeat yourself. I don't think I heard that right."

"You heard me right."

In the days before, Spot would have pinned him with a look. As it was, his scowl wasn't much better. "Race..."

"I asked 'em not to."

"Asked 'em not to come back, or not to get our food?'

"Both. That is, they'se getting their own food," Race amended hastily, barely getting it out before Spot had finished gathering himself to rise. "They just, uh, ain't coming back here just yet. And they ain't bringing yours."

"Yeah? And why is that?"

"Because I asked..."

"I heard that part already."

"All right, so there you go."

"You asked them not to bring me food." Skepticism dripped from every syllable. "You."

"Yeah."

"And they agreed."

"Well..." Race rubbed the back of his neck. "They stared at me a whole lot, first."

"Uh-huh."

"But in the end, Garrs told the...He ain't such a bad fella, when you gets down to brass tacks. Fact is, he's a real fine judge of character, if you ask me."

"So I been thinking. So far."

"Aah, don't come down on 'im for it, he ain't to blame. Ain't his fault he couldn't resist bein' swayed by my not-inconsiderable charm. I mean, who could?"

"You'se a goddamn punk, Higgins." But one corner of Spot's mouth was curling up as he said it.

Race dramatically pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. "Now is that any way to speak to a man who's gone and risked his very life and limb to bring you vital sustenance? I think not."

"Risked life and limb, huh?"

"Ain't kidding there, actually," Race admitted.

"Is that so."

"You know how just now you said you was glad I'se still walking and talking?"

Spot paused only slightly before answering. "Yeah."

"Well if you want to keep it that way, you'll at least take a crack at supper. Else your boys is going to be even less happy with me than they already is now, after agreein' to let me try."

"Fine." Spot rolled his eyes. "Explain to me what's so special about supper. 'Cos eating ain't...it ain't been working so well, for a while."

Race sobered up quickly. "What's 'a while'?"

"Since the day..." Spot trailed off. "Two days before we joined up with yous."

"Four days then? That ain't so bad. I think it's 'cos the food ain't been the right kind. We been having corned beef and sardines and such. Real heavy stuff, know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Spot said reluctantly.

Inwardly, Race said a few choice words to himself. He should have realized much sooner. "An' you didn't say?"

"What could I have said?" Spot's question wasn't a challenge, but there was definitely resistance. "We come here and less than twenty-four hours later we all gets attacked, Jacky-boy and Snoddy is out of commission, your entire place nearly burns down, you ain't got anything shielding the door anymore...do I gotta go on?"

"No, but..."

"An' then I...what? Starts demanding different food 'cos I'se a little too sick to eat properly? You'se already feeding us. Don't try telling me you got a whole storehouse down here."

"No. Well, yes. There ain't much of it, you'se right about that, but we do got some stuff saved up. As many cans as we'se able to, of course. Jars. Boxes that ain't been opened or got any holes in them yet..." He sighed. "'S my fault, I shoulda laid it all out for you sooner. But I thought maybe it'd be too much new stuff to keep track of, all at once. The point is, we gots enough to pick something else you can have."

Spot rolled his walking-stick between his fingers. "I didn't want..."

"To give us a bigger load to carry?" Race said softly. "You ain't. Lemme ask you this. If it was one of your boys couldn't keep food down, how long would you wait?"

Some of the fight seemed to go out of him. "I wouldn't. You knows that."

"You knows it too," Race pointed out.

The nod he received was a grudging one, but it was good enough. He'd take that any day.

"We opened up some canned fruit," he plunged on. If Spot was going to be in an even slightly receptive frame of mind, Race was going to take full advantage of the moment. He lifted the tin cup, set it down with a small thump; within, amber and ivory-colored wedges swirled in a thick, clear syrup. "Already forgot where the pears is from but the peaches is that Silver Crown brand and trust me, they'se the best. And over here—" He gave the dark blue cut-glass bowl beside it a rattle. "Got some oat crackers and molasses. You'se in luck there, lemme tell you, we didn't find that molasses 'til last week."

Around them, boys were either carrying their suppers back to their usual places or were already digging in. A ways down the tunnel, Bumlets, Blink and Mush had formed a talkative little circle around a now-quiet Snitch as they ate. Spot took a wary bite of a pear slice, while Race decided against looking around to locate the group from Brooklyn, who were undoubtedly even now boring holes into the back of his head trying to work out what he was doing. They probably weren't going to interrupt. Garrs had grunted that he'd give Race a shot at talking to their boss, and Race, because what else could you do when you were out of options, was going to choose to bet he was the kind of guy who'd stick to that declaration.

And maybe that bet had been worth it. Supper went slowly but, Race was glad to see, steadily. As the last piece of oat cracker disappeared, he fished out a crumpled bit of waxed paper from his shirt pocket. "Here, don't forget this too." He leaned forward and tapped Spot's knuckles before pushing it into his hand.

Inside the paper sat a small yellow lump. Spot passed his thumb over the rough texture. "What's this?"

"Ginger. Well, not just ginger, it's that fancy dried kind they put sugar all over. The box said it's good for the stomach. Now stop touchin' it and just eat it, you'll get crumbs."

He was vaguely surprised when Spot did so without argument. It was hard to tell in the tunnel's dim light, but the other boy's color already looked a little better, and he was visibly more at ease now that nothing was threatening to come back up. "I'll get us some water," Race said, climbing to his feet. He didn't have to go far; Bumlets, ever observant, spotted him coming and raised the canteen he was holding, then at Race's nod finished screwing the cap back on and tossed it to him. Race took a quick mouthful and carried it back to Spot.

"Don't get all smug about it," Spot said, after taking a swig, "but you wasn't wrong. About the food."

"Too late. I'se feeling plenty smug about it already."

That earned him a smirk, but it faded all too quickly. "I mean it," Spot said quietly. His fingers tapped restlessly against the side of the canteen. "Not since...not since those couple of days before you found us..." He paused.

Race let the silence stretch without interrupting. When Spot resumed, his voice was lower. "All day long, I'd be passing out and waking up again, could barely keep my eyes open. It got better over time though, bit by bit. First day was bad. Next day was better. Third day, by the time we met up with yous, I was only out cold for maybe ten, fifteen minutes. And it all ain't even 'cos I been sick or nothin'." Spot grimaced. "I got hit on the head. Real damned hard, in case you'se wondering. Guess I coulda dodged faster."

"Jesus. We oughtta check—"

"Don't bother. Nothing's broke and the swelling's near gone. My boys made sure."

Race didn't doubt it, but sleeping in a drafty abandoned steamship office with a head injury had probably not helped a great deal. It had been down at the East Side piers that he, Specs, and Snitch had encountered Spot's group. That they'd gone scavenging there at all that afternoon had been a dumb shot in the dark. The obvious sites in that area were the various markets of course, but these days, those weren't useful for foraging anymore. Catharine Market and Fulton Fish Market, with their fresh foods, had stopped yielding pretty much anything edible after a week in the summer heat; and at any rate the Fish Market's wooden structure, directly targeted by the dragons on that very first night, had been burned nearly to the ground. Even the main Fulton Market, despite being across a wide street from it, had not been spared; its red brick walls were half-gone, the expansive glass roof melted and caved in, many of its supporting iron columns slumped from the intense heat of dragon-fire. It had proved to be significantly more useful, though. A portion of the building's south side had fortunately remained, and in the first few weeks the boys had been able to find longer-lasting provisions in the ruins of the restaurants and coffee-booths situated in that end of the market. And the surviving refrigerated chambers, occupying two of the building's short towers, had been a veritable treasure-hoard.

But those had hardly lasted long. So when the three of them had gone down that way that afternoon, they'd barely given the ruins a second glance.

What was useful there now was the plethora of storehouses and warehouses that lined South Street, plus more steamship and ferry offices than you could count. Even if food wasn't likely, there were more often than not other kinds of supplies to be found; especially since the waterfront, barricaded by the river and thus virtually inaccessible from the east side, saw less looting than most other places. Race would be the first to admit that it had likely been a stupid risk for them to try going there that day, just forty-eight hours after seeing dragons above the East River. But uppermost in their minds at the time, after the stress of dealing with the water barons, had been the notion of just going someplace with a probable yield and close to home.

One glance at Spot's face was warning enough. His head and appetite might be on the mend, but from the way his breathing was beginning to quicken, it was obvious to Race that his thoughts were on something else. Something that had nothing whatsoever to do with physical injury; something that had not even begun to heal.

Now was not the time to press. Race said neutrally, "Was a real good thing Snitch wanted to go out that day, then."

The sound of his voice seemed to jolt the other boy out of whatever dark path his mind had been spiraling down. "It was." Spot took a breath, then let it out very slowly, expression clearing slightly. "He's the one, ain't he, earlier today..."

"Yeah. Don't let it give you the wrong idea about Snitch though," Race hurried to add, "he's a good guy. He wasn't at all like this before...well, before. We keeps an eye out for him."

"I noticed." Spot's chin lifted a little. "I been meaning to ask. When you was talking to him earlier, you asked if he remembered how you got—something. And he said he didn't want no one else getting hurt."

"That's right. I figured that'd get through. Deep down he's the same as he always was, just takes him a minute to get his head back 'round things, sometimes."

"So what was the 'something'? You don't gotta tell me," Spot added swiftly.

Race hadn't seen this one coming, but he was not one to let an opportunity pass.

He leaned closer to Spot. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"