"Whatson, I still can't believe that you defended the pad on your own. I really didn't think you were the type to be territorial!"

Big Dog laughed over his beer. Whatson grinned. When Dog laughed, it was infectious.

"Anyway, it's good to see you're safe. How's Sparkles doing? A flash-bang can really get to you."

"Dunno," replied Whatson. "I haven't seen her in a while. She's been pretty secretive - slipping in and out without taking to anyone. She seemed pretty shaken up after the attack."

Slippery had his head in his deck, but looked up. "I think she went back upstairs. She said there was something she needed. That was a couple of hours ago."

"Right. I'd better go check on her. See if she needs anything. Be back soon."

Dog drained his beer and headed upstairs. He knocked on Sparkles' door, but there was no answer. He knocked again.

"Sparkles? You there?"

He tried the door, but it was locked. Sparkles had given him the access code ages ago, when he was helping her move some stuff. He put his ear to the door. Nothing.

With a furtive glance around, he punched the code and slipped inside.

Sparkles' flat was messy as always. It seemed to be four parts storage, two parts workspace and one part crash pad. Every flat surface was covered in...stuff. Scraps of wire, bits of plastic, half melted electronics and busted equipment.

It took him a couple of false starts to find the tiny cot of a bed where Sparkles actually slept. The tangle of blankets on her compacted and rather lumpy futon showed no signs of being slept on, but there were what looked like smears of dried blood on her pillow and sheets.

Confused, Dog picked the pillow up to have a closer look. Half a dozen little white wrappers fell out and floated to the floor. Each one was marked with a tiny white starburst.

Blissed. A Morphinelike drug that was popular a few years back. He remembered the combat vets talking about it. It doesn't take the pain away; it just makes it seem a long way off. Not particularly addictive, but the body builds up resistance, and the dose required to keep someone in a fog gets dangerously high very quickly.

He pocketed one of the wrappers, made sure he hadn't disturbed anything and left, making sure to relock the door after him.

He jumped as one of the neighbourhood kids screamed past in hot pursuit of an escaped pet. The kid paused when she saw him at Sparkles' door and made an owlish face.

"Sparks not home," she said through her thumb.

Dog crouched to be at her level.

"Do you know where she's gone?" he asked.

"Up on the roof with her stuff."

Dog smiled at her. "Thanks, kid. I owe you one."

The roof of the building was a cluttered mess of pigeon coops, pot plant gardens and storage lean-tos, one of which (Dog vaguely remembered) belonged to Sparkles. It was a tiny enclosed space with walls made out of packing crates and 44-gallon drums, full of scrap metal and wood - all the stuff too large for Sparkles to keep in her room.

Lying in the center of this space was Sparkles, face down on the concrete.

Lying very, very still.

Dog rushed over. "Sparkles," he called. "Sparkles? Sparky?" He sighed with relief as she moaned vaguely. Four more little white wrappers fell out of her hand. The more you take, he thought to himself, the shorter it lasts so the more you take. It was a vicious cycle.

She had been looking good recently, since the video game job. But Dog noticed now that she was dressing down again. He lifted her off the concrete, wincing at the pain in his own ribs. He threw her arm over his shoulder and led her back downstairs, opening her door and laying her carefully on the futon.

Then he methodically searched her room for tiny white wrappers with starbursts. The empty ones he put into the garbage. The full ones went into his pockets.

Then he sat down at her bedside and waited.

About an hour later, Sparkles started to come down. With it came the shakes and the nightmares. Dog held her as she screamed.

"I killed you! It's my fault!"

She yelled over and over again for Whatson to run - to let them take her, as if that would somehow protect everyone.

"Dog," she sobbed. "Someone has to warn Big Dog. Someone tell him they're coming..."

Dog had seen drug withdrawal before, both in the military and in his more recent work in the community. He held her tight, letting her down gently from the effects of the drug.

Slowly, the shakes started to subside. Dog gently lowered her back to the bed. Suddenly he realised that her right palm was wet with blood. She had been holding her left wrist.

"Shit," he muttered, looking around for a relatively clean scrap of cloth. Carefully he bound the slash, waiting for her to speak first.

She fought against him, still only vaguely conscious. As he bandaged her wrist, her sleeve fell back, and Dog saw that the skin of her inner arms was a lacework of cuts. Some shallow scratches were barely more than a raised red line, but there were some deeper cuts. One of the more serious cuts on her left wrist was bleeding freely. It wasn't so deep that it would be fatal but it was deep enough that it can't be doing her good. By the look of her skin, this had been going on for at least a few days.

She woke, if only slightly, and for a moment focused on Dog. "You're not here," She whispered hoarsely, turning away. She reached up under the pillow for the tabs that were, until recently, stashed there.

"Yeah, Sparks," he said quietly. "I'm here. I'm not going away."

Gently he grabbed the hand which was reaching under the pillow, and held it in both of his own.

The glaze in her eyes told him that the drug wasn't completely out of her system yet. She looked puzzled at her hands in his, and at her bandaged wrist.

"They came for me..." she sobbed, trying to pull away. "They'll keep coming!"

"Course they will," he replied. "And me and Whatson - we'll keep on fighting them off. You're safe. Safe with me. Me and Whatson. And Rack, and Slippery too. We're all looking out for you. To keep you safe from them."

Dog was aware that he was babbling, but she needed to hear his voice.

"You don't get it, do you?" she lashed out, struggling ineffectually against his hold. "I don't care what happens to me! I'm not important! I put you in danger! All of you! It's you I'm worried about!"

She slumped back down, sobbing. "It doesn't matter what happens to me. I was trying to die so you would be safe..." Her voice broke, and went quiet and flat. "Whatson said they needed a young woman's body. I'll provide one."

"Who needed the body, Sparks? Tell me who it was."

"Whoever they are."

She sighed, shuddering slightly. The worst had passed. "I heard Whatson say they'd stop if they thought I was dead." She lifted her bandaged wrist to the light. "Seemed like the easiest way..."

"Hey," said Dog. "That's not an easy way to anything. Where would I be if I didn't have you to mod my piece? We need you, Sparks. I need you. So hang around with us for a little longer, hey?"

"I can't. I..." She gulped, trying to frame her thoughts through the remains of the drug haze. "I screwed up the scope. I couldn't fix it... my hands... they just keep shaking. I've lost my touch! And if I screw up again, anything could happen."

She looked at him again. "You guys are in enough danger without... without me."

"Sparks, we'd be in more danger without you! Who fixed up the van for the drug bust? Who modded my gun? Who diddled the security systems in the pad? You did. I couldn't. Whatson couldn't. Slippery might try, but I wouldn't rely on it the way I rely on the stuff you do. So what if you screw up occasionally? We all do. In case you hadn't noticed, I got shot the other night, because I screwed up. Screwing up isn't a reason to give it all away. It isn't a reason to deprive your friends of all the times you don't screw up."

Dog looks at her, his eyes glistening. But no tears fell.

"We need you, Sparky. We love you. Come back to us."

She reached up and touched his cheek, almost tentatively.

"Thank you."

She was still shaking and pale. She probably hadn't eaten for days. Seemingly out of habit, she reached for her stash again.

Trying to look like he hadn't noticed, Dog drew her up to her feet, supporting her with one arm around her waist.

"Right then. You look hungry," he said. "Let's get you something to eat."

But she slumped sideways and covered her mouth, as if trying not to throw up. She clung to him, desparately trying to regain her balance as he lowered her back to the bed. She sat heavily and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Maybe we can talk about food when the room stops spinning." She laughed quitely, sounding a lot more like her old self. "Blood loss does terrible things to your appetite!"

"Right," Dog replied. "No good eating if you're just going to bring it right back up again. Do you want some water?"

"Please."

When he returned, she accepted the proffered glass, and wrapped her hand around his. She leant into him, seeming to relish his warmth - her own skin was so cold.

"Stay?" she asked. "Just a little while?"

"As long as you need, Sparky."

She slipped back to sleep in his arms almost immediately, clutching the front of his shirt and burrowing close for warmth. She started to weep gently in her sleep, but at least the nightmares seemed to have passed.

Dog slowly lay back on Sparkles' bed, still holding her close. Hey, he said to himself. I've slept in worse places.

He closed his eyes, and his mouth started to move, speaking silent words.

He was dozing a little while later when Sparkles woke.

"Dog?" she asked, showing no signs of wanting to move. "I need to ask a favour."

"Hm? Sure, what is it?"

"I... I think I might have put someone else in danger. My mentor. If they knew enough to look for me here, then they might go after him. I was so afraid to go near him just in case they followed me there. I just need to know he's safe."

She sat up and stretched langourously. "I crave noodles, and I think I might almost be able to risk a meal."

Dog helped her up. "Okay, I'll ask Whatson to check it out. If this guy's being watched, he'll be able to find out. You really think they'd try to get to you through him?"

"'fraid so. The mere thought scares the hell out of me."

She furrowed her brow at the stained shirt she was wearing. Forgetful in her own space, she stripped it off and threw it in the corner before ferreting around in the pile near the door for something clean. There was a livid red bruise down her left side from where the flash-bang threw her against the wall. Dog winced with the sympathetic pain in his own ribs.

Sparkles gasped sharply half way through the act of pulling on a shirt. She had caught the impromptu bandage on her wrist and pulled in, making the wound bleed afresh. She bit her lip to stop from crying out.

Big Dog grabbed her wrist and pressed hard to stop the bleeding. "We'd better get that wrapped up properly," he said.

"I've a..." she winced as he pushed down hard on her wrist. "There's a kit under the sink. Should be some derm wraps in there." Her clean shirt was hanging off one sleeve, and already had blood stains. "Damn," she spat, shaking the shirt off and tossing it away.

"Okay," said Dog. "You put your hand on this. Apply strong pressure, while I go get the kit. That should slow the bleeding. And wash that shirt in cold water."

He looked under the sink, and extracted a couple of derm wraps from the first aid kit.

"You're being awfully domestic!" she called after him with a grin. He returned and sat down to start bandaging her wrist. She sat very still and quiet, keeping her eyes lowered, almost ashamed to meet his gaze.

"You've got my tabs." It wasn't realy a question, or an accusation. Just a statement.

"Yeah, I've got 'em."

She nodded and waited silently for him to finish with her wrists. Without a word she got up and reached for the little plastic slip stuck to the underside of a crate on the shelf and flicked it to him. "Take these too."

Deftly, Dog caught the packet. Inside were half a dozen more tabs still in their wrappers. She sat down heavily on the futon, head hung as if waiting for a lecture, but the packed vanished into one of Dog's copious pockets.

"Thanks," he said. "Now let's go get you those noodles."

She smiled and let him haul her to her feet. "Raman," she said in her best zombie impersonation. Dog laughed and pushed her towards the door. She stopped for a moment and leant back into him.

"Hey," she whispered. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks."

After dressing hastily in yet another clean shirt, Sparkles and Dog set out. Coming past the door of the pad she hesitated, seeming more than a little uncomfortable.

"I...I don't want the others to know. Not yet."

"I wasn't planning on telling them," Dog replied, grabbing her hand and sweeping her past the door and out into the street.

They set of the Sparkles' favourite noodle house just down the block. The whole time she clung tight to Dog's side as if the thought of being so exposed worried her.

Dog hung on to her and let her lead the way - he didn't come by this place all that often. But his eyes were open and looking around for anyone who seemed to be watching too closely.

The noodle house was packed as always, but somehow Dog managed to order and elbow his way to the back corner, parking himself against the wall with a clear view of the whole space. Sparkles smiled to see how carefully Dog eyed his surroundings. She felt so safe, having him watch her back.

Dog took a big slurp of noodles.

"So, tell me about this mentor of yours," he said, leaning close so that she could hear him without him having to shout over the noise.

Sparkles laughed as slurped chilli cause splashed everywhere. She wiped a spot off Dog's nose. "Alvin," she said. "He busted me sneaking bits of wire and junk out of his trash. I was all of four and a bit. He kinds took me in when my dad started hitting my mum. Alvin's got kids of his own, but they're old now and not really interested. He taught me everything."

She'd pulled a pencil from a pocket somewhere and was doodling on a napkin. When Dog tried to work it out upside down, she went to tuck it away.

"So where's his pad? If you want me to look out for him, I need to know where he is."

"Just a couple of blocks from here." She unfolded the napkin and started to draw a map. This gave Dog a chance to get a closer look at the other drawings. A part was a sketch of an elderly, thin faced man - more wrinkles than features, but with a very genuine smile. The other drawing was an arm brace, just long enough (he noted) to cover the scars on Sparkles' arms.

Dog pointed at the sketch of the man. "Is that him?" he asked.

"Hmm," she said through a mouthful of ramen. "Killer tech. Knows his stuff too. Must have been a looker in his day."

Suddenly she let out a sharp gasp and dropped her chopsticks with a clatter. She grabbed the edge of the table, white knuckled, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She was biting her lip, hard.

Dog put his hand on hers, to steady her. "What is it?"

"Told you my hands shake," she hissed through clenched teeth. "The tabs helped, but..."

"Hands don't shake like that, Sparkles. Tell me what's wrong."

She took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed Dog's hands. "I just have... freak outs sometimes. Ever since the bank job went south." She closed her eyes and sighed, even though her grip was almost painfully tigt on Dog's hands. "The guy who sold me the tabs called them panic attacks.

"Yeah," said Dog. "A lot of guys in the military got them. But tabs aren't the answer. They only dull the pain, they don't make it go away. And I know the shit you've been getting. It's like they're designed to send you straight back to the dealer. Or to the morgue. You don't need 'em."

"Then what is?" she demanded, a little sharper than she had intended. "I'm petrified it'll happen in the middle of a job, or when I'm riding. I have this recurring nightmare of Slip being thrown from the back of the bike because I'm having a freak out." Her voice was strained and desparate, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'd rather go back up on that roof and finish what I started than risk getting one of you guys hurt again."

That's not gonna happen," he said firmly. "We'll work this out, you and me. And I'm no clinical psychologist, but I know a few guys - I can ask around. Maybe get you some better drugs than these."

He reached out and touched her cheek.

"But we'll get through this, right? You and me?"

"You're the answer to everything, aren't you?" she said teasingly, pressing her own hand to his. "My own personal Superman." She smiled and sniffled, rubbing her cheek against Dog's rather large hand. "As long as you don't start wearing your undies on the outside."

"No!" cried Big Dog. "You've discovered my secret! I am exposed!"

He picked up a fingerful of noodles and tried to shove them up Sparkles' nose.

"Aha!" she said, slapping his hand with the back of her chopsticks. "Faster than a soggy noodle."

After much silliness and a polite request from the owner, they headed back outside into the gathering dusk.

"Home?" she said, leaning into Dog and squeezing his hand.

"Home," he said, smiling.