AN: Psst, hey, everyone. Guess what? IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Okay, yesterday was actually my birthday, but I didn't have time to publish this then, so, yeah. And do you know what would be the greatest present of all? Why, for my lovely lovely readers to leave me some very nice reviews, of course! (Not that constrctive criticism isn't greatly appreciated, either.)

Anyway, I'm currently working on my fic for the Newsies Pape Selling Competition, but this has been stuck in my head all week, so I wanted to get it out of the way. For those of you who wanted more Sprace: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Are these really necessary for fanfiction? I'm running out of creative ways to say "I do not own Newsies."

More Than Meets the Eye

You know, Spot Conlon really isn't as much of a stoic bastard as people think.

In fact, the jerk actually has a pretty big heart. He just knows how to keep it well-hidden.

Most of the time.

Racetrack leans against the doorway leading into the bunk room of the Brooklyn lodging house, arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk playing on his face at the sight in front of him.

Spot is sitting a few feet away on his bed, with a large, weathered book spread open on his lap. Next to him is one of the youngest Brooklyn newsies, whom Racetrack recognizes as Leaf, lying flat on his belly and resting his chin in his tiny hands. His face is contorted into a frustrated little scowl as he stares down at the words on the page in front of him.

"Spot," Leaf whines, sitting up suddenly, "I can't do this!"

"Sure you can, kid," says Spot, "You just gotta—"

"Nuh-uh!" Leaf interrupts, slouching over and pouting. "I'm never gonna learn to read! The letters get all mixed up in me head an' I don't know what they're sayin'!"

Spot stays quiet for a while, thinking. Finally, he closes the book and sets it aside, then turns so he's facing Leaf a little bit better. "You know, Leaf, I didn't learn howda read till I was near twelve."

Leaf's head shoots up, his eyes comically wide with surprise. Race can't help but chuckle to himself. "Really?!"

Spot nods. "Yeah. Took me a hell of a long time, but I did it." Another pause. "And look where I am now?"

Grinning, Leaf replies, "You'se the leader."

"Exactly. So don't go beatin' yourself up. If I can do it, anybody can, alright?"

"Alright."

"Good." Then, he reaches forward and ruffles the kid's hair. "Now go bug some of the others. We'll get back to this later."

Leaf giggles childishly before hopping down from the bad and scampering out of the room—but not before adding a "Hi, Racetrack!" as he makes his exit.

"Heya, Leaf," he responds.

Spot instantly looks over at the sound of his friend's voice, narrowing his eyes. "What are you doin' here?"

"What?" Race shrugs, sticks his hands in his pockets, and then makes his way into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. "Can't a guy visit his pal on the weekend?"

"How long you been standin' there?" Spot questions, grabbing the book and shoving it under his pillow before climbing down.

"Oh, not long at all," Racetrack drawls, smirking.

"I'm serious—"

"So am I."

"—how much of that did you see?"

"I didn't see nothin'," he teases, feigning innocence.

Spot just continues to glare at Racetrack suspiciously.

"Hey, I'm tellin' the truth!" Race laughs, moving forward and slingling his arms around Spot's waist. "I did not, under any circumstances, just see you, the great and fearless King of Brooklyn, teachin' a small child howda read. Now, that's just crazy talk."

Spot's face softens a little at his words, but he still refuses to smile. "You'se treadin' on thin ice; you know that, Higgins?"

"Yeah, I know." He laughs again, patting Spot on the shoulder. "There, there, Spot. Don't worry; I won't tell no one that you actually possess human emotions."

This time, Spot does start to crack a smile. "You sure?"

"'Course," Racetrack responds. "Besides, who would believe me?"

And Spot finally allows the corners of his mouth to turn all the way up before leaning in and kissing Race tenderly on the lips. Race immediately decides that now would be a pretty good time to shut up and just kisses him back.

…He meant what he said, though. About not telling anyone.

You know, Spot Conlon really isn't as much of a stoic bastard as he wants people to think.

AN: Whoever reviews gets a virtual slice of my birthday cake!