"Stay close, Doris."

His sister took one last look at the stray cat in the next alley, but she returned to his side without protest, taking the hand he offered.

"Thank you. Are you tired?"

She nodded, leaning into his side, and he ignored his own fatigue to balance her first on his hip, then on his back when his pack nudged aside. She wrapped her chubby arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

In the four days since leaving that dead, empty home, they had wandered the streets searching for shelter. The money he had taken would keep them mostly fed for another few days, if he used it sparingly, but everywhere he tried to sleep had too many others nearby. Others living there. Other adults. Other strangers.

Others who might think themselves righteous to send two kids to work in the factories, simply because the factory orphanages provided something in the way of food and shelter. He would rather go hungry than go there. The factories would separate him from Doris.

So they had kept moving, changing places every few hours just to keep anyone from questioning their presence. Today, he had decided to wander a nicer street, and the upscale buildings had captured Doris' attention immediately. While he studied rubbish bins for food and shops for Help Wanted signs, she had continuously tried to wander closer to this railing, that stray animal, or that small flower. Having her on his back would be easier despite her weight, as he could focus on his surroundings instead of constantly checking on her.

"Id?"

She whispered directly in his ear, and the quiet word broke him out of his debate of where to go next. He swallowed the grief that still rose at the name.

"What's my name, Doris?"

"Id Ak-son," she said pertly.

The grief faded behind faint amusement, and he tickled her chin with one finger to make her giggle.

"Pest. You know what name I wanna use. What is it?"

"Ak-son."

"Atta girl. What's your question?"

"I 'ungry."

The complaint came out somewhat mournfully, as if she would be in trouble for being hungry after several hours of walking, and he squeezed the hands around his neck.

"It's alright, Doris. We'll find something."

Bouncing once to make her giggle again, he abandoned watching the shop windows to dodge through the crowded sidewalk and between two buildings. Away from the street, he started digging more thoroughly through rubbish bins. This was a nice area, and rich people always wasted food.

The first three bins had been recently emptied, however, and he moved to the next block. He found a small piece of bread immediately, which she gnawed while he kept looking. This one had more debris littering the edges, and he searched that just as he searched the bins. Anything might be useful.

"Hey, kid!"

The lid landed with a clatter, and he steadied Doris with one hand as he bolted away from the voice. Avoiding people had kept them safe thus far, and he had no reason to stop now. He sprinted out of that alley, across the main street, then into another. A glance back revealed no one following them.

"Alright, Doris?"

She nodded against his neck. "Uh huh."

"Is that bread gone?"

She nodded again, and he resumed digging. He was hungry, too, but she was more important. She needed something more than a stale crust before they started splitting whatever he found.

The next bin had another crust and a strangely colored piece of cheese. He scraped the cheese down to normal color and gave her that and half the crust. She passed back some of the cheese.

"Eat too."

"I'll find more. You eat that."

She tried again to give it to him, but she finally ate it when he refused again.

"Why?"

"I told Mum I'd take you of you," he answered, "and being older means I don't have to eat as often."

"'Ungry too?"

"Not much," he lied.

The next bin revealed a full scoop of some vegetable plopped directly on top—obviously where a kid had scraped his meal to avoid having to eat it—and he set the lid aside to carefully pick the pile off the paper beneath it. Such an amount was a feast, no matter that he had never liked vegetables. He would plug his nose and choke it down if it meant silencing the hunger twisting his stomach.

"What that?" She leaned over his shoulder to get a better look.

"I think they're turnips."

"Nips?"

"Turnips," he said again, inspecting the handful to make sure nothing else had gotten into the food. "Here."

Once sure the food was free of trash, he passed one of the soggy bulbs to her. She took a large bite, made a face, and tried to give the rest back.

"Icky."

"I know, but it's food." He forced himself to eat one, just to show her they were safe. They were nasty.

"Not food. Ick."

"It's food, Doris. I know it tastes bad, but it will make your stomach quit grumbling."

He ate another one, and she looked between him and the half turnip still in her hand. Making another face, she finished that one, but she refused to eat more when he offered. He choked them down instead. They were disgusting, bitter, and somehow spicy, but the feeling of food in his stomach made the taste worth it.

"We'll keep looking," he promised after those were gone.

She buried her face in his neck again. "No nips."

"I'll try to find something besides turnips," he amended with a quiet laugh. Maybe he would use a bit of their money to buy something.

"Who're you talking to?"

He spun towards the voice. A girl probably a few years older than him stood fifty feet away, and fear shot through him. One hand supported Doris as he sprinted towards the street.

"No! Wait!"

Footsteps followed him, darting through the crowds much faster than he could with a two-year-old clinging tightly to his back, and he fought to move faster. He would not lose his sister!

"I won't—hurt you," she panted. "How are you—so fast—with that large pack?"

Because his sister was not a pack. She was his responsibility. He had promised Mum he would keep her safe, back when Father had first gotten sick and he and Doris were feeling better, and that meant keeping her with him. He would not lose her now.

He turned a corner, knocking an empty bin behind him to block the path, but the footsteps never faltered. He upended two more then turned another corner and dove into a pile of debris. Hugging Doris close to keep her from making noise, he tried to silence his panting to listen. Had he lost the girl?

No. She skidded around the corner and came to a halt, then steady murmuring drifted from the alley.

"…two bins…alcove…pile…ah." Footsteps loudly came closer, and he cringed deeper into the mound, prepared to bolt.

"I won't hurt you," she said again, "and I won't send you back to wherever you were. My name's Charlie. Come out, please?"

Not worth it. She got a step too close, and he lunged from his pile, catching the barest glimpse of surprise on her face before he shot the other direction.

"Wait!"

His rushing steps carried them deeper into the alleyway. Sunlight faded as he reached a narrower path, and he decided to try to use the darkness to hide again. He needed to throw her off his trail.

The alley dead-ended before he could spot a good hiding place, however. He tossed a couple of things in her way then contented himself with a shadowed alcove. Was it too much to hope that she would give up?

Apparently so. The footsteps that had never been far behind slowed just after he concealed himself.

"I won't hurt you," she said again. "A bunch of us street kids have a home and work. You can join us."

He nearly sat up at the words. Home. That meant food. Work meant the ability to get more later.

"We always have room for one more," she continued before he could decide whether to answer.

What about two?

No. He sat back, firmly shoving the thought away. Not worth it. It would only take one older boy to separate them. He would have to find a different area as soon as he got free of her. No one had chased him this much in his old neighborhood.

She sighed. "I know where you are," she announced. "I won't hurt you. I promise. If you won't come out, I'll come in."

He said nothing. Doris wiggled against him, and he put a gentle finger over her mouth. Her face disappeared back into his neck.

"I'm comin' in." Loud footsteps sounded on the heels of her warning, and she ducked into his cubby a moment later. She moved to sit on the other side of the alcove when he edged away, and with a clear escape path, he remained seated. Surprise appeared again when she settled. "There's two of you?"

He felt Doris shift slightly, peeking at the other girl over his shoulder. Her face disappeared again a moment later, and Jackson watched warily. Would Charlie leave them alone now?

"Guess I should say we have room for two more, shouldn't I?" she quipped instead, smiling at him. "What are your names?"

He hesitated. "I'm Jackson. She's Doris," he finally answered, the words quietly wary.

"Jackson and Doris," she repeated. "She's pretty little to be on the streets. Will you come?"

He shook his head, catching Doris' hands in his when she wiggled. "Not leaving her."

"Somebody threatened to send you to the factories, didn't they?" Charlie replied. "We don't do that. Our youngest right now is about three, but we've had younger. You would have help taking care of her, and she would be safe. We rarely go without food, with so many kids out Running for it, and Mr. Holmes helps, too. We work for him."

"Mr. Holmes?"

"He's a detective," she answered. "Bunch o' the kids in our courtyard work for him as part of the Irregulars, running errands and gathering info' for his cases, and he pays us."

"Do you?"

She nodded eagerly. "It's a lot of fun! My brother and I were the first two Irregulars, years ago. My brother's trying to get into police school, but I still Run for Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. Mr. Holmes' flatmate," she added at his questioning look. "Us older ones take care of the younger, and the money from Running for Mr. Holmes plus some of what the others get through apprenticeships buys most of our food." She studied him. "How long have you been on the streets?"

"Four days."

"And you probably haven't had a real meal since, have you?"

He said nothing. The understanding on her face prevented him from snapping something about it being none of her business, but he saw no reason to admit how little food he had found. He gave most of it to Doris. Only the sparingly used money had kept them from starving.

"I can get you some food," she promised after a moment. "Baker Street is closest, and Mrs. Hudson invited us for sugar biscuits today. That's where I was going when I saw you. She'll have real food, too, and I'll show you the courtyard after you eat. Come with me?"

"'Ungry," Doris whispered in his ear, but he hesitated.

"You won't separate us?" he checked, and Charlie shook her head immediately.

"You'll sleep under the same roof, together if you like, and we'll find food, clothes, work for you, and maybe even a toy for Doris. It's safe, Jackson."

He wavered for a moment longer, then nodded, and a wide smile split Charlie's face.

"Perfect. Come on."

She slowly stood and left the alcove, and he followed as she led the way first out of the alley, then down a busy street, chattering all the while about who lived in their courtyard and what they did. He set Doris down to make her walk a bit, though he kept a firm grip on her hand as he listened closely.

If the Irregulars were half as good as Charlie made them out to be, this might be almost as good as having his parents back.

Thanks to those that reviewed last chapter. I greatly appreciate that comments! :)

Corynutz, he's eight or nine (ish). Doris mentioned in Smoke 4 that Jackson had six years on her

A Talking Cat, so glad you're enjoying, and the idiom made me laugh. I hadn't heard that one before. :D