Ok, folks, this is it, the last chapter. I am kind of sad to finish this story, I will miss Pocket and Spot. Lucky for me, I have many more Pocket stories floating around my head! So thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed this story, and especially to those of you who reviewed! I hope you keep reading the rest!

Heavy feet bore Spot through the streets of Brooklyn. He walked for hours; with all his boys still in Manhattan, he couldn't face going home to the empty lodging house. Near midnight, exhaustion forced him to accept that no amount of walking would fill the emptiness in his chest.

On a weary sigh, Spot let himself into the darkened barracks, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the bunkroom. He dragged himself slowly up the stairs to his loft, already dreading the cold emptiness of his bed. At the top of the steps he froze, blinking in shock.

A pale shaft of moonlight shone into the loft, spotlighting the sleeping figure in his bed. Spot hurried forward, standing at the side of the bed to stare down at her. He rubbed his eyes quickly, not believing she was real.

A tiny spark of hope lit deep inside him as he gazed down at her. Greedy eyes roamed over her pale skin and soft lips, her tumbled curls. She rested peacefully, her breathing deep and even.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb her, he leaned his cane against the wall. He tossed his hat on the table, emptied his pockets, and considered his next move. Spot was of two minds on how he should proceed. Part of him wanted nothing more than to slip silently into the bed without waking her, longing for one last night with her in his arms. Another part of him, buoyed by the hope her presence inspired, demanded that he wake her and try one more time to change her mind.

She was here, in his bed. That had to be a good sign, right?

In the end, he decided to try both options. Quickly he pulled off his boots and slid his suspenders off his shoulders. Carefully, trying not to startle her, he lifted the blanket and lay awkwardly next to her. The heat from her body soothed him, but the tamped down the urge to pull her closer. Instead he reached out a trembling hand to stroke her cheek. The feather soft touch of his fingers woke her, and she sat up with a start. Pocket's first instinct was to fight, her fist was up even before she opened her eyes. He caught her hand before she could strike him, whispering her name.

Her eyes opened, cloudy pools of green in the dimness. He expected her to pull away but she sat frozen, hand still caught in his grip. Spot released her immediately, watching as she flopped back against the pillow. The tiny, fledgling spark of hope flamed brighter when she made no move to leave, only lay there staring up at him.

"You're back," she said softly.

"You're here," he answered, a question in his voice.

She nodded slowly, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"I nevah could stay mad at ya," she chuckled.

Spot wanted to speak, to beg her forgiveness, but she pulled him down to her, stopping his words with a kiss. Relief washed over him at the feel of her lips against his, he gratefully opened his mouth to hers, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Gently, almost shyly they kissed, exploring, hesitantly seeking. Just the barest touch made Spot shiver with need and he made himself pull away before things got out of hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, leaning his forward against hers.

Tenderly Pocket lifted a hand to smooth the hair out of his eyes. She shook her head sadly.

"No," she told him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I shouldn'ta run off like that," she said seriously. "I shoulda talked ta ya, asked ya what happened, insteada just thinkin the worst." She paused, eyes closeing in remembered pain. "I just couldn't stand seeing her . . ."

"I nevah wanted her," he put in anxiously.

"I know. Ya'd nevah do nothin like that. I know that. I shoulda trusted ya. I nevah shoulda waited so long ta talk ta ya," she berated herself.

"Shhh," he soothed. "It's ovah now. You'se here."

"Yeah," she smiled up at him. "I'se here. I'se home."

Joy blossomed in Spot's chest at her words and he leaned down to taste her lips again. In seconds the kiss deepened, the tangle of tongues soothing the pain of the last few days. He gripped her tightly, she clutched at his head as she eagerly accepted his passion.

Spot leaned over her, hungrily devouring her lips until a burning need for air tore his mouth away. He rained soft, gentle kisses over every inch of her face, her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids, until she pulled him back to her mouth with an impatient groan. With bruising intensity he ravished her mouth, greedily filling his senses with the taste, the scent, the feel of her. His body pressed tightly against her, pushing her deeper into the mattress. Pocket moved restlessly beneath him, her soft curves rubbing against him, stoking the fires of his rising need.

Pocket burrowed her fingers into his hair, eyes drifting closed as he bent his lips to her neck. Spot tasted the saltiness of her skin, licking hungrily at the pulse beating frantically at the base of the throat. Spurred on by her breathed sighs, he moved lower to nibble at her collarbone, shifting slightly for better access.

Her body tensed, she cried out sharply when he inadvertently bumped her injured shoulder. Spot froze, mouth open against her skin, horror breaking through the haze of his desire as he realized what he'd done. Quick as a flash he jumped off her, scrambling hastily to his feet. Spot's pale eyes shone with regret as he backed away from the bed.

"I'm sorry-I didn't mean ta . . ." he babbled nervously, angry at himself for having hurt her.

Spot hung his head in shame, unable to look at her. Self-recriminations echoed through his head, so loud in his mind that he didn't hear the rustle of the sheets as she left the bed to join him. He jumped at the touch of her hand on his chest, head jerking up to meet her eyes. Pocket smiled reassuringly, her face lit with gentle humor.

"I ain't that fragile," she chuckled, rubbing his chest comfortingly. "I ain't gonna break."

Her stroking hand was too much for him. Spot took a step backward, his need still too close to the surface to trust himself that close to her. He took another step back, needing distance to regain his control. Eyebrow raised, almost mockingly, she took a step toward him, laughing softly as he continued to back away. A predatory gleam shone in her eyes as she pursued him, answering his every backward step with a forward step of her own. Graceful as a huntress she advanced on him, stalking his retreat until his back hit the wall.

Pocket laughed triumphantly at the confusion on his face as he pressed against the wall to keep from touching her. Grinning wickedly, she closed he distance, rising on tiptoe to bring her mouth even with his.

"Whatcha runnin from?" she challenged, her lips moving against his, her body pressed suggestively against him.

Spot put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her away.

"I can't trust myself: he admitted, ashamed. "I wanna hold ya, and kiss ya, but ya feel so good and it just makes me want more. We gotta stop." He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry," he finished lamely.

Pocket tilted her head to the side, studying him silently. He shivered her under her intent regard, closing his eyes in an effort to steady himself.

"Alright," she took pity on him. "No more kissin. Let's just go to bed."

Spot's shoulders relaxed in relief, if she'd argued with him, he knew he didn't have the strength to resist her. Had he not been so befuddled by passion he would have hear the odd tone of her voice, noticed the confident quirk of her lips.

Pocket took his hand gently in her smaller one, he allowed himself to be led across the room. With a light shove, she pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched suspiciously as she knelt to remove his socks, but she stood again with little more than an affectionate squeeze of his foot. His unease grew as she leand over him, tugging his shirt from the waist of his pants, her hands going to the buttons at his throat.

"Don't," he tried to stop her, but she ignored him, nimble fingers moving quickly down his chest, releasing the buttons that held his shirt closed.

"Pocket, stop," he protested again.

"I thought I told ya," she chided teasingly, " that I don't like when ya boss me around."

Spot started to argue but she placed a silencing finger on his lips. He sat helplessly as she reached the last of the buttons, sliding his shirt from his shoulders and tossing it carelessly aside. Shooting him a soft smile, she moved closer to run her hands up and down the length of his arms. Gooseflesh spread across his skin in the wake of her touch and he but his lip nervously as he awaited her next move.

Pocket settled herself more comfortably on his lap, her good arm sliding around to tickle his back. Her soft curls brushed against his bare chest as she placed a line of deliberate kisses along his shoulder. Spot held his breath when her mouth reached his throat, his body taut with longing. A low groan escaped him when her tongue darted out to taste his skin. His hands fisted in her hair to drag her wicked mouth away.

"I can't think when ya do that," he muttered hoarsely.

She giggled sweetly and returned to her ministrations, this time kissing a path along his jawline.

"Who says I want ya thinking?" she asked silkily, her breath hot on his ear, before bringing her lips to his.

Spot moaned defeatedly into her mouth, his control broken. His arms went around her, settling her fully onto his lap as they kissed each other eagerly. Every nerve in his body was alive as she wiggled against him, her hands roaming his back.

Somehow, he found himself lying across his bed with Pocket sprawled on top of him, the warm weight of her firing his senses. Giving in to his need, he buried his face in her neck, sucking hard at her skin, marking her as his own.

She sat up suddenly, drawing a frustrated cry from him. Her lips curved in a sultry smile as she gazed down with smoky eyes. His own eyes widened as she began to undo her shirt, his pupils so large only the barest hint of blue rimmed the edges. Spot licked his lips as she pulled her shirt off, baring herself to his inspection. Pocket didn't shrink away or try to hide herself from his hungry stare, she simply sat there, straddling his waist, shivering slightly as he studied her.

Spot had never seen anything so beautiful. He wished he knew a way to look at her and touch her at the same time, but instinctively his hands took over, rising automatically to cup her small breasts. Her head fell back as he stroked his thumbs over her skin, the moonlight shining on the smooth column of her throat.

Growling deep in his chest, Spot pulled her down to him, relishing the feel of her crushed against him as he devoured her mouth. Suddenly, they were both naked, hands frantically seeking and exploring, moving urgently, each trying desperately to get closer. Without knowing how he got there, Spot was once again poised above her, inches away from what he wanted more than he wanted his next breath.

Spot struggled to support his weight on arms that trembled with the effort to reign in his desire. Pocket looked up at his tightly clenched jaw, sensing the fierce battle he fought with himself. She ran a gently hand through his hair, smiling up at him expectantly.

"We can stop," he managed to rasp. "Ya don't have ta . . ."

"Shhh," she scolded. "An' when have I evah done anythin' I didn't want ta?"

He nodded slowly but continued to hold back. "I don't wanna hurt ya," he whispered.

"Ya won't," she answered simply meeting his gaze without fear.

The trust in her eyes brought moisture welling up in his own for the second time that day. How lucky he was to have her here with him. He was so afraid of hurting her, and even more afraid that if he followed through with this, she would hate him tomorrow. Spot didn't think he could handle seeing regret on her face in the morning.

Seeing his fear, she reached up to loop her arms around his neck, puling him closer.

"Please, Michael," she entreated huskily, the sound of his given name crushing the last of his resistance.

This time, Spot allowed the tears to fall, spilling silently down his cheeks as he made her his. His tears mingled with her own as she welcomed him home. Spot thought his heart with explode from the intensity of his feelings. They moved as one, he tried desperately to remember everything. Soon her gasps gave way to low whimpers and then to moans that echoes his own harsh cries as they reached higher.

Stars burst behind his eyes as she shook beneath him. Finally they shattered together, his name torn from her lips at the same moment he collapsed on top of her.

"Katie," he spoke her name softly, like a prayer, a benediction.

They lay quietly in the aftermath, to sated to move or do anything but gasp for breath. His limbs felt heavy and he eased himself off her, worried he might crush her. She whimpered at his departure and followed him when he rolled to the side to snuggle against him, her leg thrown over his, head pillowed on his chest.

Almost reverently, he combed his fingers through the dark tangle of her hair.

"Ya know I love ya, right?" he asked her.

She smiled contentedly against his neck. "Right," she answered smugly.

Spot let a few moments pass before he spoke again.

"Well?" he prompted.

"What?" Pocket grumbled. "Ya want me ta say it?"

"Might be nice," he commented.

"Fine, ya baby," she faked a beleaguered sigh then raised her head to look him in the eye.

"I love ya, Michael Conlon," she said clearly.

"Of course ya do," he smirked.

"Cocky bastard," she thumped his chest, drawing a laugh.

"Hey," he caught her hand, his voice serious now. "This mean you'se me goil again?"

Pocket propped her chin in her hand, gazing at him solemnly.

"Brooklyn," she declared, "I'm afraid you'se stuck with me."

He grinned up at her, but his eyes still held a hint of caution.

"What about when we's fightin?" he questioned softly.

"Well," she stretched against him, reminding him of their intimate embrace. "We'se got a perfect way ta make up now, yeah?"

Spot chuckled, pulling her up to cover him fully, planting a kiss on her nose.

"That we do."

He kissed her again, holding her tightly as she rubbed against him.

"Wait," he moved his lips away before he lost himself to passion again, ignoring her frustrated groan.

"So ya ain't worried about otha goils?" he pressed, needing to have everything settled.

Pocket leaned over him with a scowl as good as any the King of Brooklyn could muster.

"Conlon, if ya evah touch anotha goil," she promised, "I'll throw her in the rivah an' kick yer ass from here ta Staten Island an' back."

Spot laughed heartily, rolling them both over until she was pinned beneath him.

"That's me goil," he praised as he took her mouth again.

Spot grinned silently to himself as their movements became more purposeful. He kissed her deeply and claimed her once again.

Spot Conlon had no doubt that Pocket would make good on her threat if he ever stepped out of line. She was a force to be reckoned with, his queen, and that was why he loved her.