AN: I am trying to keep the repetition to a minimum and make each scene a bit different and about what is important to the different characters. I haven't quite nailed it yet, but I am going to stick with the back and forth because it helps me as a writer to see how each character heals. Hopefully you, dear readers, don't get too bored. Maybe some day I will clean it up a bit more and republish, but for now, you get what you get. Also, please know that I have an incredibly busy week ahead and that I really shouldn't be writing now. Given the polish the next bit needs, I probably won't update for at least a week after this bit. Sorry!

It must have been an hour later when we found ourselves sitting against the wall, with me curled beside Spot and with my head in the crook of his shoulder and his arm draped casually across my back and to my waist. I had started shivering, and Spot had pulled the blanket from the bed and tucked it around us. We sat in companionable silence for awhile. I don't know what he was thinking, but I know that I was doing my best not to think. There was just too much to process right now. Finally, unable to stop my mind from doing something, I started thinking about logistics. We couldn't stay sitting here forever, after all, and the future was a safer topic for my brain to explore than the recent past. Though not by much.

"So now what?" I asked, trying not to feel fear at the prospect of being unemployed and homeless. Maybe I would end up working here after all? Now that the dam had broken, the idea made me nervous, but I didn't really see many options. I'm pretty sure my voice betrayed me, though.

"We should probably stay in Manhattan for the night; it's getting late, and it's still pretty rainy out there. You don't seem like you're up to a long walk in the rain. We can head to Brooklyn in the morning. I know the boys will be glad to see you," he said.

"Oh," I managed, wondering if he meant I would find a room in Brooklyn. Santorelli was in Brooklyn. That thought alone made me nervous. And the guys-what would they think? Did they think I was stupid for hiding when I didn't need to? Would they be mad at me for wasting their time? Did they know about what happened at Santorelli's? I felt so cheap somehow, and the thought of them knowing terrified me. What would they expect from me?

I didn't have any money. What would I do about that? I wondered if I still had a job or if I shouldn't just stay here. After all, I was broke . . . . I should probably tell Spot that, I mused.

"I don't have any money," I said, and Spot chuckled.

"Well, actually you do have some money at the lodging house, but that's hardly important. What's important is that you stay where we can look after you," he answered. "You aren't leaving my sight any time soon. Actually, I was thinking maybe we should think about getting some food and arranging lodging for the night. I'll pay for the room here for you, and then I can head over to the Manhattan newsboys' lodging house for the night myself. But dinner first." Spot pulled himself up to his feet, and then he helped me rise. "Shall we?" he asked, offering me his elbow.

Shrugging the blanket off and placing it on the bed, I smiled slightly as I took his arm. It felt normal to be heading to a meal with Spot. I needed that. Besides, the thought of food was pretty exciting after the last few weeks; the single meal this morning was not enough to undo the effects of weeks of hunger.

We headed down the stairs. In the lobby he peeled off and exchanged a few words with Emma. She nodded, and he handed her some money. Then he pulled on his coat, which had been hanging by the door, and a borrowed cloak for me. We headed out the door and onto the rain-drenched street. It was drizzling lightly, but there were still plenty of people around, and though the lights were on, it wasn't actually dark yet.

We found a small restaurant and enjoyed some stew—warm, filling, savory, and exactly what I needed. I wasn't up to talking much, though; mostly I just ate and worried.

"Spot?" I finally ventured, and he looked at me inquisitively. "Do the boys know? About everything?"

"No. They don't even know where I am right now," he said. After a pause, he added, "they don't need to know anything you don't want them to. It's enough that you are back. And if they did know, they wouldn't think any less of you."

"How can you be sure?" I asked, surprised at how perceptive he was about what I needed to hear.

"Because I don't," he said simply. I chewed my lip as I thought about that. I thought about all that we had been through together-the way he had been there for me at Mama's funeral, taking care of Jimmy, saving me from those thugs last year, taking care of me when Papa died-and then I thought of last Christmas and when he kissed me. Would he ever want to kiss me again? Now that it seemed so unlikely, I realized just how much I wanted him to. I also realized how much he offered me and how little I provided him in return. How helpless I was. How could he not think less of me right now? I must have been quiet for some time, because he interrupted my thoughts again.

"Cat, the boys don't judge. You should know that by now. There is nothing that could happen to you that would make them judge you. They love you, and they really missed you. Even if they knew what happened to you, they would understand that it isn't your fault, and they would still love you-just like you would still love them if the roles were reversed. But if you don't want them to know, we won't tell them," he said. I realized he was right-Roller and Red and Ace and Legs-those guys were my friends, and I loved them. I had missed them. And Spot was right about the fact that they were unlikely to judge me. I gave him a small smile, and we headed back to the working girls' house. After walking me upstairs, Spot turned to go. Suddenly the thought of him leaving frightened me.

"Please stay," I said, surprising myself as much as him. He didn't say anything; he just paused for a moment, then nodded.

"Go ahead and get settled. I'll join you in a few minutes," he said, stepping out of the room. I completed my wash up and changed into the nightgown in the adjacent washroom before curling deeply under the covers and waiting nervously for him. I was surprised at how frightened I was at the thought that he was not here, especially when I thought of the men downstairs. How could I ever have thought I could work here? He came in a good ten minutes later and went into the washroom. When he stepped back into the bedroom he glanced around the room and moved toward the armchair.

"Please stay with me," I said again, and he looked at me curiously.

"Are you sure? I don't want to scare you," he said, and I smiled nervously at him.

"I'll be okay," I said, scooting over in the large bed to make space for him. He settled in, and I instinctively cuddled up against him. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt completely calm and safe, and I slept.