One year ago, when money was hard to come by, and the gang was barely scrounging up something to eat, I'd made a promise to myself. That we would get through this. I would take care of them. I'd make sure, as the oldest, that nothing would ever hurt them. I'd make sure that whatever trouble found them, or whatever trouble they found, I would shield them from it. Put myself between them and the bullet if necessary, because I felt like that was something expected of me. It was my duty to be that for them, to be a big sister and a sort of mother for them. We were all orphans. Unwanted. Unneeded by a society that was falling apart around our feet and didn't need any more burdens, any more charity cases cluttering up its mailboxes. If there was one thing I hated, it was charity. I didn't want anyone to feel sorry for these kids, because they were all strong, so strong-willed and proud that it would be a slap in the face for anyone of them to get pity from some random stranger. People looking in on our lives, they couldn't fathom what we went through. They didn't understand us, or our way of thinking, and for those reasons, I didn't want to take their charity money. I didn't want their sympathy. We didn't want their sympathy, because we all might be a couple of good for nothing urchins, but dammit, we all had pride. And so, we stole, we tricked those random strangers, not into giving us their money, but parting with it. We weren't going to be some charity case. No, we would get money on our own terms and from bastards that didn't deserve all the money they had. I remember laughing so hard the first time we pulled the wool over some mean, old, coot's eyes. He never saw it coming. And I remember how good we ate that night with the money we earned. Yes, earned. It might have sounded like I was trying to pull the wool over those kids and my own eyes with pretty words like earned, but that's what I deemed it as. The streets we grew up on, the place we lived, people might call it a city, but I didn't think of it that way. It was a jungle, a huge concrete jungle, with skyscrapers as trees and people as insects, infesting and preying upon each other. Money didn't belong to people who worked for it, no; it belonged to people who could hold onto it, and those people that we took it from, well, all I had to say to them was losers' weepers. We all felt that way. Those kids. We might not be related by blood, but I'd like to think we were brought together by something even stronger. I'd like to think we were brought together by animal's instinct, that we were creatures that could hold each other up, could support and fight for each other. They might have been small, but each of them had such spirit. Such determination to continue living, just like me. Dorothy. What a spitfire. I knew the first time I met her that when she grew up, she would be breaking hearts left and right. She reminded me of myself at that age, all spunk and regrettably nothing else. She had smarts though, but it was hidden under all that attitude. She was a peacock, colorful feathers puffed up and angry, without so much as decent beak to back it up. Charlie was worse than her, mostly because he was a boy, and he didn't like girls bossing him around. So one day, when we were all lounging around in the School bus--our makeshift home--I pulled him to the side and told him I was counting on him to take care of Shirley. I also added, to puff him up, that since he was the man of our group that I would be counting on him extra. He ate my words like a four course meal, beaming at the hand on his shoulder that he saw as some kind of acquiescence on my part. And Shirley. The baby of our group—although, who was I lying to when I said that because we all babies--had my greatest sympathies. She was a strong little girl, but a little girl nonetheless. Too small to understand the evil nature of grown-ups, too small to not reach out to a hand that was reaching out for her, too small that she still believed in God and Angels and Paradise. She was always carrying around that book, showing me pictures of the Angel that would gather us all up one day and miraculously take us to Paradise, to Heaven. It was heartbreaking to watch them being ushered away by that Detective. Not because I thought he would hurt them, or mistreat them. It was because he could take better care of them. I was just pathetically holding onto them at that point, not letting go, and wanting that way of life, the one where we lived on the streets and answered to no one, to continue. I wanted to protect them all; I still do, even if millions of miles and a sea separated us. I wanted to protect, to nurture, to save, and deliver...like some kind of Messiah, the one that I didn't want to believe in. I wanted to protect, and before I knew it, as I said my silent farewell to spunky Dorothy, to brave and noble Charlie, to small and sweet Shirley, watched them go off with a responsible, kind adult, I realized something. Turning to the girl beside me, the one who hadn't left me, who was still standing here, silent as a wall, and waiting for me. I realized that I was no longer the one doing the protecting. It was like the angel from Shirley's fairy tale book had stepped off the page, and manifested itself in this silent, white-haired girl. And slowly, like gears grinding under the shell of a timepiece, things began to change. And I learned that it wasn't so bad to be shielded, to be protected...like this. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- They were back from Gifu and sleeping off the airplane ride by the time Kyouhei arrived to prepare dinner for them. He knocked once, then twice, and then the jingle of keys could be heard and he was letting himself in. "Oh, hi Jo." He saw her lying there like a dead thing on the couch, and as if to give an answer back, she rolled on her side. "How was Gifu? Did you guys go to the hot springs?" She sat up and scratching her stomach, she didn't answer his question, just stared blearily at him, while trying to get a focus on her thoughts. She was still trying to wake up from the half daze she had been rooted in for the entire day, while he asked her questions in that soft voice about things she wasn't paying attention to. For some reason, she could only focus on how girly sounding Kyouhei's voice was. She assumed he was still hitting puberty or something, since his eyes were the same size as Amy's and he looked like if she blew on him, he would tip over. She was either really hungry, or really bored, if she was having these kinds of conversations with herself. She got up from the couch, her big shirt crumpled and wrinkled, and displaying for how long a period she hibernated on the couch. Kyouhei looked away nervously as she walked past him and in the direction of sleeping quarters. Yep. Definitely still hitting puberty. He should get somebody to fix that for him. Maybe she should tell Sei about it, although even a grown man, she thought, wouldn't be able to handle all of Sei, especially not in the chest department. There was such a thing as too-much-woman and Sei definitely fell into that category. Jo had made it to her room with a lazy shuffle. Then stopped at the door, because she noticed Meg's door was slightly open and there was music coming through the crack. That curious thing came back again and before she could stop herself, she was opening the door and walking in. Meg was fast asleep, but her radio had been left on to fend for itself. The music wasn't something she recognized, because the only music she ever listened to didn't involve singing. More like screaming. A woman's voice was coming over the airwaves, melodious and calming. Jo thought it was no wonder Meg was fast asleep, even if the radio was on. Coming up to the bed, she sat on a side, feeling suddenly very self-conscious and very stupid for barging into Meg's room like this. Meg was passed out on her side, one hand thrown off the bed, and the other thrown in the opposite direction. There probably had been much tossing and turning before this position had been reached. Her covers were no longer on the bed and one of her fluff pillows was lying dead on the ground next to her slippers. Jo's attention was caught when she saw the edge, of what to her, looked like books under the bed; one sheet's corner barely covering their existence on the ground. She'd reached down then, felt the cover of the topmost, the flimsy, shiny, surface smooth on her fingertips as she traced over it. She pulled one out from its nest and flipping through the book with a casual air, she nearly dropped it when she realized what she was reading. It was a children's book. Taking another look at the stack on the floor, they all were, and glimpsing over the covers and the titles, Jo wondered what Meg was doing with them. "The Passing of the Angel." The book in her hand was soon put aside for another, and then another, each title throwing her off further and creating more confusion over the other girl's reading material. "The Happy Ending of the Kingdom." "Angel's Paradise." "Heaven's Bugle." Jo, glimpsing at her sleeping friend to see if she was still deep in sleep, went through the whole stack. She discovered that most of the books were children's biblical stories with morals and colorful print and pictures. Other's were based loosely on the Bible, with fairy tale motifs thrown in, Jo guessed, for the hell of it, because little kid liked happy endings. It bothered her; these books bothered her, because something wasn't connecting here. She had overheard Meg on separate occasions, without much reluctance say very...atheistic things. That had never bothered her. What was bothering her here was that this went completely against what Meg on all those occasions had said. Why was she reading these books? What purpose did they serve her? Jo suddenly felt like shaking her companion awake and asking for an explanation, because suddenly she felt like she had been...betrayed. But that was ridiculous. This was Meg's business, not her own, and yet, the fact that she was, without a doubt, confused about her behavior, just didn't settle right with her. She knew Meg inside and out and for her to doubt her knowledge of the girl now; it made her feel out of sorts. "Meg, wake up." Her hand was on the other girl's shoulder, shaking her awake. "Meg, up." Meg made a small noise in her throat, her arms pushing her away, as she yawned and stretched. She abruptly stopped all motions and fell back on her mattress, limp and snuggling into her comforter with every intention of getting back to sleep. Jo would have rolled her over, but currently, she was distracted by the view she was afforded when Meg's shirt--the only thing she slept in--rode up her thigh. "I can see your underwear." Meg was up. "It's pink and has a white bow on the front." Meg was definitely up and closing her legs. She could see Jo still looking at her lap, and waving her hand at the other girl, she finally got Jo's attention...on her face. "Okay, okay. Enough of that." Scooting over to the edge of the bed and seating herself next to the white-haired girl, Meg's gaze stilled on Jo's hands and what they held. "Hey, those are mine. Jo, what do you think you're doing?" She made an attempt at snatching the book away, but Jo was faster, and was still leafing through it when she had calmed herself down. "You shouldn't be going though people's stuff." She said with a pout. Jo looked at her strange. "You're not people. You're Meg." She stopped flipping pages and closed the book with finality. "Why do you have these? I thought you didn't believe in stuff," she raised the book so Meg could have a clear view of the cover and the title, "like this." Meg grabbed the book from Jo's hands. She didn't feel right with Jo going through her things, especially something as personal as this. She hugged the book tightly to her chest, as if trying to make it disappear from the room and into herself, where it belonged. Hidden away from prying eyes and the world in general. "Well?" Jo was being more talkative than she ever remembered. And she was now being the taciturn one. How roles could switch when you weren't paying attention. Meg sighed. "Do you remember Shirley?" Jo stared at her blankly. Guess not. "The little girl in New York, the one with red pigtails who carried around that stuffed doll all the time." Jo seemed to have some recognition now. Meg continued on, "You see...this is going to sound stupid, so don't laugh okay?" Meg then thought she had already hit a bad start, because Jo wouldn't laugh, even if it were funny. Brick walls had a better sense of humor. Jo, as if to demonstrate this was still staring at her blankly and waiting for an explanation. "Shirley, used to carry around this story book. I don't know where she got it." She distractedly added, "and she would always bother me about this picture that she liked a lot. Saying one day we'd all be saved, and spouting all this nonsense about Heaven and an Angel that would rescue us and carry us to Disney World...or whatever kids thought was paradise." Jo was still listening and she pressed the storybook closer to her chest nervously. "And then, well, we...she found you in the Hudson River, and more nonsense flew out of her head." Meg laughed, trying to make the account sound less sad, "She thought you were the Angel, and that you had come to protect us and...you know the rest of the story." Meg closed her eyes. "She really believed you were the angel from her story book. I even at one point,"-Meg brushed some hair out of her face and started back over, as if her last sentence had never existed. "If you want to know why I collected all of these books, it was just because I wanted to find that picture again. I mean, there's gotta be another book like it, right? It can't be the only one ever published." Even to her, that last part sounded a little desperate, and it left her feeling even more embarrassed. Jo was giving her the weirdest look and she hated how it made her feel. "Why?" Jo touched her arm gently. "Why what?" She turned her head. "Why are still looking for it if you thought it was so nonsensical?" This was the question she had asked herself a million times, and a million times over, she had avoided answering it. It didn't seem like she could run away from it anymore. "Because it was important," she said, not really trusting herself with words right now. "I don't know. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I mean she was a kid. Shirley was just a baby, and she believed with such...conviction in something that she had never seen." Jo wanted to tell her that children were just naïve. Of course they believed in things without seeing them. How else could they come up with such a pansy ass bad guy like the boogey man? Now if they had better imaginations they would give the boogey man a chainsaw. Meg looking at Jo and seeing the focused expression on her face thought that Jo was putting maybe, a little too much effort into hearing her out. So she continued on, "She always told me that we were going to be rescued and I hated how she was so sure. I hated how it made me feel to be dependent on those childish words. That she'd given me hope and it wasn't going away. But looking out on the neighborhood where we lived. Where people were shot everyday, where we were starving half the time and trying to live the best we could, I just felt hurt that this...Angel...that God hadn't rescued us already." She smiled a little, "I guess I felt spiteful that he was letting us suffer like that." Jo with her envious calm said, "Everyone feels that way." She rolled her eyes, "Really? Have you ever felt that way Jo?" "No. Why would I feel like that?" She could have thrown the book at Jo's head, but it wasn't worth the book getting dented. "Anyway," she gave Jo a narrowed stare and the other girl, unaware that her comforting words weren't really all that comforting and more insulting, stared right back. "I still don't think miracles happen just out of the blue...for normal people. It's just how the world works." But even through her words, she still raised her head optimistically. "Jo, ever since I met you, Shirley's words...little by little have made sense. I see miracles everyday; and you're the only person in the world, to me, who can make impossible things like that happen. I would have never dreamed..." she laughed, "Some of the crazy crap you do and still it all works out for the best." Meg hoped she didn't have to say it aloud, but she was sure Jo would be able to pick up on all of the suggestions she had left behind. They sat for a good time, silent and still in her room and flicking her eyes over to the other girl, Meg could see the cutely perplexed expression on her face. She readied herself for it. "I'm just good with a gun. The only miracle involved--in any of those cases-- is that I don't have to pay for the damages I leave behind afterwards." She smiled at Jo, and sliding over effortlessly, she rested her head on the other girl's shoulder. "But all those close calls. Don't you ever wonder if someone's looking out for you?" Jo hesitantly placed an arm around her shoulder and she without a pause, snuggled in closer. "Yeah, several hundred feet of steel and grappling capabilities. Its name is Django." Jo squeezed her shoulders. "And well...you too." "You're sweet." She said unabashedly, kissing under her jaw and slinking her arms around Jo's waist. Not as sweet as you. Jo wrapped the other arm around the girl and before she could stop herself, they were both lying down on the bed and curled around each other. Jo, looking up at the ceiling wondered if it was all right for her to hold Meg like this after what they had done in the hot springs. Meg didn't look like she had any problems with their arrangement, and Jo easily placated, left it at that. "Hey, is that door locked?" Meg asked her, as she placed her hands on either side of her and straddled her waist. Jo, who was too busy looking at Meg and not the door in question, didn't really care if it was locked or not. Meg smiled up at her, although Jo didn't think she had ever seen a smile like that from the red head, the smile looking more like a promise and not a polite gesture. Meg dipping her head down was now kissing her, and before she could even get her hands around the redhead in her lap, Meg had grabbed them in hers and twined their fingers together. Jo wasn't sure if she should let the redhead have her way, but when a pink tongue wound its way into her mouth, everything else seemed to lose importance. Jo still wanted the use of her hands, wanted to run them around in the other girl's hair, and down her back, and...Jo watched with fascination Meg's ass in the air. The girl pressing their hands into the mattress and trying at the same time to keep her balance, as she scooted down to press kisses on her throat. Jo licked her lips as she felt Meg's kiss travel down her neck and a sweep of tongue on her collarbone. She could still see Meg's ass up in the air, swaying this way and that, like it had a mine of its own. Jo wondered if her fixation on Meg's ass had anything to do with the conversation they had the day before. Meg was now laying kisses on top of the material of her T-shirt and nuzzling her right between her chest. It wasn't long before Meg was moving down again, her fiery hair contrasting greatly to the white, plainness of her shirt, as the girl rested her head right below her navel. Meg's hands were now moving in her grasp, guiding her fingers until they were tangled in her red hair. She left them there and Meg's hands, slipping from her grasp, moved to slip under her shirt, and suddenly Jo found her underwear around her knees. She couldn't say she was displeased with this turn of events. Not when Meg--not in the mood for teasing--had placed her mouth on her. Jo had flinched so hard that the whole bed shook. She shut her eyes then, because the sight of Meg doing that to her, with her mouth and with her soft tongue wasn't something that she thought she could live through. And with the first movement of her mouth, the first feel of wet suction on her clit, Jo kicked her leg out and tried hard not to rip Meg's hair out. She couldn't stop the groan or stifle the name she called out, and Meg fueled on by her noises, opened her mouth and breathed on her, her lips so hot and moist that she had Jo flinging one of her arms out and twisting the sheets in a one handed grip. She rolled her head to the side, her neck warm and sensitive against the comforter, trying with all her might to not alert the entire RV with the yell that was building in her throat. This...this wasn't possible. This kind of pleasure, it was almost unthinkable how good it felt. Like she could die, actually die from this. It made Jo, who was always in control, feel like the universe had flipped on it's head and was now dangling over her, ready to crash down and wake her from the fantasy playing before her dazed, red eyes. Meg was licking her, a little mewling sound breathed between their connected skin as the girl continued to draw upon her continuously with her mouth and tongue. It was too much, and Jo, feeling the sensation between her legs peak bucked up into the mouth on top of her. Meg's hands, as if it wasn't enough that her mouth was pleasurably torturing her, touched her gently--a completely different sensation from what she was experiencing with Meg's merciless and at the same time merciful mouth. Her orgasm hit her hard and before she could stop it, she had yelled. "Meg...the...help." It hit so fast and violently, and her body was shaking uncontrollably as this new and completely withering excitement lifted her from the mattress and had her desperately moving Meg's head in her hands, trying to get this feeling contained. Meg lapped at her until she was completely finished, and Jo's upper body, falling back to the mattress, abdominal muscles finally relaxing and knees feeling weak, tried to keep conscious. The redhead had moved away then, climbed back and draped herself over her quivering body. The sounds of her licking her fingers and lips reminding Jo of where that mouth had been just a moment ago. She opened her eyes, seeing through the haze of first time sexual fulfillment Meg's blue eyes staring up at her. "You looked like you enjoyed that." Meg was back to kissing under her jaw and Jo, shaking her head stupidly, pinched herself secretly to see if she hadn't died during those last breath taking minutes.
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