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Adeline Bellerose couldn't remember feeling unafraid.

Fear is a natural response to danger, and Adeline had no memories of feeling safe. There was always danger. Everyone was a threat. Every situation could take a turn for the worst. Adeline had learned this the hard way.

She couldn't remember being clean, either. She never felt clean. Even when she was lucky enough to be physically clean, something always made her feel dirty. Some days were worse than others. This day was among them. This day was, on the surface, like any other. It was November, which meant rain in London. It was cold, too, but cold was nothing new. But she was filthy, just like the money in her pocket was filthy. It was filthy and it was not enough, but it would get her dinner tonight, and maybe even meals tomorrow, if she was careful.

With a shiver, she ducked inside of a sandwich shop.

"Ham and cheese toastie, please." The gentleman behind the counter smiled at her. She bit her lip softly as she argued with herself.

"Anything else, miss?" She met his eyes, and they didn't judge her.

"A bowl of leek and potato soup?"

He smiled. "Is that a question?"

She flushed. "Um, no, sir. No, not a question. I would like some, if you please." Her words were laced with a light French accent, and it thickened just slightly in her embarrassment.

"Of course, miss." He smiled again, and it was kind. Her blush faded as she realized he was not making fun of her, just jesting. She smiled back at him tentatively. "For the road?" She nodded, her dark hair slipping into her eyes as she did. She pushed it back; it felt greasy, and she hated it. As the man busied himself with preparing her order, she let her eyes wander about the shop. It was very nearly empty, save for a couple at the door. They watched her warily from the corner of their eyes, and she watched them back openly, until they averted their gazes. Adeline turned back to the counter, sniffing softly, determined not to be affected by the way they judged her. It was nothing new to her.

"Miss?" She turned, her blue-grey eyes locking onto the server. He motioned for her to come to the end of the counter, by the register. She did, and she felt her stomach tighten when he told her the cost.

Steady now, Adie, she coached herself. It's better than begging.

She had to remind herself of that as she handed over the money and took her bag. She thanked the man softly and turned away.

"Au revoir!" he called after her. She hesitated.

"Au revoir, monsier," she repeated, smiling at her feet before continuing on her way. She heard the woman at the table muttering as she exited.

"How tragic," she said. And it was.



"Michael! Michael, come on out, I've got nosh!" Adeline ducked through the half-collapsed doorway of the church, shuddering as a cobweb brushed her face. She walked through the lobby into the nave, and a dirty face looked at her from a pew near the front. Dark eyes peered at her curiously from beneath tousled blond hair, and then they were gone. A moment later, Michael stood, ragged hat atop his head, and walked up the aisle to where Adeline waited.

"You're not joshin' me, are ya?

Adeline brought out the bag from behind her back. "I'm not joshin' you." Michael's face lit up with a grin, the whites of his teeth standing in stark contrast to his dirt-covered skin. His dark eyes lit with excitement.

"Lin," - he said it like Leen - "you're magnificent."

She smiled at him. "I try."

The pair of them walked over to the musky pew in the back of the room. They had moved it as far back as they could, to create an open space in front of it. They sat down on it now, close together, and Adeline opened the bag and pulled out the toastie, unwrapping it and handing half to her friend.

"It's still warm," he said in awe.

"I ran," she said simply. He nodded. He understood.

They ate the toastie slowly, though they wanted nothing more than to tuck in, with this having been the first meal in a little while, they savored it for the same reason. When it was done, and they'd licked lips and fingers clean, Adie said softly, "I got some potato leek soup."

Michael's eyes met her quickly, but the light in them faded almost right away. "We should save it, for tomorrow."

"We don't have to."

"We should."

"But we don't have to. I still have a little bit left over. We could eat some of the soup now, and then some for breakfast. I have enough to get us supper."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that much money?" Adeline said nothing, just looked down at her dirty hands. "Lin?" Still, she was silent, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. Michael stood in an abrupt rage. "You went back there, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"It got us dinner, non?" Adeline responded calmly.

"That isn't the point, Lin! I don't want you going back there!"

"You are not my father, Michael, and if you were you still couldn't stop me. I will do whatever it takes."

The air went out of the young man abruptly. "I know you will. You always do." He sighed. "I just wish you didn't have to."

She placed her hand on his as he sat down. "C'est la vie," she said simply, and he glared at her. "It's true, Michael. We may not like it, but this is life. This is our life anyway."

There was silence for a moment, and then: "I think I'll be able to work Friday. Nick says he needs someone to work on the wires. His men are all too bulky - they can't balance like I can."

Adeline smiled; if Michael could work for Nick, they could probably eat for a whole week. Then the smile faded. "You'd get more out of it if you kept it for yourself." She knew the look was coming, and she braced for it. The heat of his gaze made her look away.

"Lin," he began. "Lin, look at me." She didn't. "Lin! Fine, don't look at me, but listen to me. We may not always be together, but we're both back in London, so I'm going to take care of you as much as I can."

"You're fourteen," she said softly. "You shouldn't be taking care of anyone."

"You were younger when you saved me," he reminded her in almost a whisper. "And nobody said you had to do it. I wasn't anyone to you, and you saved me anyway. I'll never forget it. You took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself and no one else was willing."

She remembered. That was the first time she had come to London. She had wandered for a long time, after her brother passed. Her English was sparse and fragmented, then. She had been lucky enough that a young boy had run up and given her his bag of crisps. She was wandering, looking for a place to sit out the January night and enjoy her treat, when she had seen a figure bent over in the alley, coughing. She had bitten her lip and walked over to the child. He had been very ill and coughing until he brought forth blood. She had found a place for them when the snow came, and she had taken care of him until his fever broke and his throat was no longer raw. When he was feeling better, she gave him what was left of the crisps.

"That was a long time ago, Michael."

"It was, but without you I wouldn't have made it. I owe you for that."

"You've repaid me a hundred times over since then."

His eyes hardened. "I won't consider it a debt repaid until you're safe." She averted her eyes at the word. "Besides," he continued, softer, "bonds like that aren't easily broken."

She smiled softly at him, but said nothing. He didn't expect her to; he knew her well enough to know that she veered away from sentimentality. He also knew her well enough to know that she felt the bond just as strongly as he did - it was why she had sought him out tonight with the meal. The meal she'd earned doing things she hated herself for.

"Let's break open that soup," he said finally. She nodded and pulled out the sealed bowl, passing it to him. As he lifted it to his lips - because of course, they had no spoons - she gasped. When he looked over, there were tears in her eyes. He brought the bowl down and put a hand on her arm. "Lin?"

She reached into the bag once more, this time pulling out two small biscuits. She looked up at him with watery eyes.

"You bought biscuits?" They looked delicious, but they never had snacks. Snacks were a luxury. Adeline shook her head, her chin quivering. She looked vulnerable, and it was hard for him to see. Lin tried so hard to seem invulnerable.

"The man," she whispered finally. "He was... He was so nice. He must've... I didn't know." She took a deep breath. "I wish I knew. I could have thanked him."

"He probably didn't want you to know." She nodded, biting her lip. "We'll go back, tomorrow." She nodded again, taking another breath.

"Well," she said finally. "That soup won't eat itself, and I think we're both in need of a bath."

That night, with sated bellies, as clean as they could be from the water of the church's long-forgotten well, the pair ate biscuits for the first time in a long time. Later, waiting for sleep to take her on one of the cold wooden pews, Adeline spent her moments before sleep committing the flavour of chocolate to her memory as well as she could. And, like she did every night, she cried herself to sleep.