"The first time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs he didn't notice her. That didn't last long."
The first time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs he didn't notice her.
It was to no fault of her own; there were hundreds of other people around at the time, a huge hustle-and-bustle of activity going on around him at the rally. His best guess, it was probably about fifteen minutes after sitting right next to each other at the table that he happened to glance over to say something to Jack and realized the girl's presence for the first time. He stopped short out of surprise, but then noticed Jack's arm resting on the back of her chair, and the way the two were looking at each other and Spot was no longer as interested. He was cordial to her the rest of the night, probably even a bit too flirtatious for Jack's liking, but didn't give her much thought the rest of the night due to the storming of the police and subsequent fights.
The second time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs he had just come from a courtroom having narrowly escaped jail time thanks to a generous journalist.
He was still getting claps on the back from his comments to Move-Along Monahan when he saw her across the street, chewing on her fingernails and pacing. He could feel the nervous energy all the way on the other side of the street. Spot watched her for a few seconds, and he knew exactly what, or who, she was waiting on, so out of the goodness of his heart he decided to join her and wait with her.
This time it was her who was surprised by his presence, and Spot thought for a second that she didn't recognize him. But then the surprise was replaced something that looked like relief but Spot couldn't be sure.
"Spot," she said, though it came out as more of a sigh. "Are you okay? I've been so worried – about everyone. I mean, when me and Les left we heard so much yelling, even when we were further down the street. And then David came home so late and said all of you were in jail? Are you okay?" She circled back to her original question and Spot couldn't help but smirk and raise his eyebrows at her rambling.
"Everyone's fine," he said. "Jack's in there talking to the judge now. I'm sure Denton will have him out in no time."
She visibly relaxed at that, but her arms still hugged her midsection as if she was trying to comfort herself. Still, she gave a small smile at Spot. He noticed her eyes then, how warm and kind they were despite the distress she was under. He wondered briefly if a person with warm, kind eyes saw the world differently than others, and then wondered why he was thinking about her eyes so damn much.
"Do you mind if I wait with you? Until Jack comes out," he asked after a pause.
Sarah's eyes widened, caught off guard by the request. "I don't want you to feel obligated or anything, really, I'll be okay."
He flashed her one of his smiles that always sold him the most papes. "Don't worry about it, doll. After all, Spot Conlon doesn't leave a lady alone when she's obviously so distraught." He winked at her, feeling a little bit of pride when it got a laugh out of her.
"Who knew the king of Brooklyn could be so kind?" she said, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.
Spot shrugged, a smirk still present on his face as he turned to look back at the entrance to the courthouse to see if Jack, David, and Denton had emerged but he saw no sign of them. He figured they'd be out soon enough, and that thought made him feel rushed for a reason he couldn't quite place.
The third time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs he felt like he had been punched in the gut and she only made it worse.
Jack had betrayed them. If it had been anyone else turning scab, Spot wouldn't have been surprised. But Jack? That was too much. The whole thing made him feel sick and as much as he wanted to soak somebody, anybody, he really just wanted to sleep. The lodging house was in an uproar that evening though so, to save himself and the wellbeing of those around him, he went for a walk instead. A few blocks away from the lodging house he saw her, a wicker basket propped on her hip as she talked with the man selling potatoes on the street. The setting sun cast a soft golden glow that made her plain, brown hair look like rich honey. She had that soft smile on her face but Spot could tell it was different now. He assumed it was because she had heard about Jack.
The man handed Sarah a bag of potatoes then and she took it and turned to walk away. Spot followed a few steps behind, still unsure if he even wanted to initiate a conversation with her. The part of him that craved being in her presence won out over the part of him that was tired and wanted to be alone, so he quickened his step and fell in line with her. It was a few seconds before Sarah realized he was there, and as she did she looked up into his smirking face.
"Thought you were ignoring me," he joked and she gave a small laugh.
"Sorry, I didn't even see you there. I was in my own little world I guess," she mused, and Spot couldn't take his eyes off her, trusting that anyone who was in front of him would step out of his way. She glanced up at him, the smile on her face faltering a bit. "I guess you know about Jack," she said quietly.
Spot scowled, finally turning to look ahead of him. "He's a dirty rotten scabber. He'll get what's coming to him." Spot spit on the sidewalk then, as if just talking about Jack put a bad taste in his mouth. When he looked back at Sarah, she had a pained expression on her face.
"There has to be more to it. I don't believe he'd switch sides for no reason," she said, more to herself than to Spot.
"Sarah," Spot started, "sometimes people are just shit."
She looked at him in shock and Spot wasn't sure if it was because of the language or the pessimism but he didn't apologize for either.
Sarah started shaking her head. "No. I don't believe that. I believe that Jack is good. That he's better than that. I really do believe in him."
Spot felt that familiar feeling of being punched in the gut. He scoffed at her. "That's cute."
Sarah stopped walking. Spot took a few more steps before noticing and when he did, he stopped and saw the angry glare on her face.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
Spot stepped closer to her, raising his eyebrows. "I mean," he started slowly, "that's cute that you think there's still good in anybody, least of all Jack." He paused long enough to give her a look that made her squirm. "And by cute I mean childish."
The fourth time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs they were in the last few moments of the strike.
Jack (she had been right about him, and Spot wasn't sure why that made him feel so crummy) and David had gone to talk to Pulitzer himself in his cushy office that looked over the city. Spot and about a thousand other street kids all waited right outside the building. Spot had ended up next to Sarah in the chaos and he made sure to bump elbows with her so she at least felt his presence even if she didn't acknowledge it, as their last meeting hadn't ended on the best of terms. But Spot told himself he liked that he made her feel uncomfortable so he wanted to take advantage of any chance he got to do just that. Besides, with the strike hopefully ending, what reason would he have to be in Manhattan anymore? More likely than not, they wouldn't cross paths after this.
Sarah looked up at him, her hands holding onto Les' shoulders in front of her. She gave that same annoyingly soft smile that made her eyes seem even warmer and kinder. "Spot," she said. "Glad to see Brooklyn could make it."
Spot gave a one-shouldered shrug, a little surprised she was so friendly with him, considering their last encounter. "We found the time for it."
Everyone around them was chanting still, and the sheer multitude made it sound like a low roar behind them.
"What do you think?" Sarah asked, looking up at the top floor of the building, her eyes squinting at the sunlight. "You think this is it?"
Spot followed her gaze. "They're listening to us. It's not nothing."
"I just hope it's enough," she said. "I can't believe Jack managed to do all of this. Can you believe it? I'm so proud of him. He's so brave. I just can't believe it."
Spot wished she would shut up. At least about Jack. He wasn't the only one who sacrificed for the strike.
"Yeah," Spot said dryly. "I can't believe it."
There was a hush over the crowd all of a sudden as Jack and David exited the building. And then, as Les' cry of victory rang out over the crowd, there was an uproar. And Spot couldn't help himself. The thrill of a bunch of street rats going up against some of the most powerful people in the world and coming out on top was enough for anyone to jump for joy. So he whooped and hollered with the rest of them, trying not to think about the girl with the kind eyes.
When the celebration had died down, the Refuge kids freed, and Snyder was put where he belonged, Jack rode off in a carriage with the governor of New York and Spot felt odd. For one, the feeling he had was awfully similar to when he saw Jack walk out of the distribution center dressed in those fancy clothes. Seeing him ride off like that, leaving as soon as he got what he wanted, felt like that betrayal all over again. But there was another feeling there, that he couldn't quite place, because it was so unfamiliar to him. It was almost a happy feeling, but it left him with a different kind of warmth in the pit of his stomach and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he'd be feeling something like that until his eyes scanned the crowd and they landed on Sarah. Sarah, with the kind, sad eyes. He was addicted to those eyes. Spot wanted to go to her, but David had his arm slung over her shoulders and Les was right next to them and it really didn't feel like the right time.
Right time for what? Spot didn't know. It's not like he wanted to confess some deep love for her, his intentions weren't that pure. He wouldn't lie to himself about that. But he just knew he wanted to be with her.
It wasn't long before, again, the crowd was going wild. There was the golden boy in his carriage. Spot rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. He watched, arms crossed and bile practically rising in his throat, as Sarah fought her way to him. And that kiss. Spot had had several good kisses in his day but none that ever got a round of applause like that. It sickened him. So he flagged down Governor Roosevelt, asked if he could hitch a ride to Brooklyn, and hopped in the carriage.
The fifth time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs he vowed it would be the last.
It had been about five months since the strike and, consequently, since he saw her last. He had managed to keep her off his mind for the most part, and the past couple of months he didn't even have to put in as much effort to not think about her. Spot figured that was progress.
Then, Brooklyn got an invitation: a huge Christmas party for all the newsies at Medda's. And Spot had gotten a special request to join the Golden Boy and the Walkin' Mouth on stage for a speech. The thought didn't exactly thrill him, but he knew his absence would be whispered about and speculated on, so it'd be better for him to just suck it up and go. A week before the party, though, he was sure to remind his boys to sneak as much alcohol with them as possible. If he was going to go to this stupid party, he was at least going to have some fun with it.
The night of the party, the vaudeville theater was much more crowded than when they had held the rally there.
Spot hated it.
He had always hated crowds, but tonight it was something different. He lied to himself and reasoned that it was just a combination of the amount of people and the holidays – both almost always left a sour taste in his mouth – but deep down he knew it was because of her. Undoubtedly she would be there, being Jack's girl and David's sister, her hair in soft curls around her shoulders and a pretty dress cinched in all the right places. Maybe, Spot continued to lie to himself, he wouldn't even see her as crowded as it was there. Maybe he could deliver some astounding speech to the deafening applause of the theater and then get rip-roaring drunk the rest of the night and never even have to look at her. Maybe, he thought, if luck decided to be on his side for once in his crappy life.
"Spot!"
Shit.
Sarah was at one of the tables near the stage, halfway out of her chair as she waved to get his attention. She grinned as soon as his eyes landed on her and she motioned for him to join her. With a nod to his boys and a sinking feeling in his stomach, Spot made his way over to her. He had been right; her hair was in ringlets over her shoulders, bouncing ever so slightly with each movement, and she was wearing a simple, deep red dress cinched with a cream ribbon around her midsection. He put on his best smirk and tipped his hat to her as he walked up to her, feeling thankful he had already tapped into his boys' alcohol supply on their walk over from Brooklyn.
"Ms. Jacobs," he said with a bow of his head. "Lookin' mighty pretty over here by yourself. Where's your date?" he asked, falling into a practiced charm without thinking.
Sarah laughed. "Oh, Jack and David are off somewhere with Medda I think, going over the schedule for tonight and whatnot," she said as she gave a little wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. She pulled out the chair next to her. "Come on, sit down. Honestly, you're one of the first few familiar faces I've seen here."
Spot felt a small stab at that comment. Was he just a last resort? One option above being completely alone?
"What about all the Manhattan boys?" he asked as he sat down.
Sarah shrugged, grabbing her drink and swirling it around. "They're around somewhere I guess. But I don't really know them that well."
"Because you know me so well," Spot said sarcastically, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smirk.
Sarah looked up at him then, her laugh making his smirk turn into an actual smile. "Well I guess I don't know you so well. It just feels like I do, you know?" Spot raised an eyebrow at that, so Sarah continued. "I guess it's because you're the only one who doesn't seem like they're walking on eggshells when talking to me. The other boys, it's like they're scared of something almost. And it's not like they're rude to me by any means, nothing like that, just sort of nervous or unsure about me."
She was rambling at this point, her finger dipped inside her glass stirring the drink absent-mindedly. The scene made Spot feel warm. Or maybe it was the alcohol.
"Do you think it's because of Jack?" he asked, and she looked up at him confused, having been lost in her thoughts.
"Do I think what's because of Jack?"
"The Manhattan boys. The way they act around you and stuff. You think Jack said something to them?"
She frowned, looking down at her drink.
"Because I would, if I was him," Spot continued. "I'd make sure none of my boys got any funny ideas, y'know? But then again," he shrugged, leaning back in his chair, "the Brooklyn boys are a little different than the Manhattan boys."
"And you and Jack are a little different, too." She fixed him with a pointed gaze before smiling and taking a sip of her drink. "Did Jack say anything to you?" she asked.
Spot gave a half-smile. "No, not that it would matter."
"Why? Because you're a man of honor?" Sarah laughed, the sound coming out as more of a giggle than she intended, and she bit her lip to try and compose herself. When was Jack going to get back?
"No. Because I wouldn't listen to him anyway."
Sarah stopped smiling. She studied his expression but couldn't get hardly anything from it except that he looked absolutely serious about what he said. She was, at that moment, acutely aware of everyone around them carrying on with their own conversations, and yet it still seemed as if her and Spot were in their own little world.
"What do you mean?" she asked, almost hesitantly.
In response, he leaned forward, his lips gingerly brushing against hers. The buzz in his head from the alcohol didn't dull the electric feeling that traveled through his body when he kissed her. The contact was briefer than most of his kisses, and more tender, but he vaguely realized that was the first time he felt an electric feeling like that. As he pulled away, he began to search her face for her reaction right as she slapped him.
Ow.
It wasn't that hard, Spot had definitely had much worse plenty of times, so the pain was nothing to him. But that was the most his pride had ever been hurt by a slap.
Out of spite, and a little bit to save face, he smirked as he turned back to look at her. He registered the confusion and pain on her face but was too focused on his own hurt to address hers. "Sorry, doll," he said, the alcohol giving him a drawl that added to his arrogant façade. "Guess I mistook the kind of girl you were." He let his eyes travel down her body and then back up again, as if to make sure she knew there was nothing on his mind but getting under her skirt. Then, his hurt feelings fueling him even more, he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Although, that's not a very hard mistake to make given the way you look and the company you surround yourself with." He pulled back in time to see shock replacing the confusion on her face and the tears welling up in her eyes. He gave her a wink and then stood up and left, making his way to the side door that let out into a small, secluded alley. And even though Spot had never had a problem holding his liquor, he found himself throwing up everything he had consumed that night behind a trashcan.
The sixth time Spot Conlon saw Sarah Jacobs, he heard the catcalls before he actually saw her.
It was a mid-January afternoon and the sun had broken from the clouds for the first time in a few weeks, so him and a handful of some other Brooklyn newsies had filtered out of the stuffy lodging house to soak up as much of it as they could, wrapping their thin jackets around themselves even tighter and lifting their faces up to the sky.
Spot was perched on the concrete railing along the stoop, his back up against the side of the building, when he heard the whistling and catcalls come from his right. He ignored it at first, keeping his eyes closed and head tilted back so the sun could touch as much of his skin as possible. He ignored it, that is, until the boy sitting on the step beneath him said, "Hey, ain't that Jack Kelly's dame?"
Spot's eyes flew open but something stopped him from turning his head to look. Fear? Embarrassment? He didn't know and he didn't want to know, and he wondered briefly if he had time to sneak back into the lodging house before he had to face the girl who was apparently getting closer, judging by the murmurs of the boys around him. Spot closed his eyes again, hoping he could just sink into the ice-cold concrete beneath him. He heard someone ascend the steps, and suddenly someone was repeatedly snapping their fingers in his face. He opened his eyes, this time going straight for a glare, only to come face to face with another glare on Sarah Jacobs' face.
"Spot," she said. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I need to talk to you."
"So? Talk." He let the smirk fall onto his face and that arrogant façade come back up.
Her scowl deepened and she clenched her jaw. "Not here."
Spot rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the concrete wall he was on with a heavy sigh. Without saying anything, he began walking away, knowing she would follow after him. He heard some snickering from his boys behind him but he quieted them with a quick look aimed their way.
It was quiet for a few seconds as they walked, but as soon as they were out of earshot of the other newsies, Sarah didn't waste any time. "Why did you kiss me at the Christmas party?"
Spot felt his stomach flip at the mention of it, but he kept his face flat. He turned towards her, raising one eyebrow. "Oh, did we kiss? I was a little drunk that night. Did we do anything else?" He gave her a devilish grin and then chuckled at the redness creeping onto her cheeks.
Suddenly she was in front of him and he almost tripped over himself as he tried not to run into her.
"Cut the bullcrap, Conlon," she spat out. Then, after taking a deep breath, her face softened. "Just…can you just talk to me?" she pleaded, stepping closer to him.
Spot stood, wide-eyed, in front of her. Talk?
"Talk about what?" he scoffed. "About how you've been obsessing over something so…meaningless?" He laughed. "Okay, let's talk about that. How often did you think about that kiss at night alone in your bed, Jacobs?" He leaned towards her with that trademark cocky smirk of his.
And then her lips brushed against his, ever so slightly and so quickly that as she was pulling away Spot wondered if it even happened.
"More often than I'd care to admit."
A/N: Spot and Sarah are my absolute favorite pairing and I desperately want to see more of them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.