A/N: Okay, I need serious advice on this. Is it a story worth writing to the bitter end? I wasn't sure, but if I didn't put it out here, I'd never know. So yeah, tell me whether to plow ahead or abandon ship.

Jane checked behind her to make sure the street was deserted before dashing into a nearby shed. She got to work, ripping her apron off her dress and starting the daunting task of untying the dress by herself. Once it fell to the dusty floor, she skillfully braided her unruly curls into a tight bun, yanking on her paperboy cap. She picked up the discarded apron, tying it tightly around her chest to make it appear flatter. She then proceeded to pull on her dark green polo and overalls.

She'd been doing this routine for almost four years now. She was much older than the other paperboys, but her feminine features made her look much younger. Jane knew she could get in a lot of trouble for what she was doing. Dressing up like a boy, doing their kind of job. She could really care less, though. Her family needed the money and that was all the incentive she'd ever need.

Jane looked through the space between the wood panels to make sure no one was around. It wasn't likely anyone was up this early, but she found it better to be safe. She slung both empty newspaper bags over her shoulder and took a deep and calming breath. Bursting out the shed door, she hurried away, keeping her eyes on the cobblestone road.

Walking to the printing office always made her jittery; Salem was not that big a town, but the office was on the exact opposite end of town from her house. Which meant no matter what, she had to walk through the town square. Jane used to love going to the square, but now…now it was torture. The city officials had recently been putting those accused of witchcraft on display there. On the stage where people used to entertain, there were now people chained like animals. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never tear her eyes away. And today was no different. Even now, before the sun had even risen, the prisoners were being shoved out onto the stage. Jane found herself focusing on the girl to the far right. Jane had first noticed her a week ago. The girl stood out, and not just because of her dazzling beauty. Every time Jane saw her, she didn't fight. When the officers dragged her to her spot and threw her down, she didn't complain, she didn't pull away from their tight grip. When she was left alone, she didn't tug at her shackles; she just sat, scribbling in the dust. And as the bruises and gashes in her counterparts' wrists worsened, the only thing she seemed to get was a shackle tan line.

Jane snapped her eyes back down to her feet as the square ended. The skyline to her left had faded orange, dawn approaching slowly. She silently opened the printing office door and went to her corner. There, Stanley had put her usual three stacks of newspapers. The man wasn't as bad as everybody claimed. Sure, he didn't say anything too nice, but he was plenty generous. When he had found out who Jane really was, he just grumbled and looked away. She realized that he really didn't care, so long as she made him money.

She carefully folded the papers and stuffed her bags to the brim. Slinging one bag on each shoulder, she paused to survey the room. Up the stairs was dark; Stanly was still asleep. All the other children's corners were still full, one stack in each remaining spot. Jane was always the first one there.

The morning went fairly quickly. Jane sat quietly on her street corner as all the other paperboys yelled and paced. All three of her stacks were sold before midday, and she packed up her station quickly. Heading back to the printing office, she passed by everyone else still trying to sell their first and only stack of papers.

When she reentered the printing office, which seconded as Stanley's home, she found the old man standing at the front desk. He looked up to see her.

"Why can't everyone be like you, Rizzoli?"

She shrugged.

"Because. Then I'd have to get even better."

He chuckled and leaned against the counter. She took the hint and started digging through her pockets, throwing the change she had earned onto the counter handful by handful.

"Go ahead and change, before the afternoon workers come."

She gave him a small smile.

"Thanks, Stanley."

She dashed into the kitchen and closed the shutters. Slipping the overall straps off her shoulders, the oversized pants flopped to the floor. The shirt followed, and in a matter of minutes, her dress and apron were donned, and she ran back into the front.

Stanley was in the same place he was before, two separate and equal piles of change in front of him on the counter. He was staring at the bill in his hand.

"It's…paper money."

"I know," Jane said, taking a few steps closer, clasping her hands together behind her back. "Some guy gave it to me. I told him I didn't have that kinda change, but he just shrugged and left."

"That's all fine and dandy, Jane…But why'd you give it to me?"

"That's a funny question. I work for you, don't I?"

"Yeah, but you sell a set amount of papers and make a set amount of money every day. I wouldn't have known the difference if you took it."

"But I would've," she said.

He stared at her.

"Rizzoli, people don't follow rules like they're supposed to, and you need to stop having faith that they will. You're too good."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I dress like a boy everyday. I'm pretty sure that's wrong in more than a couple books."

He glared at her; he knew she was avoiding the point, and he didn't have the heart to bring it back up. Instead, he looked down at the bill in his hand, then extended it to her. She shook her head and stepped back, her hands gripping together tighter behind her, as if keeping the other from reaching out for the money.

"That's too much."

"Just take it."

She shook her head harder.

"Take it or you're fired, Jane," he said firmly.

"You can't do that!" she protested, her voice rising higher than usual.

"I can do whatever I want. I'm the grumpy old manager and you're in my world. Please. Take it."

Jane's brow furrowed as she thought, her eyes drifting to the money in his hand. After a long silence, she managed to find her words.

"Can I have change?" she finally asked.

It would look suspicious of she went in a shop with that much money at once. Both of them understood that, and he nodded.

"Lunch's on the table if you want it," he said.

She smiled gratefully; she seemed to be the only one he was nice to. Maybe he used up all his generosity on her.

Jane wandered back into the kitchen. One side of the table was set, as usual. She did not sit, however. She grabbed the glass of fresh milk and drank it quickly, then went to work, wrapping the savable food in a napkin and stuffing it in her bag.

"Where you off to in such a rush?" he asked, sticking his head in at all the ruckus she was making.

"Trying something new," she said as he tossed her a small bag with all her coins in it.

She caught it with her free hand, squeezing past him back into the front room and to the front door.

"Fine," he said. "But Rizzoli?"

She stopped in the front door, one foot already out in the street.

"Hair," he said, indicating her head.

"Shoot," she hissed, jumping back in and away from the window. She tore off the cap she'd left on and pulled the pin out of her hair, curls bouncing down around her shoulders.

"You're a lifesaver, man," she called over her shoulder as she left.

This afternoon, she walked with purpose back into the center of town. The town was alive now that the sun was up, the square bustling with people on lunch breaks. Children ran around. Parents sat and talked and laughed, all as if the accused people were not even there, sad and pathetic. Jane mirrored the oblivious townsfolk, striding over and sitting on the bench closest to that mysterious girl, her eyes never actually reaching the prisoners; they remained locked on the statue at the center of the square. She unpacked her food and started eating slowly.

"Hey," she said quietly, her eyes not moving from the carved stone.

"Hey," the other girl repeated, her eyes not moving from the words she was writing in the dust.

"My name's Jane."

"Maura."

Jane panicked internally; that's as far as she'd planned. She had no idea what else to say. Luckily, the other girl kept talking.

"I only ever see you walk south."

"Huh?" Jane asked stupidly.

Great, she thought, flustered. Is there any way you could evict the foot that lives in your mouth, Rizzoli?

"I only ever see you walking toward the residential side of town, never from."

"Maybe I go back when you're not here."

"I'm here until youth curfew."

"Maybe I break curfew."

"Are you a rule breaker?" Maura asked bluntly.

Jane paused, then redirected.

"How do you see me?"

"With my eyes."

Jane chuckled and took another bite of bread.

"I deserved that. What I meant was, every time I look over, you're looking down."

"People don't like being watched. They watch all the time, but they don't like the tables being turned."

Jane waited patiently for her actual answer.

"I can see people's feet when I look down. It lets me know when it's safe to steal glances."

"That's smart," Jane said, unable to hide the surprise in her tone.

"It is," Maura said matter-of-factly. "Can you answer my question now?"

"What question?" Jane asked innocently.

"The one about you and your mysterious one-direction path."

"That was more of an observation," Jane tried, but the girl persisted.

"Please?" she asked, the sweetness in her voice melting Jane's resolve.

"I…it's complicated."

"I can do complicated," she assured, resting her head in her hand as she continued her scribbling in the dust.

"It's a secret."

"That much I've picked up on, since you keep avoiding," she said in amusement.

"It's a pretty bad secret."

"I'll die with it, then. You won't have to wait very long," she laughed bitterly.

The words sent a pang of guilt through Jane. The girl was on trial for her life, and there she was being self centered.

"I…I sell papers across town."

"They let you?" she asked, surprised.

"Not really, no. I dress like a boy. I stole my brothers' old clothes."

"Does anybody know?"

"My employer found out. He's great about it. I mean, he docked my pay, but it's better than no money at all."

"You're lucky," Maura said. "You have friends who look out for you."

"All my friends are above the age of fifty," Jane laughed.

"It's better than none," the honey-blonde mumbled.

Jane wasn't sure if she was supposed to have heard the comment.

"I'll be your friend, if you want…" Jane offered sincerely.

"You don't even know me," Maura said, an odd bitterness lingering in her tone.

"So? In the couple minutes you've known me, you haven't taken a swing at me or ridiculed me for my lack of money. That's more than I can say for the rest of our generation. Hence the…older friends."

Maura laughed, letting her head fall back.

"So what makes you so unlikable?"

"I dunno. I like myself plenty."

The comment elicited another giggle from the girl.

"What about you, Maura? Other than your overall smarty-pants feel, why're you friendless too?"

Maura didn't answer immediately, and Jane could see the wheels in the girl's head turning in thought, as if she'd never thought about it before.

"I stayed indoors most of the time. Mother made sure of it; she said I was too odd for my own good. Turns out she was right."

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the loud chattering from the people around them fill the space.

"How old are you?" Jane asked quietly.

"Sixteen."

"Me too," she said sadly.

She had thought her life was bad; it didn't even compare to Maura's.

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered.

The hand she was using to draw in the dirt paused momentarily, for the first time during their conversation. The drawing restarted, though, as quickly as it had stopped.

"Me too," Maura said quietly, just as Jane had said a moment earlier.

Jane then remembered that today was the day before her brothers started school, and she hurried to pack up the food, with more than half left.

"Thank you, Jane" the girl whispered as Jane stood up, and for the first time, she looked over her shoulder to catch Jane's gaze.

The brunette nearly fell over at the sight of stunning hazel eyes overtaking her. Was it possible to drown in a sight? Because Jane was pretty sure she couldn't breathe. She'd only ever seen the side of the girl's face, never all of it. Her cheeks were round, a rosy tint peeking out under the layers of dirt. Her honey-blonde hair caught the sun as it slipped off her shoulder, a lock falling in front of her face. As she brushed it away with shackled hands, a little side smile appeared, and it was heart-melting. Again, though, Jane could barely stand those eyes. They showed just how grateful she really was, but there was still a melancholy dimness to her gaze. She gave a reassuring smile.

"I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."

And then they both looked away, their exchange unnoticed by anyone.

Jane took her time walking home, dreading the only place in the world that was supposed to be a safe haven. With her father away in search for a job, being home was a step above terrible. All her mother did was clean and pace and clean, as if they still had money, and as if they had a guest coming to their house. They, of course, never had guests. Who wanted to visit the poorest family in the town, just above the servants?

In all the strange events of the day, Jane had forgotten to take the long route to her house, something she didn't realize until she heard:

"Well if it isn't Jane Rizzoli."

The voice made Jane freeze mid-step, and she cringed, slowly turning around. Sure enough, there was Joe Grant and his posse of jerks and bitches, namely John Crowe, Caitlin Isles, Teresa, and Giovanni, both whose last names she had never really learned. Jane let out a pained breath, but didn't move, and she most certainly didn't dare speak right away.

"We haven't seen you around the past couple months. We were starting to think you were avoiding us."

"Oh, good," Jane said dryly, "you finally noticed."

Grant didn't appreciate the sarcasm, taking a few threatening steps toward her.

"I find it strange, don't you? The girl who drops out of school seems to think she knows more than we do."

Jane didn't say anything that time; she'd known Grant long enough to recognize a trap.

"Also, no one seems to be able to find you until evening. That would be normal if you found a job, but you have no skills, do you Rizzoli? You can't sew or knit. You can't cook, and you most certainly couldn't be someone's maid. Taking orders doesn't seem to be your style."

Jane again, did not say anything. He was fishing, looking for something to upset her, and she had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.

"So it begs the question. What. Do. You. Do?"

"It's nona your damn business—"

He closed the distance between them in one stride, his hand closing around her neck. It wasn't tight enough to choke her, but his message was plenty clear.

"You got no right talkin' to me like that, bitch," he hissed. "I got more say in this town than any other kid, and if I so much as breathe your name, you'll be in jail so fast your head'll spin. Maybe even for that witch blood of yours," he hinted, pausing to let his words sink in. "Are we clear?"

She didn't respond, but let her eyes shift to glare angrily into his.

"Nod your head."

Jane didn't want to, but she saw the fire in his eyes and smelled alcohol on his breath, she nodded slowly. He grinned viciously, and then turned his head back to his gang, his hand never leaving her throat.

"She said 'yes,' she's been whoring for money."

"Liar," she hissed, instantly feeling his grip tighten and restrict her airways.

"Shut up," he growled through clenched teeth.

She hated this. Not because she was a victim, but because she was almost forced to be a victim. She could knock this wimp out in one punch if she wanted, but that would most certainly bring attention to her. And there was only one rule in Salem. Don't get noticed.

"Think I should try her on for size?" he called to them, and they all nodded and whistled.

Jane felt her cheeks flush as he turned back to her and shoved a dollar bill down the front of her dress.

"Now gimme a kiss, Rizzoli," he ordered, quiet enough so only she would hear.

She shook her head and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't allow it, using his grip on her neck to pull her forward, to crush his lips to hers. She didn't kiss back, but that didn't stop him. He bit at her lip until it bled, and when she opened her mouth at the pain, he of course, shoved his tongue in her mouth. She could taste the iron of her blood on his tongue, and it made her that much more sick. His hand had left her throat and was now sliding down her side, grabbing her ass firmly and pulling her flush into him, the other hand gripping her wrists firmly together behind her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and it was the first time in her life that she'd ever actually been scared of Joe Grant.

It was then that she heard yelling. Loud, gruff, very angry yelling, but what was being said, she couldn't process right away; her heart was pounding painfully hard, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Grant jumped away though, releasing her.

"Go, get lost, I said!" Jane finally heard. "Now!"

"But—"

"Scram or I'll arrest you for loitering on private property!" the police officer yelled.

The group scurried off, and Jane remained, unable to find her legs. Her eyes stung with tears, her cheeks burning as she tried to stop the world from spinning around her.

"Jesus, Jane! What were you thinking?" Korsak chastised, running over to her and catching her as her knees gave out. She leaned into him, a sob racking through her body.

The rich kid group had always been a problem for Jane. Always. It had gotten bad enough that Korsak told her to walk home a different way, and she hadn't protested, no matter how unfair it was. They both knew he wouldn't always be around to intervene, or that Grant would eventually pull his rich daddy card on a policeman. It was just a matter of time for that…

"I'm sorry, Korsak. I just…I don't know."

"You're damn lucky I was around."

He gripped her upper arms and crouched down to get a better look at her. The only visible damage was her lip, and satisfied she would be alright, he straightened up.

"What me to walk you home?" he asked knowingly.

She took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly and closing her eyes.

"Please," she almost begged.

They started off, walking slowly in silence. Korsak watched the brunette carefully. She was too strong for her own good. The poor girl had been subjected to more in two years than most of the residence had in their entire lifetimes. And yet she didn't complain. She didn't try to bring it up, she pushed herself away inside her own mind so dangerously far, Korsak was afraid she'd never be able to find herself again.

"How's your mother?" he asked, trying to distract her from the memory she was clearly replaying in her head.

It worked, her fear gone, replaced with anger and resentment.

"As crazy and uptight as ever. I wouldn't be surprised if she really does have something shoved up her a—"

"Language, Jane," he cut in.

"You didn't even let me say it!" she protested, peering up at him, frustrated.

"A lady doesn't talk like that."

Jane laughed bitterly, kicking at a stone in the road.

"I stopped being a lady a while ago, Korsak."

He smiled sadly, mostly because he knew she was right. She stopped being a lady and a kid when her father lost his job. They had had money back then, and she'd gone to school with all the other rich kids. She'd grown up with etiquette and luxury, then had it ripped away, only to be perfectly gracious about it. She scrounged for money in ways Korsak didn't want to know about, and through it all, she managed to put up with raising her brothers and deal with her controlling mother.

"That's a shame, really. You would've made a good one."

A smile flickered onto her face momentarily.

"You think so?"

"Wouldn't have said it otherwise," he assured.

They stopped walking at the intersection they reached.

"I'm good from her," she said. "Mum'd have a heart attack if she saw you."

"Killing someone ain't on my list of things to do today," he laughed. "Tell Frankie and Tommy I said hello."

"Will do," she said with a smile.

He waved and headed back the way they came; Jane continued forward and around the corner. She trudged up her front steps and through the door, only to find her brothers wrestling on the ground.

"Hey!" she snapped, slipping her bag off her shoulder. "Cut that out!"

Frankie rolled off Tommy, both boys looking sheepishly at her.

"Sorry," Frankie mumbled.

"Yeah, sorry," Tommy echoed.

She gave them a small smile.

"Janie?!" her mother called from the other room. "Is that you?"

"What happened to your lip?" Tommy asked from his spot on the floor, squinting at her to get a better look.

"Shoot," Jane breathed, her mother's footsteps getting louder as she approached. "Gimme a punch, Frankie, just like I taught you," she whispered hurriedly, waving him closer to her.

He knew not to protest, running over and giving her a hard whack just as their mother entered.

"Frankie!" Angela gasped. "What in God's name did Jane do?"

Jane rolled her eyes; of course she did something wrong. Frankie shrugged at his mother, feebly shaking out his hand.

"Don't you get blood on my furniture. Or your dress," her mother warned, pointing a stern finger at her daughter, who nodded politely, pressing her hand to her lip to stop the flow.

"Nice to see you too, Ma," she said bitterly, her hand muffling the words.

Angela smiled, missing the sarcasm, then turned on her heels and exited.

After a beat, Jane chucked.

"You've been practicing," she praised, gingerly removing her hand from her lip. "Did you guys practice writing too?"

"Yes, mother," they groaned in unison.

"I'm not kidding," she said, sitting down in the only chair in the room.

"We did, Janie, we swear," Frankie assured, his tone as serious as Jane's.

Tommy nodded in agreement, climbing into Jane's lap.

"I missed you," he mumbled, curling up tightly against her.

She ruffled his hair lightly, smiling down sadly at him.

"I know, buddy, but you know I can't be around Sunday mornings."

He gave her a sad look.

"I'm here now," she comforted.

Frankie's stomach growled audibly from across the room. Jane huffed.

"Ma didn't give you lunch, did she?"

"No. That was the first time we've seen her all day."

"Well were you gonna say anything? Maybe tell her?"

He shook his head, and Jane sighed lightly. She rummaged through her bag with her free hand, the other one wrapped around Tommy. She retrieved the napkin of food and handed it to him.

"Eat it quickly. And share," she said quietly, her eyes darting toward where her mother had previously entered from. "I'll be right back."

She slipped herself out from under Tommy and stuck her head into the main hallway. No one was there, so she turned back and gave them the okay to start eating. They smiled and unwrapped the food while Jane made her way to their room. It was fairly small, just like the rest of the house, with a dresser and a small bed. Ever since Frankie had his growth spurt, though, Jane had moved to the space under the bed. The blanket on top of the bed was large enough that it hung all the way to the floor, concealing her living space from her mother.

She lifted up the blanket so she could scoot her way under. She quietly placed the bag of coins she'd earned that day with the rest of her collection. To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with all the money. Every now and then she'd give her mother a nickel or two. Angela would glare and grumble in return, but Jane continued to do it anyway. She did not, however, dare give her mother more, because she knew any more would raise suspicions. Before, she'd used some of the money to buy a little bread or milk for her brothers, but Stanley had been providing that for her recently. Now, the piles of coins simply continued to pile up higher and higher.

"Ja-ane!" her mother called in a sing-song voice.

The brunette jumped, whacking her head on the underside of the bed. She swore, scooting out from under the bed and throwing herself onto it before her mother entered.

"Janie, your father sent us a letter. If you could read it for us, sweetheart, that would be great."

The sweetness in her mother's voice made Jane's stomach clench; she hated being used, and her mother was only nice to her when she needed something. Like having a letter read. But Jane knew 'no' was not an answer she could afford, so she nodded, taking the piece of paper.

I promised to write to you when I found any job openings so I have. Whether or not I will get the job is still to be decided, however. I hope all is well with you, and know that I hope to be back with you all as soon as is possible. –Frank

Jane, did not however, read her mother the last part of the note, which read:

I have no money to send, and I know you don't know why that's so important. I never told you, but I never could put enough money down to send the boys to school for the year. I gave a payment and was hoping to send you more, but I cannot. Tell the boys I am truly sorry.

Jane already knew how she could make it up, and she quite honestly could not wait.