note: Actually, I guess I don't have anything to say. I wanted to name this chapter "surprise," but Falco and I decided that it didn't quite fit with the rest of the titles. Alas. Maybe you'll enjoy it anyway.

ten: concession

It took even longer than I'd expected to get back, and it was late afternoon by the time we reached our safe house. The whole journey was made in silence, Boots and Dutchy seemingly hesitant to speak in fear that I would lash out, while I was in a rotten mood and too lost in my own, self-pitying thoughts to attempt any small talk. Anyway, I was starting to grow accustomed to our silence. We returned to the inn in that fashion, and grabbed something to eat in the bar, still uncomfortable with each other. Once we reached the room, we all sat around facing each other, no one willing to be the first to break the spell. Dutchy laid down on his bed and threw his an arm over his eyes, whereas Boots just sat against the wall facing the two beds, his gaze flickering between the two of us. I gave in.

"I probably don't even want to know the answer to this, but where did you guys go in the market? Because you certainly weren't together. And Swifty didn't seem too happy. Did he "save" you, too?" I almost felt sick. If he had saved us all, then the evidence was stacking up that I had been in the wrong when I'd refused to talk to him. But I didn't want to think about that.

Neither answered for a long time, and I let that silence reign. Finally, realizing that Dutchy wasn't about to speak, Boots reluctantly volunteered.

"Dutchy left me," he said plainly. He wasn't trying to accuse Dutch, just stating the facts. "He was there one minute, then I looked around and he was gone."

I looked at Dutchy, who hadn't budged.

"So I looked for him," Boots continued, voice uncharacteristically small. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I looked all over. An' I didn't want to ask anyone for help, but I did, an' the man, he said he could help, and he asked me to follow him, an' I did, an' he led me away, an' then there were less an' less people an' I didn't know where I was, an' I thought maybe I'd made a mistake, but I couldn't turn back-" he gulped. "Then Swifty came outta nowhere and pushed the guy down and dragged me back the other way. Only, I didn't know who Swifty was, so I fought and tried to get away, but I couldn't and then I saw Dutchy an' Swifty saw Dutchy and we all got together an' I knew I was okay."

I frowned. It was strange enough that Swifty had known Boots' name at his house, but he had also known to rescue him from being kidnapped? I felt that uneasiness again, the same feeling that had prevented me from revealing anything to him just a little while before. He knew something – he knew a lot – and he wasn't sharing it. And that's what made me uncomfortable.

Boots was done, in fact he looked exhausted, and I knew I'd made the right decision in cutting the day short and returning to the Brick.

"Alright, Dutch," I said loudly. "Your turn. Where'd you-"

"I saw him," he said quietly, painfully. "I saw him."

"Saw who?" I asked gently, even though I already knew.

"Specs… he was there."

Boots and I exchanged a glance.

"At the market?"

"I tried to follow him, but I couldn't catch up, I couldn't catch up no matter how hard I tried." His body was shaking, and he rolled over onto his stomach so his face was hidden in his pillow. It explained a lot, his chalk white face, his bizarre actions. Had he seen a ghost? Would we even know if Specs died?

I remembered the Brotherhood, the Pact, and hoped they would check in soon. I needed to know what was going on in the Other side, even if I couldn't do anything about it. If Specs was a ghost, we were in trouble. If not… if Dutchy was seeing things… well, we were still in trouble. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I just looked at Boots, who returned my gaze sadly, then offered a half smile to show he was on my side. I smiled weakly back, then stood and brushed off my pants. I reached into my pocket and brought out the moss, which looked rather unimpressive all smashed together in my palm. I set it on the nightstand, and it stuck.

"That's it?" Boots asked, inching forward to get a closer view. I had to laugh.

"Yeah, that's it, bud."

"Can I touch it?"

"I hope so," I said, looking at my hands. They didn't seem any worse for the wear. "Yeah, go for it."

He poked it, and, seemingly satisfied, returned to his spot against the wall.

"You can show it to Dutchy if you want. When he, ah, feels better," I said, still standing. I needed a drink. Badly. "I'm going downstairs," I explained, attempting to rub the last traces of dirt from my face. "I'll be back, though. And… listen…" I paused by the door and checked back to make sure Dutch was paying attention; he was. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry. We should stick together from now on. We will stick together from now on."

Dutchy didn't answer, but I hadn't expected him to. For his response, Boots clambered up on my bed and waved goodbye with a grin.

I tramped downstairs, where the bar was packed with bodies and noise. Blondie had given up working the office so she could mix drinks and interact with the hoodlums that crowded around the tables and pushed over the chairs. I fought my way to a free stool at the bar itself and clung on. Blondie caught my eye and sent a pint of bitter my way without a word, I just nodded my thanks and held it between my hands, reveling in the anticipation of the cold drink.

To my left, there was only one person separating me from the wall, and now she leaned against it so she could get a good look at me. I watched her back from the corner of my vision. I pretended not to notice and took a few sips of the brew, once again letting myself get lost in thought. She didn't take the hint, she only continued to study me, and eventually it got to me and I turned my head with my eyebrows raised. She knew she was caught but she only smiled, and after a beat, I knew why. I knew this person. I couldn't believe it, but I knew her.

"Ay, mi cariño… it is you," she murmured, and dragged her stool closer. I was still frozen, eyes wide. She covered one of my hands with both of hers and squeezed, green eyes warm and excited.

"You… y… I…" I stammered eloquently.

"Shhh," she said. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm okay. You're okay?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Where…?"

"I can't talk long, mi cielito, but I wanted to check in contigo. You're okay? You are sure?" She looked genuinely worried.

"I'm fine, Sofia," I said, tentatively, as in saying her name would make her disappear, and paused to take a long pull of my beer. "Really. But you…"

"I was not there," she said, guessing my thoughts, and smiled sadly. "I am okay, you are okay, everyone is okay, and this is good. How are things going? With you, your quest?"

I had so many questions to ask her and things to say, but her directness knocked me completely off guard. "Whoa, wait, how did you know?" I was getting way too much information at once and having a hard time processing it all – plus the beer wasn't exactly helping.

"Swifty," she explained, and the smile returned. "Ay, Swifty."

"Swifty didn't even tell us you were alive," I said, more wary of him than ever.

"Pues… he must have had a reason," she answered simply, without hostility. Her presence was calming, and when that was combined with the beer (I was now on my third) I felt completely secure.

"Sofia, I'm glad you're here, so glad. Can you help? Do you have the Cure?"

She shook her head sadly. "I lost everything, todo el mundo, with the fire. I am not able to help you, Antonio, lo siento, I am so sorry."

"It's okay," I said absently.

"Maybe I can help put it together," she suggested helpfully. "When you have everything, but I cannot get the ingredients, I cannot go out, I am in hiding." Her hand found mine and squeezed again, and I felt reassured.

"How will we find you?" I asked, realizing that we didn't have much time. She had been watching the door for awhile now, but I had only just noticed it.

"Swifty," she said, "claro que sì."

I actually groaned. "We can't," I said. "He's mad, Sofia, really mad. I can't go back."

She shrugged. "Swifty will help you, and he knows where he will find me. Està bien, Antonio, just say you are sorry. He will forgive."

"I can't," I repeated, but faltered.

"No, you can," she said firmly, her sharp Spanish accent driving the words into my head. "You can, and you will. Because you need him. And he needs you. You have to work juntos, be together, Antonio. You are strong, together. You are good."

"We're good, yeah, thanks," I said, and sighed into my drink. The last thing I wanted to do was to show up at Swifty's door again, especially if it would have to be to beg his forgiveness. He probably wouldn't even let us in. Hell, he probably wouldn't even let us approach the street.

"Graciàs, I knew you would understand. Antonio, I have to leave now, I know I will see you soon. We will talk then."

"Wait!" I shook myself from my stupor and tried to grab her arm, but missed. "Wait, Sofia – who was it? Who burned your shop?"

But she was already moving through the crowd. She was dressed in black and with her long, curly, dark hair, I quickly lost sight of her and cursed. Whatever ill feelings I had, however, were immediately replaced by hope. Sofia was alive. We could do this.

I tossed a few coins to Blondie and pushed off from the bar. I had to tell the others. They could do with some good news for once.

"She's alive!" I exclaimed, not bothering to provide any suspense. I scrabbled with the locks on the door; my hands were sweating.

"What?"

"Who?"

"Sofia! She's alive!"

At this, Dutchy actually jumped out of bed. "She's alive!" he cried. He was beaming, albeit teetering, a little dizzy, as he had removed his glasses to fall asleep. He looked like he was about to hug me, so I quickly delivered the bad news.

"But… She can't help us."

"What?" his face fell and his mood followed suit. "But…"

"No buts," I said, still elated even with the catch. "You saw her place. It was a disaster. She doesn't have any materials, and apparently she's on the run, too. She can help us, I mean, we can use her brain, but… this still ain't gonna be no cakewalk."

He nodded. "Where is she? Is she here?"

"No, she split. She says we can find her, we can find her if…" I stopped, mentally reviewing the conversation. This was the worst part. "Well we would have to talk to Swifty."

"Ah," said Dutchy, and Boots frowned. Dutchy sat on his bed and put his chin in his hands. After a moment, he said, "You're going to apologize, right?"

I opened my mouth to argue – who said I was the one who had to apologize, anyway? – but decided against it. It was true; we were now at Swifty's mercy, maybe we had been even before this whole thing with Sofia had come up. But she'd made it worse, whether she knew it or not… and I suspected that she did. That thought made me smile, despite my apprehension at returning to Swifty's.

I noticed Boots looking at me carefully. He didn't know me, so he didn't know what I was going to do. I knew. As much as it pained me, the answer was obvious. We had few friends on this side, and it was foolish to lose a key ally, my personal feelings on the matter aside. I trusted Sofia. And, usually, I trusted Swifty. If Sofia trusted Swifty… who was I to say otherwise?

"I guess we'll go tomorrow," I said finally, and Boots smiled, obviously relieved. Dutchy just laid back on his bed, and I shooed Boots off of mine. I wasn't all that tired anymore, but I would regret not getting any sleep. So Dutchy turned out the lamp and waited all of about two seconds before he started speaking again.

"Swifty scared me today, Race," he admitted quietly, although Boots could obviously hear him anyway. "Have you ever seen him like that before?"

And I hesitated, for whatever reason. "Yeah," I said, and then rolled over, signaling that the conversation was over.