Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own 'em.

A/N: Yup, it's update time!!!! It's literally been forever, but I'm updating a LOT of stories I've got in all these little places. I'm also posting a lot of new stories here so watch out for them!

The rain beat down heavily upon the Bronx lodging house. The Bronx's main room, which had the classier and cleaner look of the boroughs, was filled with a hazy smoke from cigars and the mixed scent of cigars, alcohol and peppermint wafers. The peppermint wafer scent came from the central of the room where a small table stood. It seemed insignificant besides the fact it was the only table that was scrubbed clean daily. Sitting at it was the Bronx leader, Martin "Marty" Adams, his hand cupped around a steaming cup of coffee mixed with some alcohol. Sitting across from him and picking at the peppermint wafers was Rachel, a forlorn look on her face. She had relayed everything that had happened in the past few months to Marty within an hour. She didn't spice anything up, just told him straight what had happened with Brooklyn and the Delanceys. And, of course, what happened between her and Spot and Ricky's undeserved fate. Marty had taken it all in, not saying anything or making any gesture until she finished. Through the time she had been there, Marty had gone through three cups of coffee and only this last one had been laced with alcohol so he could get his fix without losing his mind. Rachel had gone through two cups of strong tea and one bowl of peppermint wafers. It was only when the silenced settled over the table that Rachel started picking at the wafers instead of eating them. Marty had always made sure to have a large bag of them around for when Rachel stopped by. She had practically lived at the Bronx lodging house for five years before her parents died. After that she spent a year there then another couple of days for the strike. It had always been a home she'd be constantly welcomed back to. Sure, she had Manhattan but she didn't dare show her face there now. Because of her Mush had gotten hurt and she couldn't turn to Spot for help. She had avoided him for a solid week, staying in the Bronx during the day and only slipping back to Brooklyn at night under the cover of Marty and a few friends that came with her from the Bronx. She had barely spoken to anyone in Brooklyn for that matter. For the first week, it had been shocked conversation that ran through the halls. Halting conversations with Spell, Catherine and Spot didn't bother her until she realized they'd never forget what happened and constantly remember Ricky was dead because of her. None of them said it out loud, but she felt as if they all felt it. In her mind she was to blame for everything that happened over the course of the past couple months. After the few comforting words that Marty could offer her, she had fallen to being quiet and staring at the fire which was starting to go out in the room. It wasn't that it was dark out yet, it was mid-afternoon, but it was cold and Marty knew Rachel felt even more chilled than the rest of them. He couldn't really bear to see her like this since he had always known her having a hard personality with that icy sheet over it that few could break. She had been Bronx's best fighter and Marty could tell the years under someone else's wing, being it Jack's, had softened even her toned muscles.

"Marty?" Rachel asked softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Marty looked at her staring blankly into the dying fire. "Yeah Rach?" He asked, slightly afraid of what she was going to say.

"Do you think I'm a horrible person?" She asked, shocking him. Turning her face to his he could see tears almost falling over in her eyes. "I mean, I didn't mean to have Ricky die. I didn't want him to die. He was a great person. If I could take it back I never would have left Manhattan. Hell, if I could take it back I would've left New York three years ago. I would've gone somewhere far away from this." She said, slamming her hands down on the table. "I could've gotten far away from the horrible streets and Oscar and Morris and just everything. Why the hell didn't I go?" She cried, her voicing getting louder as she went on. "I could've left, just packed up the few belongings and left. I can't leave now, no I can't." Her voice had reached a pitch that had grabbed the attention of everyone in the room. Silence overcame all other conversations as the occupants watched Rachel's public breakdown. Her friends, the ones that were constantly loyal to her, stood aghast of what was happening. "Marty I could've left! I could've just taken the fastest train outta here to Boston for all I care! I never would've met anyone in Manhattan. I never would know that Jack was my cousin, never would know Race or Spot or Kid or Catherine or Whisper. But it doesn't matter in the big picture, don't you see?" She asked looking desperately at him. "It doesn't matter because then no one would've died. I could have been free of Oscar. He'd never make the connection between me and Jack. He never would've known. I never would've almost lost Jack and Race. I wouldn't have lost Ricky. I wouldn't have lost friendships. I wouldn't have lost…." She trailed off a moment, looking back to her hands and becoming almost peaceful in her way. "I never would've lost Spot." She finished quietly. "Never."

"You haven't lost him Rach," Marty said quietly, scooting his chair over to where she sat. "He's still there. He still loves you, he always will. This is just one of those things that you have to go through as a couple. Horrible things happen while in a relationship. You and Spot just have to experience this tragedy before anyone else had to. You'll make it through. You're both strong enough. Rach, you're strong enough to get through this."

Rachel shook her head slowly. "No, I'm not. That's where you're wrong Marty. I'm not strong enough for this. I'm strong enough to bring down whoever crosses my path with fists. But I'm not emotionally strong enough. Ever since my parents died I've been holding it all inside of me, afraid to let it out. And when I choose to let it out, look what happens. Ricky's dead because I can't control my emotions. Ricky is dead because of my horrible weakness. Ricky is dead because of me. I killed him."

"Rach-" Marty started before he was cut off by Rachel standing up suddenly and running out of the room. Quickly following her, he saw her leave the lodging house through the back door. Pushing it open, Marty quickly jumped onto the pavement that ran between the house and the printing building. "Shit." He muttered under his breath as he tried to look for Rachel but to no avail. Turning around and heading back into the lodging house Marty realized what he had to do. He had to go to Brooklyn and Manhattan and relay the fact that Rachel had run away and that Marty was sure she was leaving New York for good.

Back in Brooklyn things weren't looking so good. It seemed as if Spot had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed as he glowered at everyone that even came near him. Neither Spell nor Catherine knew what to do with him so they let him stew, figuring he'd come out of it eventually. Spot was brooding on the couch in the corner of the room when Marty ran in, exasperated. Spotting Catherine immediately he ran over to her.

"Where's Spot?" He asked breathlessly. "Where?!" He asked again only a second later grabbing onto her arms. Shocked by the raw emotion in his eyes and the intensity of his stare Catherine only pointed to where Spot sat on the couch. Rushing over Marty grabbed Spot's arm, pulling him off the couch.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" Spot yelled, shaking his arm from Marty's grip.

"Spot, listen." Marty said urgently, grabbing his shoulders. "She's gone. Rachel's gone."

Spot looked up at him suddenly as the room quieted. Hell, he'd known she had been going to the Bronx every day to avoid him then coming back at night. He wasn't an idiot, yet he wasn't going to bring it up with her just yet. "What the hell do ya mean she's gone?"

"She's left. She was blaming herself for Ricky's death and saying how she should've left New York three years ago and just got up and ran out. I tried to go after her to find her but I couldn't. Damnit Spot, she's leavin' New York. She's-"

Marty didn't have time to finish before Spot was running out of the Brooklyn Lodging House into the streets of New York.

Rachel knew exactly where she was going. Turning down onto a packed street, she kept her eyes straight ahead and her arms wrapped tightly around her. She drew a few glances as she walked by, mostly due to the healing cuts on her face from the glass Sarah had shattered in her face. She was dressed warmly for the cool day and in her pocket had the money she had kept hidden in the Bronx lodging house for six years. Coming to a corner Rachel took an immediate right towards the police station. There was something in the back of her mind nagging herself to do this, and yet it only grew stronger with the most recent events. Stopping in front of the large oak doors to the station, she stood for a moment before pushing them open and walking in. The large mahogany desk drew her attention and she made a beeline for it, trying not to look as lost as she was. A barrel chested officer sat at the desk, writing in a book of which Rachel could only assume held the names of visitors for prisoners. After she had been standing there for a few moments the officer looked up and recognition darted across his face, he had been one of the bulls to arrive on the scene when Ricky was shot.

"Can I help you?" His gruff voice seemed to echo throughout the nearly empty foyer.

Rachel suddenly felt as if she was three years old. "I'm here to visit a prisoner."

Confusion flitted across the man's face before he caught himself and became emotionless. "Why would you want to visit a prisoner?"

Rachel gulped, this was the part she didn't want to admit. "I need to visit a family member, my uncle. Is he still here?"

"Name?" The officer said, looking down at his sheets.

"Michael Sullivan," she answered quietly.

"Yup, he's here. What relation are you exactly?" He said, looking at her over the rim of his glasses.

Rachel hugged herself tightly. "He's my uncle. My name is Rachel Sullivan. He was my father's brother."

"Aye I remember your father," the officer said suddenly taking on a calm demeanor. "Great man with a great family." He said looking at her. "It's a tragedy of what happened to him," he finished quietly.

Rachel bit her bottom lip. "Can I just see my uncle please? I'm the only family he has left and I heard he was transferred back here for the last of his sentence."

The officer nodded. "Aye he was. Sign here then." He said, pushing the ledger towards her. "Right on the empty line next to his name."

Rachel quickly signed it then pushed it back to the officer. "Can I see him now? It's urgent."

The officer nodded before standing up and gesturing that Rachel should follow. As she silently walked next to him down the marble encased corridor she thought about what she was going to say to her uncle. She knew what she wanted to know, but the tricky part was going about asking him how to do it. Coming to a stop in front of a large wooden door, the officer turned to Rachel as if asking if she was still okay with going to see her uncle. Nodding, she kept her eyes trained ahead of her and ignored the catcalls from the cells as she passed them. Coming to a stop in front of a cell about halfway done the corridor the officer put down a stool he had grabbed when he opened the wooden door and placed it in front of the cage. "Here," he said nodding for her to sit. "You can talk to him, but I gotta stand by, you know…" he gestured to the men in the cells that surrounded her uncle.

Rachel knew exactly what she was talking about. She was in the corridor that housed some of the worse criminals in the Upper East Side. Sitting on the stool, she looked into the cell where her uncle sat on the bench, facing her with his hands clasped on his lap. "Hello Uncle Mike," she said, only soft enough for her and her uncle to hear what she was saying.

Looking up at her, Michael Sullivan's eyes clouded over with something that looked like worry and horror mixed together. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" He asked hoarsely. "Nothing bad has happened, has it?"

Rachel smiled weakly, not wanting to tell the only family she had left (besides Jack) what had happened. "No, I just need a big favor. I know you can still pull strings even from in the prison and I was wondering if you could help me."

Her uncle smiled at her response. "Anything Rachel, you know that. So long as it won't get you into trouble. I heard about Francis and his rally last year. I don't want him or you going down the same path as myself. I got myself into this mess, Francis was without a father and you were alone with no parents to be with you. I have to make up for that, Rachel. Anything you want, you get."

Rachel's smiled broadened. Even though her uncle had spent so many years in prison, she knew he was still the same man who would sneak her little sweets when she was a child and who took her and Jack to the pier every other weekend to watch the boats. "Uncle Mike, I need a way out."

Her uncle's eyes clouded with confusion as his eyes narrowed at her. "Out of what?"

Rachel's smile weakened a bit. "Out of New York. For good…"

A/N: Different kind of ending, right? Well, it starts this rollercoaster of events that's going to change the entire story around. Hope you like it!! R/R!!!