Flu … it was a funny thing, Lacey decided as she struggled not to drip mucous into the pancakes. Now that she actually had it she didn't dare call in sick. Angelo would never believe her … not twice in a matter of months. All she could do was struggle through her shift and hope that she had the strength to make it home. Just walking back to the kitchen was almost too much effort - especially as she had to stop and cough her guts out on the way.

'You're scaring the customers, French,' Angelo said.

The heat of the grill wasn't enough to stop her shivering.

'Funny man,' she replied, 'I need two specials, eggs over easy, syrup on the side.'

Lena breezed in the back door, leaving it open, sending the icy wind through the kitchen.

'How's little Posie doing?' she asked.

'It's Poppy … her name is Poppy.'

'Whatever.'

Angelo dropped a couple of bacon strips onto the grill. The sizzle, the stench of it frying … Lacey had to fight a surge of nausea.

'Fine, she's fine.'

But Lacey didn't really know anymore. Her life seemed to have degraded into a cycle of work, diapers, feeding and puking. If there was a better way, she couldn't see it right now.

'You should bring her by some time,' Angelo said.

'I will … some time.'

Lena pressed a kiss to Angelo's bald head.

'That wouldn't be very hygienic, sweetie.'

For once Lacey had to agree, bringing the baby to work seemed wrong somehow. She was trying her hardest and things were better but the truth was that she still didn't feel like a mother. There was always that sneaking suspicion at the back of her mind that she would never truly love her child. Did that make her a terrible person? Lacey surreptitiously wiped her nose on a napkin.

'Speaking of hygienic…' Lena said.

Another thirty seconds and Lacey really was going to be sick. Angelo looked up from the hash browns.

'Go home, French.'

'I'm fine.'

'You puke on my customers and I'll throw you out on your ass.'

Weighing up the odds, Lacey realised that the chances were pretty high. Admitting defeat, she surrendered her apron … as well as this week's pay check

'Here…' Angelo said, shoving a bag of leftovers into her hands. 'And don't come back till you're feeling better.'

Flakes of snow were falling as she stepped out onto the street. Lacey turned her face upwards, letting the icy particles cool her overheated skin. Her first New York Winter. She zipped up her threadbare hoodie, even though it offered scant protection from the cold. Despite her worries about Poppy, about earning enough to keep them warm and safe, she had thrilled to the fact that Christmas was just around the corner. Poppy's first Christmas, and Lacey had been determined to make it special. But that couldn't happen if she was sick and couldn't work.

It was that thought that made her stop at the baby store on the way home. She felt like crap but the display in the window was too tempting to resist. There was so much her daughter was missing out on. Lacey wandered through the racks of clothes, of toys, knowing that she could never afford to give her daughter the best of anything. She picked up a bear in a Santa hat. It was cute. Poppy didn't have anything like it. Perhaps that was why she cried so much in the night? Lacey took a look at the price tag. Fifty dollars. There was something very wrong about that. The bear's fur was soft under her fingers, Poppy would love it. It was just a small thing … small enough for Poppy to clutch in her tiny hands … small enough to fit in a pocket.

Lacey glanced around the shop. No one was watching her. It was so easy. She walked slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself, even pausing to look at other items on her way out. If she'd been thinking clearly, she never would have done it. But right at that moment nothing seemed more important than her daughter's happiness.

It was only as she stepped out into the cold, icy New York City snow that the enormity of what she'd done hit her. Lacey started to run. Taking deep breaths of the frigid air was agony, but she couldn't seem to slow down. She hurtled down the street as if the gods themselves were after her. And perhaps they were. Some might have said it was the devil himself who interrupted her headlong flight. She literally ran into Mr. Gold, almost sending them both sprawling onto the sidewalk. He dropped his cane wrapping both arms about her in an effort to keep them both upright. Lacey clutched at his dark coat for a moment, staring at the silver snowflakes melting into the heavy wool. He pushed her away, holding her at arms length. Then, to her surprise, he let his hand rest against her burning cheek.

'Are you quite well, Miss French?' he asked. A faint hint of whiskey stained his breath.

'Yes … yes, I'm…' Lacey started to say, only to lose her words to a wracking cough.

She scrabbled in her pocket for a Kleenex only for the bear with the Santa hat to tumble out. Lacey felt herself start to panic again.

'I didn't mean to,' she blurted out.

He picked the little thing up, turning it over in his fingers.

'I'm going to take it back.'

Gold shook his head, a slight smile gracing his features.

'They won't even notice it's gone,' he said returning the toy. Then, to her complete surprise, he slipped his coat off and tucked it around her shoulders.

'Let's get you inside.'

The attention should have been overwhelming. Despite her taste in reading material, Lacey had never been one to accept help from a knight in shining armour. She preferred to save herself. It was a testament to how crappy she was feeling that she didn't mind him helping her up the stairs. When she fumbled with the key, she let him take it from her and open the door to the apartment.

'You're back early, dear,' Mrs Letterman said.

'Yes,' Lacey said, deliberately ignoring the implied question in the older woman's voice. 'How was Poppy?'

'A little angel.'

Lacey wasn't so sure about that. Mr. Gold removed the coat from her shoulders, brushing the last drops of water away before he folded it neatly over the back of the couch. It looked like he was planning to stay a while. Mrs Letterman glanced between the two of them, pale blue eyes unexpectedly sharp behind her thick glasses.

'If only I was ten years younger,' she sighed and patted Mr. Gold on the butt as she walked out the door. The horrified expression on his face was enough to send Lacey off into another fit of coughing as she tried not to laugh.

'You should get some rest,' he said when she finally subsided into silence.

'I will,' Lacey promised although she knew that very much depended on her daughter.

Mr. Gold had helped her in so many ways; it seemed ungrateful to throw him out on his ass.

'Would you like… I mean … if you haven't eaten yet?'

She held up the greasy bag of cold breakfast burritos. To her immense relief he didn't laugh in her face.

'I would be honoured.'

A whimper from the cot and Lacey realised that someone else was also in need of breakfast. She handed Gold the bag and nodded towards the kitchen.

'Uh … could you?'

Scooping Poppy up in her arms, she settled herself on the couch and unbuttoned her shirt. Mr Gold, she noticed, suddenly became very interested in the contents of the kitchen. She watched as he placed both the burritos on a plate and put them in the oven to warm through.

'There's tea if you want it.'

'You don't appear to have a kettle, Miss French.'

'I usually make it in the microwave.'

The absolute horror on his face was enough to start her coughing again.

'How uncivilised,' he said as he set a pan of water on the stove to boil.

It felt odd, she realised, watching him move about her kitchen. Odd, but not unpleasant. Despite the fact that the tea was made from bags, without the aid of a teapot, it was still the best she had ever tasted.

There was nowhere else to sit so he was forced to perch on the edge of the couch. At one time Lacey would have rejoiced in his discomfort, but not today. She got up, still cradling Poppy to her breast.

'I'm sorry - I'll finish off in the bedroom'

But he put out a hand to stop her.

'Stay,' he said. 'I'll get used to it.'