Bolt pushed to his feet, nodding at Spot. "I guess I'd better get going, if I'm going to be on time."

"Listen, let me know what happens," Spot said, standing as well. "This has the unmistakable look of a great opportunity to it."

Bolt nodded, his mind already on the meeting ahead, as he clapped Tiny on the back again. He muttered a quick, "See ya," to the great man before he exited the building, slipping his hand back into his pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with his father's watch.

For the most part, Bolt accepted his father's death now, if only because he never thought of it. He blocked out most of the memories from his childhood, generally content with the life he was leading now. He had Hannah, he had a small chunk of money saved up from his fight days, and he had a job that at least gave him a steady, albeit small, income.

But, as he headed off to that meeting, he found himself thinking about him again, and his mind wandered to what had really happened to his father.

New York City, 1880

Brooklyn

William Henderson wiped his clammy hands on his pants before opening the door to the small restaurant. He waited as his eyes adjusted to the light, glancing around the dingy room. He finally spotted the man he was supposed to be meeting, seated with his back to the wall in a dark corner of the restaurant. Joe Conners. Founder of the Conners Gang, which was still fairly new, but none the less intimidating. And Joe Conners was quickly proving his worth as a gang leader.

There was another man with him, standing back and to the right of the chair; William could only assume he was some sort of body guard.

William swallowed, willing his nerves to calm. He made his way over to the table, lowering himself into the seat directly opposite the man.

"You're late." Conners settled further back into the shadows. Whether the move had been intentional or not, William couldn't tell. But it served to make him all the more nervous.

"I beg your pardon, sir," William could hear the tremble in his own voice, and he despised himself because of it, "I came as soon as I could. The factory—"

William's words were cut off. "The factory is unimportant, don't you think, William?"

"Well, no, sir. I—I mean, yes, sir, if you say it is," William stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Connors seemed to regard him for a moment, before speaking again. "Do you know why I asked to meet you here, William?"

"No, sir. I don't,"William replied honestly.

"I brought you here, because I have heard that you're in need of some money. And I, being the giving fellow that I am, wish to assist you with that." His words dripped from his mouth like oil.

"Well—thank you sir. That's very kind of you." William was surprised, but he wasn't stupid. He knew this man wasn't the kind to just hand out money. His mouth felt as if it was lined with cotton, and yet his palms still managed to stay damp.

"Yes, of course. But I'll need you to do something for me, in return. You understand, don't you? After all, a man can't just be expected to hand over one hundred dollars," he let those words fall slowly, allowing each one to settle before saying the next, "with nothing in return." He leaned forward in his seat, and William could see his teeth flash in a grin.

"I'm sorry," William began hoarsely, before clearing his throat, "I'm sorry, sir, did you say one hundred?"

"Did I say one hundred, Tony?" he glanced back at the large man who was standing behind him.

The man kept his eyes on William as he nodded a yes.

"Well, then, I guess I did. Would you be willing to make an arrangement, William?"

It unnerved him, to hear this man he'd never actually met before continually refer to him by name, but a hundred dollars was a fortune he couldn't afford to pass up. "Yes, I think we can make an arrangement. What would you have me do?"

"Go back to your home. Tony here will find you when I need you. And whenever that is, I expect you to be ready. Understood?"

William swallowed once more, "Understood, sir."

"Good. Here's the first fifty. Wait to hear from me." The man tapped an envelope on the table, before standing to his feet, and placing his hat on his head, "It was a pleasure doing business with you, William."

With that, Tony and the man left, and William sat in silence for a moment. He was startled from his thoughts when a young waitress approached his table.

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, sir?"

William started to shake his head no, he didn't have the money to eat in restaurants, when his eyes fell across the envelope on the table. "Yes, yes, bring me your most expensive meal. Whatever it is. That's what I'll have."

The waitress eyed him strangely for a moment, before turning away to do as she was bidden.

New York City, 1902

Brooklyn

Bolt found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge for the second time that day. He was headed back to the Bowery, to the Bluebird Café. He dug his hands a little deeper into his pockets and lowered his head against the gusting wind. His thoughts traveled back to Hannah once again, wondering what she was thinking about all this.

He knew she was upset, that much had been evident when he had left her that morning. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever been upset with him before. It was almost surreal, the relationship they had.

Smiling against the wind, he thought back to the first Christmas they had shared together. It hadn't seemed so cold, then.

New York City, 1900

Christmas Eve

Elijah struck the match again, guarding it against the wind with his hand, as he attempted one last time to light the candle he had purchased – it was special; he had bought it just for that night. He sighed in relief when the wick finally caught the flame.

"Elijah? Are you here?" Hannah stepped onto the flat roof of his boarding house, pulling her wrap a little tighter to ward off the winter chill.

"I'm over here," he said, stepping across the roof to greet her. He offered his arm, helping her across the roof, to where he had a small spread of food.

"Elijah!" Hannah couldn't help but let a small giggle escape, and she instantly covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed. "I can't believe you did all this."

Elijah grinned back, amazed at the way his heart jumped whenever he was around her. "Well, I had some help. Becky made most of the food; I just bought what she told me to."

"It's so sweet! Too bad I can't tell Elisabeth, she'd be jealous." Hannah smiled, lowering herself onto the chair Elijah had carried up from his room.

"I still don't understand why you can't tell your sister," Elijah replied, leaning against the ledge, his brown eyes searching hers.

"I know. It's just Ellie, she worries too much. I'm going to tell her that we're courting though, I'm just waiting for the right time."

"Uh huh," Elijah winked at her, "let me know when that is, so I can stop sneaking around."

Hannah wrinkled her nose at him. "I like the sneaking, it's cute," she replied, doing her best to keep a straight face.

Elijah raised his eyebrows at her, "I for one, am not cute. I'm… ruggedly handsome. There's a difference."

Hannah laughed at that. "Oh of course, how could I have forgotten?" She watched him as he poured drinks for them both, blushing a little bit when he glanced up and caught her staring. "Do you—uh want to share the chair?" she asked.

Elijah smiled as she slid to the side of the chair, and sat down next to her. "Thanks."

She lifted her glass up. "Merry Chistmas, Elijah."

"Merry Christmas."