A/n: Well, I'm a newbie to da Newsies category. But I'se been reading' lotsa da stories here, an I kinda figured, since I'm a writer too, I'se gonna chuck me newsie cap in da ring too. But, uh, just make shoar that I'se gets dat back, awright? It's me favorite.
(Normal Voice)
The whole point of this is that I get to write stories about my favorite Newsies. The titles aren't gonna be that big, but just enough to let you know whose story it is. I may end up making a part two to some of these, if anyone likes them. Or, I may do it just because I want to. They'll probably have a lot of the same original characters weaving in and out.

Disclaimer: I'se don't own any o' da Newsies an' I'se shoar don't own da song. Dere Disney's, an' da song belongs ta Trisha Yearwood. I'se own Bianca, Lucky, Viper, an' Links.

Spot's Story


"This was bound to happen
It was just a matter of time
This town is just too small for
Us to really say goodbye
You're smiling that smile that
You get when you're nervous
Like you don't quite know what to do
But this is me you're talking to
This is me you're talking to"
Trisha Yearwood

Bianca "Dreamer" Coppoli wasn't sure what to make of her life right now. She didn't want to leave, but if she was stuck around here, so close to him, for much longer, she would end up going insane!

'Well,' she considered, closing her dark brown eyes with a wry smile, 'At least more insane den normal.'

The black-haired girl was currently leaning against one of the posts of her bed in the girls' bunkroom at the Brooklyn Newsies' Lodging House. Downstairs, the merriment of a poker game could be heard, the boys and girls having just returned from a long day of selling their 'papes', and now willing to blow a little of their excess change.

Having sold out about an hour earlier than anyone else, Dreamer had come back and read for a little while. When she heard the others coming in, she camped out on the landing with a book and looked down every so often. That is, until he caught her eye.

He was sitting at the head of the poker table, like usual. The sandy blonde hair that slipped out of his cap was often pushed away, when they got in between his cards and the stormy, silvery-blue eyes that could make any girl in New York weak in the knees. But, then again, that was the famous Spot Conlon for you.

So, why was Dreamer so afraid of those eyes, that she would run from where she was comfortable and even think of leaving the one place she'd ever called home? The only answer was that all of Brooklyn, even all of New York, was too small to hold both the (in)famous King of Brooklyn, and the girl who'd always loved him.

She came here when she was five, in desperate need of somewhere to stay. She'd lost her parents to an influenza epidemic, one that had almost claimed her life as well. When she came running to the newsies, she had very little strength and must've looked like a ghost. The older newsies had looked after her as best they could, until she could sell with them. Oh, sure, Lucky, Viper, and Links had been great to her, like older siblings (considering that Links is a girl), but the one who really grew on her was the boy who was only a year older than her. They called him Spot. He told her that his real name was William. She wasn't sure when she fell in love with him, but it must have been sometime before she turned thirteen.

Spot had become her best friend. They were the only ones that knew each others' real names, and out of everyone, they each knew the most about the other. If someone was looking for Spot, they'd have to find Dreamer first. However, something was different now. Whenever they touched, she felt a spark of… something jump through her. She would get butterflies if he just looked at her. She even blushed around him, something that was a very rare occurrence for a girl practically raised on the streets of Brooklyn. Of course, she thought Spot was oblivious. So, imagine her surprise when, at fourteen, he asks her out on a date!

Not much to anyone's (well, except Dreamer's) surprise, he only held onto her for about two months. Still, that was pretty long for him, even then. He had already had a fair few girlfriends (girlfriends that, of course, Dreamer was stuck hearing about, as his best friend), and none of them lasted more than a couple weeks.

The oddity of the duration of their relationship didn't matter to Dreamer. What mattered was that she ended up being dumped by the one person she loved most in the world, the one person who knew her better than anything. She had even given him the key she had always worn around her neck. She liked to think it had symbolized the key to her heart. He had offered it back to her when he broke up with her, but she knew no one else could have it but him, no matter what he said. About a week later, she saw him heatedly kissing a busty blonde during the nightly poker game. It was then she really felt her heart shatter.

That had been a year before the famous strike on Pulitzer and The World.

Now, it was a year after said strike. Dreamer was sixteen, and she and Spot still hadn't gotten back on the terms they had been on before they had gone out. She got up extra early, was first on line for her papes, and finished as early as possible. She avoided him as much as she could, which was hard to do. They were still living in the same lodging house, and he ran the borough now. No one dared cross Spot.

What scared her most about those eyes of his was the look in them when he caught her eye. The look was a mixture of pity, sorrow, and… dare she even think it? Regret? She missed him. Oh Lord almighty, did she ever! None of the other girls really talked to her, and she didn't want to talk to the boys, fearing what might get back to Spot if she talked too openly with them. She had come to realize that he may not have known that she loved him. So, she consoled herself by helping along the newest young newsies, the ones who still missed there moms and still needed someone to help them through the nightmares they had of everything they lost.

When he caught her eye that October night in 1900, she didn't even know if she could stand it anymore. Her eyes began to water and she ran back into the bunkroom. She'd leaned against the bed she shared with Bits, and began wondering why she was this way. Why couldn't she just go down there and laugh with everyone else? Why did she still insist on keeping herself separate from the rest of the girls? Even as she asked herself these questions, she knew it was because she'd have to hear the gossip about who was with Spot now.

She needed some air right now, and she could hear someone coming up the stairs. So, she bolted out the window and up the fire escape a bit, to the point where she could see the sunset over the water, but she couldn't be seen from either the girls' window or the one above them, which was where the boys slept. She sat down, back against the brick wall, took a deep breath of the cool, early evening air and sighed. She couldn't do this. Not with him so close and her slowly losing her mind. Her face was cool, but her eyes were warm. She had cried over the whole situation, for the first time in a long time. She let herself continue to cry. She cried for their friendship, for her heart, for Spot, and for herself.

Then, Murphy's law kicked in.

No, the fire escape didn't fall. Instead, the person she had heard coming up the stairs crossed the room, towards the window. She tried to relax, reminding herself that, since it was probably just one of the girls, the worst that would happen would be that they would close the window. They never knew that she went up there, and it wouldn't be the first time that she would've slept on the roof.

Of course, it wasn't just one of the girls. Someone slipped out the window and turned directly towards her. The exact person she didn't want to see. The exact person she had been thinking about.

Spot Conlon, the seventeen-year-old King of Brooklyn, stood before her and looked her in the eye, as he hadn't done in two years.

"I'se t'ought ya might be out here Dreamah," He moved slightly, so that the fading light captured her face in both brilliant, pink-orange light and darkening shadows, "Ya been cryin'?" He said it as both a question and a statement, and his face showed a mild amount of surprise and a larger amount of concern.

"Ya surprised, Spot? Anyways, why dah 'ell do ya care? Ain't like ya've cared any 'a dah few times I cried these past two yeahs! Why ain't 'ch ya down dere playin' pokah wit da odder boys, like usual?" Dreamer was surprised at the anger in her voice. It was like she couldn't keep control of herself. She wanted so bad to hurt him, but she knew she couldn't. Not like he'd hurt her. To do that would kill her. The hurt in his eyes when she spoke to him was pain enough to her. He approached her softly, and sat down on the stair with her.

"I didn't know ya took it like dis, Dreamah. I woulda asked before, but ya was nevah around. Ya nevah even came out heah anymore," Spot was watching her, observing her reaction to his words. She just stared out at the slowly setting sun and took in what he said. Seeing it as a chance to go on, he continued, "I was playin' ta waste time, is all. Spent some time talkin' wit Jackie boy and da walkin' mouth dey call 'David.' Jackie asked me where ya's been, since ya nevah come 'round dere wit me anymore. I told 'im about what I knew," Dreamer said nothing, but was silently mortified that Jack Kelly, the Manhattan leader that was always Spot's other best friend, now knew about how she'd reacted to Spot breaking up with her. She thought that, maybe, for a time, she'd seemed like the kind of girl you didn't tease (well, unless you were Spot, but Spot was the exception to every rule). Now, he would have every reason to tease her.

"I tol' 'im dat I wasn't too sure what was goin' on, but dat ya had stopped actin' like ya old self. Ya were nevah 'round, ya didn't talk ta da odder goils much as fah as I'd hoid, and ya didn't seem ta take much care 'a yaself anymore. 'e asked when it started, and I told 'im dat I hadn't seen ya much since I broke up wit ya, before da strike," Here, he paused again and looked back at Dreamer, who he was surprised to find looking right back at him. Her eyes, the color of a good, hot cup of black coffee, didn't reflect the anger he'd expected. Instead, he saw surprise, puzzlement, and something else staring back at him. He didn't know what it was, but he had last seen that look in her eyes the day he broke up with her. That look made his stomach do a couple flip-flops. He was about to continue, when she spoke.

"Ya act'ally noticed dat, Spot? I didn't even t'ink ya knew I wasn't around," Her voice wasn't icy and anger-laden, like before. Instead, she took on a softer tone, one lit by amazement and gentleness. It was the voice of the Dreamer he'd known before. It was the voice he could still occasionally hear, when she would come in, thinking everyone else was sleeping, and help the smaller boys get to sleep by singing to them.

"A'course I noticed, Dreamah! Ya were my best friend. I still consida' ya my best friend, if ya let me," Spot was surprised at her words. She thought he hadn't known? She thought he wasn't aware that his best friend had shut herself away from everyone she had known?

Dreamer visibly hesitated, before looking back toward the sunset and slowly saying, "I don't know 'bout dat, Spot. I dun know if I can do dat." She got up and headed past the window and out to face the last rays of the sun.

"Why da 'ell not?! Dreamah, we was unbeatable togedda, as best friends, gettin' in an' outta fights, sellin' our papes, beatin' da bulls. Why cain't we do dat again?" Spot was starting to get frustrated. He wanted her back! Well, to her old self. He wanted the Dreamer who laughed with abandon, who told him her secrets, who listened to his. He wanted her back to the way she was. He worried about her, and cared about her, more than he thought she knew.

"Ya don't undastand, Spot. I don't know if ya evah did." She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little in the slowly fading light. From what he saw, as he was still seated on the stair, she was crying again. He hated that. Not knowing what else to do, he got up and, with powerful strides, crossed to her and gently turned her to face him.

"Den make me undastand, Bianca," Concern filled his stormy eyes, as Spot spoke, wanting nothing more than for her to be happy again. Her tear-filled eyes angled away at first.

"It was you'se. I t'ought dat, maybe, ya act'ally thought the same way 'bout me dat I did 'bout ya. Felt is more like it. Ya was always my best friend, Spot. Anyone else tried ta' call me Bianca, dey'd be soaked in a minute or less. Ya always knew dat and more. But dere was one t'ing dat ya didn't know 'bout me, even if I t'ought ya did for a while. What I mean is… I love ya, William James Conlon." When she finally said it, Dreamer was looking right in his eyes. Shock attacked the concern in his eyes and quickly gained control.

Spot was dumbfounded. Whatever he expected, it wasn't this. His best friend of ten years, the girl he'd fought alongside, the girl who'd dated him for two month (still his longest relationship to date), the only girl who really knew him, was in love with him? That would explain why she was so upset with him. It would also explain why she had him keep the key. But did he feel the same way? All he wanted was for her to be happy, to laugh with him, to be the sweet, beautiful, strong, and caring girl he'd always known. He wanted her to be back by his side, insisting on protecting him to the point that he feared for her.

'But, den again, ain't I been afraid for 'er dese past couple years?' He thought to himself. Sure enough, as much as he wanted to protect her, he was the one hurting her. Worse, it seemed, than just about any soaking could do. She'd only become a shell of herself. He hated that. He wanted her to smile again, a real smile. He wanted to hear her musical laugh again. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her, heart and soul.

Spot snapped out of it as he realized that she was moving to turn away from him, to head back inside. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed her hand to bring her back to him. A spark seemed to jump between them and fill every nerve of his body. She turned back to him. Slowly, he placed his hand on her cheek. He wanted to say something. To tell her how he felt, but the words wouldn't come. So, instead, he just softly placed his lips to hers.

It was a reaction like he hadn't felt in any of his other girlfriends. This girl loved him, and that was what made the difference. It was like all color, light, and beautiful sound he had ever heard had melded together in his brain and spun like a kaleidoscope before his closed eyes.

Slowly and reluctantly, he pulled away. Leaning his forehead against hers, he said the words he hadn't thought he'd ever say.

"I love ya too, Bianca Maria Coppoli," He smiled at her, eyes full of that emotion he couldn't name before, "I'm sorry for all I put ya t'rough. I'm sorry I was so dense. Can ya fahgive dis poor old king. Aftah all, he ain't nuttin' wit out a queen by 'is side. Especially if ya da queen, if ya get what I mean."

Dreamer smiled up at Spot; a true, genuine smile, "Of course. I'll be ya queen, Spot," then, a light of mischief came into her eyes, a light that had been missing for a long time, "'Ey, where ya been gettin' all dem silly pick-up lines, anyways? You hangin' around Jackie too much?" A grin split across both of their faces as she gave him a light punch on the arm.

"Ah, well, 'e owed me," Spot grinned at 'his' girl as they began to slip back inside.

"What did ya do, Spot?" Dreamer shook her head and took his hand as he helped her back in.

"'e still owes me fah helpin' out wit da strike last year,"

"Well, he probably still woulda finished it wit out us. Ya gotta remember da crowd 'a kids dere dat day,"

Spot tried to look wounded, "Are ya tryin' ta suggest, Dreamah my deah, dat someone could actually get along wit out Brooklyn?"

"Well, maybe just Jackie," She laughed and smiled at him as they made there way out onto the landing, "'Cause I know I, fah one, could nevah get along wit out my Brooklyn." She turned to face him and slipped her arms around his neck.

"An' Brooklyn wouldn't do too well wit out you eider, Bianca," Spot whispered to her, before kissing her again. This time, though, almost the entire population of the lodging house watched below, as their leader finally got back that which he thought he had lost two years earlier.

Love

A/n2: Okay, before you say anything, I know it may have seemed a little OOC for Spot. I just think that he's really a caring guy, underneath it all. Not to mention, Dreamer (I know, I know! I'll work on my OC newsie nickname before next story!) would be able to get a different reaction out of him than anyone else. The song's really pretty!

I'm not gonna beg for reviews her, but, if you do, just be gentle. I spent all night working on this story, and I haven't posted a fanfic in years.

To let you know, I think the next story may be on Race. Either him or David. I dunno.

Thanks for reading!