Author's Note: Hi Everyone, this is an excerpt from a Newsies story I've been scheming up. I was going to wait until my other stories were finished, but I'm incredibly excited about it. I'm obsessed with Newsies and have wanted to create something equal and worthy of its caliber. Spot is my favorite, so this is a Spot/OC centered story that takes place during and after the historic 1899 strike. Kenny Ortega is a creative genius, and Gabriel Damon is and forever will be my Spot Conlon. Thank you Disney for taking a chance and bringing this movie to life.

Tap' 'Tap' 'Tap' each deliberate and forceful, causing me to stir in my sleep. I waited soundlessly in bed, fearing possible police raid. I've learned over the years that such scare tactics are best met with silence. If they don't hear you scurry, they won't think you're there.

Again came the tapping. Just as deliberate if not more rapid. Quietly, I roll out of bed, careful to tiptoe towards the door. If it were the bulls, they would have kicked the door in by now. Warily, I open the door just enough to see who it was.

"Spot?"

"Sh! Let me in."

"What is it?" He glanced furtively behind before pushing past me and entering my humble abode.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Did you predict the strike?" straight to the point I see.

"What—"

"Jack Kelly said you read his tea leaves and predicted that something huge was going to happen, something that could make history."

"Well I mean yes, but—"

"Read mine."

"Now?" He stared pointedly, arms crossed.

"Can't this wait? What's wrong, Spot?" He didn't answer, but I could tell something seemed off. His demeanor was rigid, his eyes darted about as if worried we were being spied on.

"I'm hardly stoking a fire at this time a night, are you trying to get me raided? I'm not exactly paying for this place." I hissed, wishing he would just leave so I can get back to sleep.

"Then read my palm."

"It doesn't work like that Spot," I snapped, "Now you better tell me why you're acting like the bulls are after you."

"I've got some suspicions and I want them cleared up. You predicted the strike for Kelly, now I want to know what you see for me." That's as good of an answer as I'm going to get. I felt my resolve crumbling. Spot Conlon wouldn't all but break into my 'house' in the wee hours of the morning unless it was something serious.

"Alright, but it's going to be small, so it will take some time."

"Fine, whatever you gotta do." He waved his cane dismissively, shooing me towards my task.

"After hours cost extra you know." I replied over my shoulder smirking slightly.

"What happened to friend prices?"

"Extra risk, extra coin."

"Fine, whatever." Normally we'd be arguing over fairness and bartering with the occasional lewd comment thrown my way. Whatever it is, Spot's spooked, whether he's too proud it admit it or not.

"Nice dump you got here," He snarked, kicking trash away with his worn out boot.

"Sorry it's not up to standard your majesty." Rolling my eyes, I set to work emptying the last of my water into the kettle. I'm definitely going to have to restock tomorrow before I set up shop. He spotted a cardboard box overflowing with old newspapers, some of which I've gotten from the boys. He shrugged before settling on top. The box gave slightly, causing him to sink down. I chuckled softly at the sight.

"What happened to your old place?" Spot inquired, gingerly lifting himself out of the box.

"Patrol dogs started poking around; I think they could smell my incense; didn't want to take the risk." My skin prickled at the memory. That was too close of a call; I dumped my stuff in an alley, hiding on the third floor landing. The bulls scanned the perimeter of the abandoned building, the dogs tracking down the potent scent of my incense. Most of my stock was confiscated that night, save for the main items I dumped in the alley. That following week was a hard one for money, but I managed to scrape up enough to restock my supplies. I spent a lot of meals with the Sisters of Saint Benedict until I could hold my own again.

Spot merely nodded, we've all been through our share of scraps with the bulls.

"How are things with the Strike?" Spot eyed me curiously, gauging me.

"Cowboy didn't tell you? Crutchy got himself thrown in the boy's home."

"What!"

"Easy now, he got carried away and they carted him off. Jackie boy's got a plan to break him out."

"I'll help."

"Nah, he's got it covered. It's a one man job see." He wouldn't offer up any more about it.

"Knowing Jack, it's a stupid plan."

"His stupid plans are his best plans."

"Don't remind me." Spot laughed, twirling his cane between his fingers.

"Aren't you gonna ask me how I'm doin'?"

"Would you tell me?" Spot just smiled cheekily in response, twirling his cane. I huffed before spinning around to face him. "How are you, Spot?"

"Just peachy, doll face thanks for asking." He smiled wickedly, the mirth returning to his eyes. I rolled mine before setting back to work.

"Just here for a visit then are you?"

"I can't visit you?"

"In the middle of the night?"

"Alright, a consultation then."

"This must be an urgent matter for you to consult me in the wee hours of the morning. Most people usually wait until business hours."

"This is a private matter. I don't need anyone getting wind of this."

"What, that the King of Brooklyn stooped to parlor tricks?"

"If I thought these were parlor tricks, I wouldn't waste my time."

"That's not what you said before."

"Recent events have changed my mind." I pressed my lips together tightly, refusing to comment further.

"How long is this gonna take anyways?" I chuckled lightly under my breath; patience was never a virtue of Spot's.

"You can't rush these things, the best results take time."

"If you wanted me to stay you should have just said so." He winked mischievously.

"In your dreams, Conlon."

"Every night sweet heart," His smirk grew wider, eyes twinkling with mischief. I huffed, fighting to conceal the blush blooming on my cheeks.

"Flattery gets you everywhere." I relented, smirking at him over my shoulder. His smug smile could be either endearing or obnoxious in the right light. Tonight it was both. I crossed the length of the room, kneeling down in front of him. He remained silent, curiosity flickering in the candle light. Our eyes met, and I flashed him a toothy grin before taking his hand into mine. They were rough and dirty, dirt and ink staining his fingers. I ran mine over his calloused knuckles. His hands told a story of a boy that grew up too fast, one who knew hardship. They told of a boy who fought for everything he had. No one could ever argue he didn't earn the title of King.

"See anything good?"

"These hands have seen a lot, they tell quite a story."

"Oh yea, what do they say?" I opened his palm tenderly, ghosting my fingers along the lines. I smiled lightly, watching his hand flex under my touch.

"This is the hand you use most?"

"Yea, what of it?"

"See this line, it means you're incredibly headstrong. Though I didn't need to read your palm to know that," I grumbled. "This though, you tend to think on your feet, very decisive, you make your own way."

"Obviously,"

"This line, this one here; this is the heart line. Oh!"

"What, what is it?"

"Very interesting,"

"Emma," Spot warned, I could feel his eyes narrowing on me.

"Yes?" I replied coyly, glancing up at his disapproving stare through my lashes. His face was serious, but his eyes held a sparkle of laughter he couldn't suppress; my thumb mindlessly tracing the deep, red line. I bit my lip, failing to quell the teasing smile creeping across my face. "Well, redness means you've got a temper…bit of the jealous type?" I giggled, "tsk tsk tsk and a heartbreaker too no doubt." I traced the dips in the line, like tiny waves stretching across his palm. My smile flickered, "You're under a great deal of stress and…" My finger stopped at the end, my breath catching ever so slightly.

"Yes?" Spot remained stoic, curiosity burning in his eyes.

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit, finish."

"Spot please,"

"I didn't come here for a half-assed prediction now finish." He banged his cane like a gavel, startling me. Swallowing hard, I screwed my courage, my heart jumping as my finger tip danced across his skin. One…two…three…four. "Four. You have four dots, curling up, just like this," I mapped them out, for him to see, the last one landing on his broken heart line. "Now this, this means that a traumatic experience has occurred, but these dots are an omen. You're in danger, Spot. Four events will take place, close together, maybe within the year. They will affect you in ways you cannot begin to imagine. The last one, landing so close to your heart line…" Spot ripped his hand from my grasp, vaulting to his feet. He tossed a few coins in front of me before disappearing out the door and into the night. I sat gaping after him, a heavy weight on my chest. I poured the tea in the can extinguishing the flames. It's bad luck to drink another person's brew, and if I'm right, Spot is going to need all the luck he can get.

Author's Note: Thank you guys for checking this out, please review and tell me what you think and if you'd like to see me develop this.

XOXO - N