A/N: Well here it is, the final chapter of this short, yet exceptional fic. I've loved this. So much that I may submit it to a contest, changing Boots' name. I hope you like this last segment. Again - Please Read and Review.

I woke in a bed, the first bed I had lain in since my parents' burial. It felt like heaven, even with the mattress coarse and brittle, the sheets worn and holy. As I shifted, I found that I was only half dressed, my chest bare. My eyes glanced around the darkened room, the only light coming from a set of dim candles scattered across a wooden dresser. The flame shifted, a wind nearly knocking the dancing light out, as the door to the sparse room opened.

A petite woman, no taller than five feet and slim in her shapeless dress, entered carefully, a cup of tea in her hands. Her eyes were a soft grey, kind and full of a flickering joy at the realization that I had woken from my unconscious state. I sat up too quickly and found myself falling back with a groan of pain. When I looked down I saw the bruises lining my stomach and I remembered then the brutality I had encountered some nights previous.

"Where am I?" I questioned her as she adjusted the pillows behind my head, with one hand balancing the cup.

"I'm Francis's wife," she spoke with a smile, encouraging me to take the warm cup into my hands, helping me grasp it. Her hands were warm on mine and I sighed as she released them, lifting the cup to my lips.

I drank in the warm tea, a lingering taste of honey compelling me sip feverishly at it. By the time I had emptied the contents of the mug, I found she had pulled a chair up next to me.

Taking the empty cup from my hands, she spoke, her voice a lilting Irish accent. "You've been out for some days now lad."

I felt my eyes avoiding hers, a heat rising to my cheeks in embarrassment. I never wanted to ask anyone for help, at a mere seven years of age I wished to be independent. In part it was the lack of parents that forced me into this mindset, but also my wish to not be a burden. So much had I cared for my family and it made my heart ache to think about that now.

My cheeks were wet now. I hadn't noticed until I saw her take out a white handkerchief and blot at them, then pushing the soft cloth into my hands. "Thank you…" It wasn't the last time I expressed my gratitude to her.

--

A week later I was sleeping on the streets again, more cautious this time as to where I slept. Boots seemed concerned the first few weeks, constantly asking me if I felt better. That wasn't to be the last beating I ever had, but it was by far the worse. No one can ever avoid the inevitable I guess.

I kept working for food, although from time to time Francis slipped me a penny. I continued on this cycle of working and sleeping in the streets. I became more familiar with the area, loitering around the bookstore next door and pressing my face against the bakery as I watched fancy treats made for girls in swooshing dresses.

Yesterday, Boots saved my life for the third time. He had come to work all smiles as usual, but there was a different glow about him. Beaming, he told me he'd found something that would pay us real money, something even boys as young as us could do. My eyes widened slightly, knowing by his expression that he wasn't lying.

"We could sell newspapers Michel! I got some money to get us started, you buy them and then sell them and it ain't too bad, it's not like we'll be making dollars or nothing, but it something!" Boots was talking faster by the second, his hands emphasizing his high spirits.

He dragged me there that day, my eyes wide the whole way. Before I knew it, we were near Smiley's again, a pile of warm newspapers each. I stood frozen for minutes, watching Boots shouting out headlines, waving them around and harassing people on the street. I found myself braving it, scanning the paper wearily.

There was no way I could match Boots' vigor and my words came out in a short, shallow breath. How I managed to sell any was beyond me. I suppose some of them took pity on me, a variety of ten men, women, and children each taking one.

Then we were back to washing dishes. Everything seemed to happen so fast that by the end of the day I was surprised to be on my way out the back door of the kitchen. But Boots halted me half way through it, his eyes gleaming yet sad. They held pity for me, I realized a little late.

He had begun talking, tugging me into a street. "Michel, there's this place we can stay for real cheap for boys who sell papers, it's uh… a few blocks down and it's an okay place," he spoke as if trying to reassure me while also trying not to hurt my pride. "What do you think Michel, we could try it out for a night or two…"

I nodded, more enthusiastically than I had meant to. A bed sounded good, after these two long years of sleeping on hard pavement, not knowing if I'd be beaten that night or not. I can't say things are going to get easier from now on. I liked the place Boots had brought me too, but that don't mean I won't get beat on.

I mean, it's like that old man said, in that bookstore today. Prejudice: life just ain't fair.