"Just punch me and get it over with." Race grinned, blood running down his face. Spot, no matter how hard he looked, couldn't find where it was coming from. "Come on, shorty. Do it. I can tell ya want to." The boy was insistent.

"I'm not going to punch you, jackass. I'm trying to find the source of the bleeding. Now stay still." Spot whispered, loud enough so Race could hear it, but no one else.

"Oh, does the King of Brooklyn have a heart after all?" Race sneered. Spot could tell his nose was broken. And his brow was split. But if he started to patch him up here… Spot let the taller boy go, and stepped back. Race, whether by sheer determination, or advanced stupidity, took a step closer. Immediately, all the surrounding boys started advancing. Spot waved them off.

"Let him say what he wants, boys." But Race didn't speak. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled. Instinctively, Spot caught him, lowering him to the ground. "Jesus Christ, boys, what did you do to him?"

"We just… roughed him up a little.. Don't know why he passed out like that.." Spot rolled his eyes. "Hotshot, help me take him inside. And someone go tell Jack we got his boy." Hotshot easily slung Race over his shoulder, carrying the kid without any help from Spot. He smiled back at Spot, who just shook his head, following behind.

Race sat up, panic flooding his system. He was in a place he didn't recognize, filled with strong-looking boys, and the smell of seaspray. He wasn't… Oh shit. Sitting right next to him was the King of Brooklyn himself, looking at him with a quizzical stare. Why could he only see out of one eye? Why did his face hurt so much? Why was there…

"You okay?" Oh. He could speak. Race nodded, his mouth feeling like thick jelly. "Do you remember what happened?" Before Race could answer, the door burst open, and Jack came barreling in.

"Where is he?!" He looked ready for a fight. Race's mood skyrocketed just seeing his friend. Spot spoke before Race could make a noise.

"He's right here. He got into a petty fight with one of my boys by the docks. He passed out, and we took him back here so I could patch him up." His words were quick, concise. But Race couldn't help but notice the way his eyebrows slightly raised, and the worried glance he gave him. Jack immediately rushed over, sitting on the bed next to Race.

"Heyyy Racer. How ya feel?" Even though Race was older than him by three months, Jack was always protective of him. He opened his mouth to speak, and blood poured out, scaring them both. Spot laughed.

"Yeah, probably should have warned you about that. He bit his tongue pretty bad when I set his nose. Cried a bit, too." Jack just stared at Spot, and Race could only imagine the murderous thoughts going through his head. He coughed, and Jack looked back at him.

Race smiled. "All better. See?" He croaked, teeth bloody, his face badly bruised. Jack smiled, and lightly punched his shoulder. Race winced.

"Wanna go home now?" Race nodded.

"I'll meet you outside. I just wanna… say something to Spot real quick." Jack nodded, and left. Spot and Race were alone. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Race, who was usually quick witted, worked up the courage to speak.

"I wanna say thanks… for uhhhh…"

"You're welcome. Just… be more careful next time." Spot's voice was quiet, and Race knew just how uncharacteristic that was for the small leader. "Don't come into Brooklyn looking for a fight. You'll always find one and you don't want to ruin your pretty face, ya hear? It's dangerous around here and you're lucky I came when I did."

Race stopped listening as soon as Spot had called him pretty. The sentence repeated in his head as he stared at Spot, his face burning.

"Hey.. are.. Are you okay?" Spot had moved closer, and was looking in his eyes like something was off about them. "You zoned out there. I thought you had something wrong with your brain." Race's face got impossibly hotter at the new proximity.

"Uhhh… yeah. I'm good. I'm fine. P… peachy." he stuttered. Spot smiled, and backed up. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Race felt a rush of emotion at seeing Spot so… relaxed, and started leaning forward. Realizing what he was about to do, he stood up. "Jack's still waitin. I should go."

Spot smiled slyly. "See ya soon, Racetrack." He drawled.

"Uhhh… yeah. Bye." He booked out the doors, almost crashing into Jack. He apologized, blaming it on his swollen eye. Jack just laughed, and wrapped his arm around Race's waist, steering them towards home.

Jack insisted that Race slept next to him that night. Race knew it was because Jack was worried about him, and that he wanted to talk, but Race still couldn't shake the thought that something was… off. Maybe it was the way Jack looked at him as they sat in the loft, maybe it was the fact that only Davey was allowed up here, and then Jack asked him to come up. Davey was asleep, curled around one of Jack's shirts, charcoal smudged on his face. Jack must have been doodling again. Race smiled, glad that Davey was finally comfortable with himself, and that he was finally happy.

"So, Race…" Jack's voice was quiet. Measured. Race looked at him carefully, searching for any sign of anger. He hated it when Jack was mad at him. "Why… why were you in Brooklyn?" Oh. He wanted to know that.

"I uhh.. I went to see someone. To uhh. How do you say it… confess my feelings? Seeing you and Davey so happy just… I want that. You know?" Oh god did he really just say that out loud? Jack smirked.

"A pretty girl perhaps?" Jack nudged him with his elbow.

"You know very well I don't like girls, Jack Kelly." Race monotoned, face devoid of emotion.

"Do I?" He sounded honestly confused.

"Do you not remember walking in on me an Albert?" Race asked tentatively.

Jack laughed, and Race immediately eased up. "I thought that was some weird dream I had! That really happened?"

Race couldn't help but laugh, too. "Yeah. But apparently it was a… quick fling for him. It hurt for a while, but I got over him." He didn't like thinking about what happened with Albert. He also didn't want to talk about who he was going to see in Brooklyn. Jack…. Wouldn't like it.

"So, spill. Who was it you were going to see? Was it… that tall guy? Uhh what's his name? Hot Shit or something?" he really wasn't going to let him get away with this was he?

"No, god, no. Hotshot's the one who busted me up. It's… uh, it's someone else. With a little more… stature." Race knew Jack wasn't stupid. That, given time, he'd figure it out. He watched Jack's face carefully, watched him mull over everyone he knows of that lives in Brooklyn.

"Kid, I can't think of anyone who's worthy of you so is it really that big of a deal?" Jack smirked, messing with Race's hair. Race batted him away, blushing. Jack's smile faded, and he looked Race dead in the eye. "Listen, kid. I don't want you to get hurt. And rejection hurts. So, maybe… try to find out if Mr. Brooklyn likes you, too, before you make your move. Yeah?"

Race couldn't help but smile. "Sure, Jack. Whatever you say." With that, Race curled up next to him, and went to sleep.

Like usual, they got up early, sold papers. Race got a lot of crap for his busted brow and broken nose, but he just brushed it off. It's not like it mattered. And, besides, Davey patched him up a little better than Spot did.

"Who did this, Race?" Davey had asked, his hands moving gently over Race's face, trying to think of what he could do. Race smiled.

"Ah, it was nothing. Just got a little busted up." he didn't want Davey knowing about his trip to Brooklyn. Luckily, Jack didn't say anything, just sat quietly and watched, occasionally doodling something on paper.

"What do you mean "it's nothing'? Race, your nose is badly broken, your face is bruised to Hell, and there's dried blood.. Everywhere!" Davey was the only real sensible one out of all the Newsies. And when one of them got hurt, Davey went into full mother hen mode.

"Davey, seriously. It's okay. Spot patched me up pretty good." Fuck.

"SPOT CONLON? Why in the WORLD was Spot Conlon over here?" Davey shot Jack a glare. "Jack Kelly, what the FUCK happened?" He snapped. Jack and Race were both taken aback. Davey never swore.

"He uh… you see…" Jack stuttered, glancing at Race for help.

"I went to Brooklyn. And I got beat up by a kid there. That's all there was. Spot found me on the ground with his boy poundin me.. He stopped him and talked to me, and when I passed out, he brought me inside, patched me up, sent for Jack. He helped me, Davey. There was no turf war, nothin bad." Davey stared at him, exasperated. Race glanced over at Jack, who was staring at him with a knowing look. Race thought that he had probably figured out who "Mr. Brooklyn" was. And for some reason, he wasn't nervous.

But when Davey was done cleaning him up, grumbling about how Spot actually did a pretty good job, there was no mention of it from Jack. When the bell rang, and they got their papers, they went their separate ways. The day, like most, was uneventful. He got a few weird looks from people, but there were no confrontations. The papers sold well. Albert jokingly chalked it up to Race's broken face, and that people pitied him. As they were heading back to the lodge house, Albert pulled him into an alley. They stood there for a few moments, Albert looking around to make sure no one could see them.

"Jack told me about your uhhh… trip to Brooklyn, yeah?" He said, sure that no one had seen them. Race's face immediately heated up.

"What about it?" what did Jack tell him?

"He said you were pretty broken up about it. Wanted me to uh.. To check on ya. Make sure you weren't… too bad." He wasn't… oh.

"No, I'm fine. Just spooked me a little. Them Brooklyn boys sure are big." he tried to smile, and gave a weak laugh. Tried to make it seem like he had just gotten spooked. Albert immediately cracked a big grin.

"Well, alright then, Racer. Guess you're okay after all. Nothin I need to worry about? You ain't gonna… run off with some guy?" Not gonna…

"Wait why do you care if I get with some guy?" He sounded a little harsher than he meant to. Albert looked uncomfortable. "You know what, nevermind. I have somewhere to be, so can I please go?" Race didn't wait for him to answer, and started to walk away.
"Jack told me about what you said. About... us. And I'm sorry. That I made you feel like that." Race didn't even look at him. He just kept walking, and when he reached the end of the alley, turned and said "Then maybe you should've said something a little sooner."