Clarke's shoes glinted in the light of the sun, a shiny reflectiveness rivaling That of a mirror's. His uniform was crisply pressed and buttoned neatly at the cuffs, the ends hugging his slim wrists. His tie, as always, rested slightly to the left.

"We can play soccer if you'd like!" He offered.

"I don't know; I think I should try my work again." Math class had been no worse than trying to learn all there was to know about space in the span of an hour. I had forgotten nearly all I'd been taught since ending up on the streets. No one had figured it out yet, then again I was the new kid, no one paid much attention to the new kid.

"I told you already!" Clarke laughed pulling my binder away from me. "I will help you later. We can sneak into my father's library tonight and I can teach you. Right now let's have fun."

"What if we get caught? He said we weren't supposed to poke around in there," I argued.

"My father says a lot of things. Now come on. Let's go play." Clarke set my school binder carefully on a bench before dragging me along to play.

"Girls can't play in skirts," Said Tommy, a snobby boy who believed he knew everything. He, in fact, did not.

"Girls can do what they want," Clarke shrugged picking up the soccer ball.

"Says who? She'll run and that skimpy thing will fly up and we'll all see her pink panties," Tommy snickered nudging his best friend who joined in with the laughter.

"They're black, dumb ass." Frowning I tugged up my skirt with defiance. "Pink is a stupid color."

"See Tommy? She's fine," Clarke smirked. "Now are you gonna play or get your butt handed to you for a second time?"

"I'll play," Tommy grumbled. Clarke jogged over to the center of the field and plopped the ball onto the ground.

There was bickering and much dispute as the teams were divided. "You get the girl Superman."

"Fine by me." Clark nodded. Rolling my shoulders I toed the grass with the other students. Clarke jumped up and down shaking his hands in anticipation. Tommy, a skinny and wiry kid was allowed to have possession of the ball first.

Clarke glanced over his shoulder in my direction, a smile on his face, and winked just as Tommy kicked the ball. With a reaction nearly impossible to see Clarke stuck out his leg stopping the ball in its tracks, effectively halting Tommy's push forward, and causing the boy to fall face first on the ground.

"Alright, show 'em how to shoot," Clarke whispered passing the ball in my direction. I didn't need any other motivation than to prove to Tommy how much of an idiot he really was.

The other kids didn't stand a chance. Feet quick and strides long I wove through them like a bird dodging tree branches. Life on the streets taught you to be faster, smarter, and stronger even if you didn't look like it.

The goal was in sight. A boy who I learned the name of, Jackson, stood ready to intercept my shot. One step, a stutter to the left, he dove at the fake, a solid kick. The ball arched beautifully over the goal line and right into the corner of the net. The ball fit snug in the back of the net as if it were a glove.

Clarke's team erupted in cheers, I doubted they'd ever scored so early in a game before.

"How in the- that's not fair! You must have cheated!" Tommy whined. Turning away from the goal I spotted him sitting in the grass with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"And how would she do that?" Clarke asked, "Use that small brain of yours Twiggy."

"You little shit! My name isn't Twiggy!" Tommy scrambled to his feet and stood nose to nose with Clarke. "I've told you not to call me that."

"And I've told you to stop being a sexist pig," Clarke countered. His normally boyish expression shifted into a tight frown. It looked impossibly similar to his father's.

"You watch your mouth Lyndon or I'll make you shut it." Tommy straightened poking his index finger into Clarke's chest hard enough to make his balance shift. His brown eyes glared down into icy blue.

"You wouldn't try."

Tommy wasn't bluffing. Clarke landed on his rear with a loud smack as Tommy's knuckles rocked into his jaw. Clarke's sneakers kicked up a cloud of dirt as he shifted to his knees. The taller boy gripped him by the collar ready to strike again.

"Don't touch him!" Snapping out of my shock I knocked into him with as much force as I could muster. Shoulder digging into his ribs Tommy let out a pained yelp, his grip slipping free from Clarke as he crashed to the ground.

My knuckles stung and my pulse roared in anger. His cries fell into my subconscious, the dampness of something wet on my skin, hands clawing at my arms.

"Enough! Miss Lacroix! Miss Lacroix!" Rough hands hooked under my arms and my heels skittered across the ground. With a growl of anger and a violent twist I broke free from the hold.

"You leave him alone! You hear me?" Tommy, with a bloodied nose, bruised eye, and busted lip shook in fear. Clarke glanced between the fallen bully and my enraged state.

"Detention Lacroix."

"I'll take it!" Detention was nothing. Detention, in all of its stupid glory, was stupid. I didn't mind the quiet, I'd suffered from boredom most of my life out on the streets.

Clarke seemed to break free of his daze and stepped forward from the cluster of onlookers.

"Mr. Kurtis it's not her fault. She was defending me, Tommy hit me you see-"

"I didn't see Tommy do anything Mr. Lyndon and you'd be wise to keep your mouth shut," Mr. Kurtis hissed an iron grip settling on my shoulder. He was tall and thin with wiry grey hair, and a beard. He was comparable to a less handsome version of Abraham Lincoln. He looked frail but he was made of iron bones.

"But-"

"It's fine, Clarke. Nothing I can't handle. What are you going to do, put me in detention? Then what? Take away my bathroom privileges? That's illegal." Mr. Kurtis' steel grey eyes glinted dangerously behind his glasses at my remark.

"I would learn a very valuable lesson Miss Lacroix," The ancient teacher leant down until his coffee scented breath wafted against my cheeks, "some people despise want to be heroes: and you, little girl, are nothing more than a street rat. And what comes from the gutter belongs no where in this privileged world."

"Well, Andrew Kurtis, I hope you know that rats are far more clever than mice. After all, they're called mouse traps aren't they?"

——
It was a burning that only came from a dryness so severe it felt like your skin was cracking. Water. Eyes flickering open the light of the room flooded my vision.

"Oh thank God," Came the relieved sigh. Charles, it was Charles.

"Water."

"What?"

"Wa-er..." My throat was to dry to complete the word a second time. His expression shifted from confusion to realization as he reached for the styrofoam cup on the bed side table.

"Here." Charles held it out allowing me to take it before propping me upright so I didn't spill.

The first sip was hesitant, some part of my brain thought it would hurt. It was more than a relief, it was magical in a way. The burning left almost instantly and an ache in my stomach made me realize just how thirsty I really was. The small glass of water was empty in seconds.

"More?" Charles asked, a slight smile splayed on his face.

"Please." As my throat began to feel less like a dessert I noticed other aching parts of my body. My shoulder was sore, not too painful just annoying, and thick bandages were wrapped around it beneath the hospital gown.

What was the most alarming was the itching and burning feeling coming from my side. I didn't think I'd been shot twice, unless my shock had prevented my brain from registering the wound.

"A bullet to the shoulder and right side. It missed your lungs just barely," Charles explained grimly. With a shake of the head he handed me the refilled cup.

"What about Clarke?" A knot of guilt twisted in my stomach, I should have worried about him sooner rather than focusing on my own plights.

"It was grim," Charles pursed his lips leaning back in his seat, "a bullet to the collar bone, one to the stomach, and another in the side. He lost a lot of blood but he's alive. The poor boy is drugged up on all the pain killers you can think of. Out cold."

"At least he's alive." Despite that positive I wanted nothing more than to see him. I needed to assess his state of being myself, I needed to see the damage and it's effects, I needed to process it.

"Yeah."

"Did anyone find the woman?"

"No, not a trace of her," Charles frowned. He ran a hand down his tired face. "That can wait, the media has been persistent on the incident. I've practically had to beat the cameras off with a bat."

"When I'm out of here I'm going to find who's responsible and I'm going to make them pay-" As my anger surged my muscles tensed triggering an aggressive flare of pain in my wounds. "Ahh, crap."

"Easy, you need to be careful." Charles moved so he could settle me back into a more comfortable position.

"Screw that, I'm angry."

"As am I, but we can't be stupid," he chastised, a fatherly look resting on his face that made my anger subside almost instantly.

"Have you been home? Does your family know you're alright?" I asked.

"Yes, I called them. They understand my priorities lie here."

A knock on the door silenced our conversation. A doctor in a white coat stepped inside the room which I hadn't bothered to study much. It was as generic of a hospital room as you could get. Sterile bed, your basic bland room color not quiet white not quite beige, a chair for guests, a sink perhaps, and a bathroom nearby.

"It's wonderful to see you awake miss," the Doctor smiled tucking their clip board beneath their arm. Their tag read  Bernard.

"So I've been told." It wasn't the most tactical move, sounding snippy, but I didn't care much for pleasantries at the moment. He seemed to pass it off as grumpiness from the ordeal.

"I'm just going to run a few tests on you to make sure you're properly taken care of. Depending on your condition, we'll have to determine how long your are to remain here with us." The young man, no more than thirty, with close cropped brown hair and a scruff on his face that came from being too busy to remember the razor blade, set his clip board on the bed side table.

"What sort of tests?" Charles questioned warily.

"Nothing unusual. Pain assessment, cognitive functions, maybe some lab work, all of the protocol stuff," Bernard smiled reassuringly. Charles relaxed slightly letting his shoulders slump in submission.

The Doctor did just as he'd described. It was difficult to complete some of the tasks but I was determined to hide my pain, only by doing so I nearly chewed a hole in my cheek.

"Well, you are in better condition than I would have thought. That's a good thing. Your visit will be shorter than expected but I have to review the results just to be sure. In the mean time, please, let my know if there's anything you need," Bernard smiled kindly.

"I'd like to see him, Clarke, Clarke Lyndon." The doctor's face became stoic, but I had been trained well enough to notice particular details. He wasn't going to give in easy, not by the slight downturn of his mouth, the minuscule furrow of the brow. "Please, we came here together I have to know."

"I'm aware of your relationship with Mister Lyndon, and considering the trauma of the incident, I will allow it. If anything it will comfort both of you. I can't imagine going through what you have, let alone saving a man's life." The Doctor sighed, his attention diverting to his clip board. "Right, I'll be on my way. Charles, you can escort her to Mister Lyndon, he isn't far."

"Of course," Charles nodded, "thank you doctor."

"Anytime." Bernard gave one last kind smile before leaving Charles and I behind.

"Alright, lets go, but take it easy no busting any stitches." Charles moved to help me as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. His arm tucked beneath my shoulders and with a sigh he hoisted me with ease.

"Have you been working out?" I teased, gritting my teeth to hide a grimace of pain.

"Very funny. I'm your body guard I have to be buff and tough," Charles snorted.

"Right."

With his help I managed to move slowly down the hall. Each step was like stepping on hot coals, my skin seemed to be impossibly tender but seeing Clarke was my main motivation.

Upon leaving the hospital room cameras bombarded Charles and I but he was, as usual, quite effective in warding them off. Still, the click of the cameras and the occasional flash was nearly too much for my thin nerves.

Charles seemed to sense my anxiety and supporting a majority of my weight practically carried me the rest of the way. He paused in front of a door knocking softly on it. There was a faint response.

Pushing it open my eyes immediately scanned the scene before me. Clarke was hooked up to an array of machinery, wires ran beneath the hospital gown and the lights were dim. There was a soft beep as his heart rate was tracked. On the bedside table numerous medications rested along with a cup of water.

With Charles' help I made it to Clarke's bedside and felt a pang of sadness knot in my chest. His skin was pale, his veins a prominent blue against his colorless skin. His hair was wild and sweat left a sheen on his forehead, dark circles rested beneath his eyes, and his eyes were barely open.

"Clarke?" My voice was softer than need be but if he was trying to rest I didn't want to bombard him with too much sensory stimulant.

"Wondered when you'd get here," He chuckled. A lazy smile spread hesitantly across his face but the painkillers seemed to be slowing his processing speed and motor skills.

"Don't be so sarcastic."

"I'm only kidding," he breathed, "it's good to see you. Hell, its good to be awake."

"Charles told me they had you on all sorts of medication." Clarke nodded in agreement, but the motion seemed to take much more energy than one would think. Loose strands of hair fell in his face and I was quick to brush it aside.

Running a hand through his hair I let my nails scratch lightly at his scalp. A happy sigh found its way through his parched lips as he leaned into my touch.

"I should have listened to you. Social events are no good. We even missed the gala." Clarke mumbled seeming to be on the verge of sleep.

"Oh, so now you listen?" He gave an inaudible laugh, only identifiable by the slight shake of his shoulders, and that was all. He had fallen asleep once again.

"He's been like this all day, awake for a moment or two, then out like a light," Charles chuckled.

"I'd expect that much."

"You know you'll have to face the press soon. At least before they break down your door or his, and he's in no condition at the moment to answer questions." Charles tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked onto his heels.

"I know, I'll deal with it soon enough. For the moment I don't care about them. I need to make a phone call." Charles frowned in confusion at my request but produced his own cell phone and tossed it over.

The action of catching the device caused a bit of pain to flare in my wounds but I ignored the worst of it.

"Who are you calling?"

"Fox."

A glint of amusement caught in Charles' eyes. Fox was a close friend of mine, more than she was friends with Clarke. The girl was very crafty and we'd pulled through for one another on more than one occasion. I had an idea in mind and I needed her help.

Dialing the number the phone rang three times before the other line was picked up.

"Foxtrot to Beta, I need some help." An amused noise came from the other end of the line.

"Is that so? Well, I'm all ears Cuerva." The Hispanic accent was thick and she seemed to be on the verge of laughing. "What's caught your eye?"