"Cécile, je suis de retour! J'ai trouvé le vélo."

A woman with messy dirty blonde hair tightened in a bun turned from the dishes she was scrubbing to see her husband at the door. She frowned at the person in his arms. "C'est un garçon, pas une bicyclette, Philippe." That is a boy, not a bicycle.

Philippe walked over to the lone couch and laid Crutchie down. Cecile hurried over to him, wielding a pot in her hands in case he became dangerous. Crutchie cringed away from the pot, looking over to the man. Had they brought him here just to knock him out? Cecile's mouth wavered, and she lowered the pot. With a glance to her husband, she began rapidly speaking in French. "Vous lui avez demandé si le vélo est le sien? Est-il gravement blessé? Etes-vous sûr qu'il n'est pas un voleur?" Did you ask him if the bicycle is his? Is he badly hurt? Are you sure he's not a thief?

Philippe chuckled slightly. "Je vous demande de regarder, chère épouse. Lui poser quelques questions. Vous savez mieux l'anglais que moi." I ask you to look at him, dear wife. Ask him some questions. You know English better than me.

Cécile nodded reluctantly, and bent down by Crutchie's side. He was very confused now, and feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe he should have taken Davey up on his offer when he had tried to teach him French. "What is your name?" the woman asked with a slight lilt.

"Crutchie," he said nervously. "I didn't steal the wheeler, miss, I was jus' tryin' to ride it, it's Miss Katherine's who lives down the street, ya can ask 'er-"

Cécile held up a hand, stopping him. "Are you hurt?"

Crutchie glanced over to his leg, and sat up. "I..I think so. It's my leg, an' I think my 'and might be broken-" He stopped again as the woman rolled up his pant leg to examine the bleeding. She frowned at the gash inflicted there by the bicycle. "It is nothing," she dismissed it. "I will have you fixed up in no time...you said Ms. Katherine is the owner of the bicycle, yes?"

"Yeah," Crutchie said, and reluctantly held out his hand for the woman to see. Her frown returned as she gently took his floppy hand in hers. It was bent at an odd angle, and Crutchie winced, looking away as she moved it. "It is broken," Cécile said quietly, and then barked an order to her husband. "Obtenez-moi quelques bandages!" Get me some bandages!

Philippe disappeared into another room, and Cécile turned back to Crutchie. "My name is Cécile. That is my husband, Philippe. I will go to Ms. Katherine's to tell her." She stood up, crossing over to the door. Crutchie lowered his hand, and shifted on the couch. "My 'and ain't broken...fer good, is it?" he asked nervously, and Cécile hesitated. "No. It will be fixed."

Then she was gone.

Philippe headed back over to Crutchie with a roll of white linen in his hands. Crutchie held out his hand, heat rising to his cheeks as the man bandaged it. Unfortunately, the man noticed. With a slight pat on the cloth after it was done, Philippe took a small pad of paper and a pen from the table, and began to write.

Do not be ashamed. Everyone falls their first time on a bicycle.

Crutchie read this, and nodded. He swallowed nervously. "Thought Ms. Katherine wouldn't let me 'cause I'm a crip," he admitted. Philippe shook his head and started to speak, but the door was flung open.

"Crutchie, are you okay?! What happened?!"

"Mrs. Lafontaine told us about your wrist-you okay?!"

Katherine and Jack rushed over to him, all in a panic. Katherine threw her arms around him, nearly crushing him in a hug, and then kneeled down to examine his wrist. She and him were both a bit embarrassed at the sudden embrace, but Crutchie had sort of liked it-not that he would say so to Jack or the other boys. "Well-your wrist is bandaged up nicely," Katherine stated. "Are your legs okay? Did you hurt them at all? Can you walk?"

"Here," Jack handed him his crutch. "Figured ya'd need this."

Crutchie lifted his legs off the couch and put them on the floor, shakily standing to his feet. He slid the crutch under his arm, and gingerly put his bandaged hand on the ledge, only just gripping the handheld. With a slight breath, he started to walk forward. Jack grabbed his forearm as he began to fall, and his feet scrabbled on the floor. Crutchie pushed himself upright again and Jack let him go as he took small steps across the room. He turned back to Jack and Katherine, smiling softly. But then he remembered why he was here, and his face fell. "'M real sorry I took your wheeler, Katherine," he said lowly, ashamed.

Katherine shook her head, and sat down on the couch. "Tell me next time, alright? The most important thing here is that you're not as badly hurt as you could have been."

"Yeah, tell us next time an' we'll help ya, awright?" Jack asked. "Like wit' the dancin'."

Crutchie nodded, and moved his crutch forward slightly. "Ya ain't mad at me fer the wheeler?"

"The wheeler can be replaced," Katherine said dryly, and then added more gently, "You can't. Nobody can, and that's why you need to tell us if you want to ride it again, alright?"

"Awright," Crutchie nodded, and turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Philippe. "Thank you, sir," Crutchie began, but the man handed him a small piece of paper. Crutchie took it hesitantly, and glanced down to read it.

"Philippe's English is very good when he writes," Cécile interrupted him, and walked over to her husband. "It's better that he writes instead of talking."

Crutchie started reading again. Do not be ashamed. Everyone falls their first time on a bicycle. What matters is that you tried to ride, instead of reminding everyone that you are a cripple.

He looked up at Philippe, sticking the note in his pocket. Crutchie held out his left hand, and Philippe grasped it firmly. "You...get better," he said haltingly. "Sorry...I thought...you were...thief."

"I kinda was," Crutchie said sheepishly. "But thank ya, sir."

"Let's go, Crutchie," Jack said, and helped him walk to the door.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lafontaine," Katherine said sincerely as they headed out into the night. "Thank you."

"Your bicycle is right outside," Cécile said with a small smile. "Good luck with the newspaper article, Ms. Katherine."

"Oh, I don't need luck, Mrs. Lafontaine," Katharine called to her. "I just need the newsies."