Disclaimer: Newsies don't belong to us...sadly...none of the characters in here belong to us...cept for Enchanted and Midnight...and that's cuz they're us. Enjoy!


Mirrors

The screams of agony tore at the hushed, calm air inside the mansion. They bounced off the tapestries on the walls, and flew past the flickering fire within the marble fireplace, until there was a sudden silence. Then, as if to restore the screams that had been ringing for an hour, the wailing of a healthy baby started.

The well-to-do woman thrashed about on the sagging bed, cursing the inevitable pain that came from pleasure, agony that came from love. Hell, right now, nothing made a difference, not her beauty, not her possessions, not even her money. The only thing that mattered right now was the pain, and that she get rid of it. She grimaced, and a high wail left her throat, making it ache. Not one, but two babies were to leave her tonight, then. Twins. She would have to give them half of everything. Half of her time, half of her possessions...and she would have to divide half to the money and estates that her father-in-law would supply her with.

Like hell she would.

She had worked hard to catch her husband's eye, to have him marry her, to get this far, and there was no chance that her youngest was going to botch this up for her. The realization of this thought caused her much more pain and anger than the last hour had. And as she labored exerting more and more effort with each wave of pain, she swiftly made a decision.

The wailing of another boy joined the first, and strengthened the chorus of cries. Carlotta, the sweet old family maid, fretted above her master, taking the time to occasionally swab her forehead with cold water, and patting her arm reassuringly. Finally, she swept the light, brown hair from her master's exhausted eyes and proceeded to clean her up.

Elizabeth arched her back, achingly aware of the pain sending everything into a daze. Quickly reaching for the brown, coarse blanket she covered herself with it and motioned for Carlotta to come closer. Carlotta obediently padded nearer, expecting to hear the order most new mothers gave: give me my babies. Such lovely sons they were too. Fine, brown hair, like their mother's, and beautiful blue-green eyes, acquired from their wonderful father. They were destined to do great things. She knew it was so. She waited for her to inform her of what she should do, as she cleaned off the mess on the two babies.

"Kill the youngest one," came the whisper.

"What?!" was Carlotta's horrified reply.

She repeated herself once more.

"Madame, no..." Carlotta shook her head, unaware of how serious she was. Her only thought was, 'She's joking. She's incompetent. After all, she just suffered through nine hours worth of pain.' But the look in her eyes was grim, and foreboding.

Elizabeth knew how weak Carlotta was, how she would easily do whatever she said. She was soft, moldable in her hands.

"Why?"

"It's fairly simple. If I were to let the two of them live, one day, my husband would have to split the estate between them. The money might not stay in the family, might go along to another wench. If there was but one heir, however---" Elizabeth left the words unsaid.

"But Madame," Carlotta argued readily. She was appalled at the amount of greed this woman had deep inside of her. She stared at Elizabeth. Only minutes ago she had actually admired this woman. Now, there was only a deep, profound hatred. To take one of these boys and...kill him?

"Do it," the hissing voice was firm.

Carlotta gawked at Elizabeth, with her knowing gray eyes, and mussed brown hair. And suddenly, she couldn't stand to be in the same space as her employer, couldn't stand to breathe the same air as the cold, ruthless woman. Complying, and blinking back salty tears of shame, she swept up the youngest and frailest of the two, and stalked out of the room, her drab brown skirt trailing behind her. For the past few minutes, the twins hadn't stopped their wailing, and as she roughly picked the littlest one up, their crying got louder. Then, for a second, the baby had stopped its incessant wailing, and looked up at her with its watery blue-green eyes. Carlotta could feel its gaze tear upon her heart. "God help me," she murmured, clutching him to her bosom.

Behind her, as the door shut, she could hear the older boy start crying again, and she could tell that the mother was not going to try to quiet him at all.

She glanced down at the hiccuping baby in her arms. "No," she corrected herself. "God help them."
~*~

Like swift wings slicing through the night, Carlotta ran. At first, she didn't know what to do, the thoughts swarming about in her head, as unceasingly as she clutched the hiccuping baby in her arms. Her first thought was to throw him in the river, but her conscience proved too much for that, and with her aching limbs, sat down underneath a birch tree and cried along with the baby.

And then she knew what to do. The answer was heaven-sent, plucking away at her mind until it became obvious. She couldn't go to anyone too close to the family, but rather an observer, one who was good and kind. And so she flew to Thomas McArthur, father-in-law of Elizabeth, supplier of all the money. Since they all lived in the same house, she had to be careful. Slipping like a phantom through the house she had run from earlier, she reached the biggest room in the place, reserved for Thomas. She knocked on his door frantically, trying to keep the baby quiet.

When he opened it, she nearly shoved the baby in his face, entered the room and slammed the door behind her.

"Who---what---" the grandfather trailed off as he took note of the bluish-green eyes. "My grandson?" he asked, with mute joy. He had known for days now that Elizabeth was to give birth, and he had been waiting, anticipating for both his grandsons to come.

"She wants me to kill him," was the breathless answer.

That got his attention pretty quick. "WHO?" Thomas shouted, enraged, not bothering to hide his confusion and anger.

With halting words, she explained all to him, keeping it short and concise. At the end of her tale, the grandfather nodded briskly. "Yes. Indeed. You were wise to come to me, Carlotta. I know what to do. And you must go back to Elizabeth, and tell her that you have killed this one. Don't worry." As he instructed her, he hastily wrapped the boy in a cloth. The look on his face was purely impassive, as if he had been expecting something like this would happen. But one look at his bluish-green eyes, and she could see the turmoil that brewed inside of them.

Thomas quickly ushered Carlotta out the door, making sure that she closed the door firmly behind her. He shook his head ruefully. To think, that today was to be a joyful day. He laid his aging, rheumatic hand onto the baby, and it seemed to calm down again for an instant. He carefully placed him on the bed, securing his position so that he wouldn't roll off and crossed the room in brisk steps, going straight to a dresser in a corner. He hurriedly snatched up a glinting object from it, leaving the only other object alone.

A key hung from his hand, and his hand shook as he fastened the string around the baby's neck. For one moment, he stood back to survey the result of his work. The key winked at him, making a huge contrast against the smooth, pale skin of his youngest grandchild. Choking back a yell of protest, he snatched the little boy up again. If he left him here, Elizabeth would surely find another way to kill him. There was no other way to let the boy live. Only to hand him on to another person and make sure they took him far far away from his cruel mother. He quietly opened his wooden door, and made a silent prayer to the powers that be, begging them to let his two grandsons find each other again.

As the cold night air touched the baby's cheeks, he felt warm inside this coarse blanket. And only now, now that he was safe, did he close his bluish-green eyes in exhaustion, and sleep.
~*~

His bluish-green eyes shone with pure adrenaline. "Dis territory belongs ta me and Brooklyn. No...one...else." Spot's harsh voice drew a passerby out of the crowd.

"Oh, hell, no," she muttered, stepping back into the shadows, and melting into the walls of the building, watching her three friends.

The three girls facing Spot both sighed exasperatedly, as if they had heard the same speech being recited so many times before. Which they had. The shorter girl tossed her long, flowing chocolate-brown hair behind her shoulder. "Dis place belongs ta me and Brooklyn. No.... one....else...." she imitated, using a high voice and raising her upper lift in a grimace.

The taller girl next to her snickered uncontrollably, her sapphire-emerald eyes glinting at the 'hilarious' remark. "Oh my GOD, Mimic!"

Luna stayed silent, her shining black hair resting on her shoulder. When Spot opened his mouth to speak again, she interrupted and snapped, "Oh, just shut dat whining voice a yours Spot, just shut up!"

And Midnight allowed herself to smile at the audacity of her three closest girls.

Spot angrily clenched his hands into fists, which to Snicker's and Midnight's delight, Mimic imitated. "Stop it," he ordered.

"No," Mimic snapped back.

Snicker stopped snickering for a minute and said readily, "Ain't no one dat can boss us around, and you can't either, seein' as how you're on Bronx property."

"Dis ain't Bronx, dis is Brooklyn," he spat back in response, "And heah I can do anyt'ing I'se want." As if to prove this, he raised a closed fist and struck her with it.
Snicker staggered backwards, and her hand flew up to her reddening cheek.

Midnight felt slow anger build up inside of her, and she hurriedly stepped out of the shadows. "Fuck off, Spot," she warned quietly. Snicker, Mimic, and Luna spun around to acknowledge her. "Git off my territory."

"Your territory ended a few feet ago, Midnight," Spot shot back, "Now get dese bitches off my territory before I kick dere asses off."

In reply, Midnight put one foot down and stepped forward.

Suddenly, as if they had been summoned, a girl with dark slightly wavy hair that shone in the sun, and big, mellow, chocolate, brown eyes stepped forward. Behind her, a tall boy with dark hair and deep, distant blue eyes.

"Spot," the girl snapped, "Whad da hell do you'se t'ink you are doin'?!"
"Be quiet, Ember," he ordered at his girlfriend. Normally, Ember would have started an argument with him, but she knew something important was going on. She obeyed, and crossed her arms haughtily, leaning against the wall of a near building.

"Spot, what's goin' on?" the boy asked. Spot faced his right-hand newsie.

"Blue, stand next ta Ember and be quiet. Midnight ain't gonna back down again. Might mean a rumble."

Blue's eyes shone with anticipation. "Let me fight too!" he pleaded, very much like he was seven years old.

"Stand ovah dere, Blue," he repeated.

Blue obeyed, sulkily, and stood next to Ember. He watched as Midnight and Spot exchanged harsh words and sighed longingly. He wanted to fight too...

Ember however, just wanted them to stop. No matter how much Spot had forbidden it, she was friends with the Bronx newsgirls, and she talked with Midnight at least once a week. Pouting, she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, surveying Midnight's stance. She didn't look tough, or strong for that matter, but there was this certain 'look' that came into her eyes, a certain stance she had to show that she was dangerous and not to cross her. But stubborn, stupid Spot...he would undoubtedly start a fight with her.

And he did. He was the first to throw a punch, which Midnight easily blocked. She lashed out, intending to kick him, but he merely jumped backwards. The fight was on. But it seemed to the bystanders that they were matched, punch for punch, kick for kick. It was intense, the way to describe it. At one point in the fight, Spot swung his fist up and hit her above the eyebrow. The skin opened and blood started dripping out. Midnight jabbed her hand into Spot's eye, and he pushed himself away from her. There was a lull as they circled each other, until finally, Midnight dove forward and tackled him. He fell backward, and most of her weight was centered on his ribs. There was a faint cracking noise, and Spot groaned with an unexpected wave of pain. He kneed her in the stomach to get her off of him.
Breathing deeply, he struggled to get to his feet.

"Dat enough fo' you?" Midnight panted, "There ain't nothing dat's gonna make me give up whatevah things I own. Don't mess with me goils, and I'se won't be forced to really beat on your ass latah." Midnight and her three girls turned around and walked away.

Spot glared...or tried to. It didn't really work with his impressive shiner. And his ribs were hurting so badly. He limped away, and when Ember tried to put an arm around Spot, he shoved her away. "Git away. I don't need any help." As he said it, his legs crumpled underneath him, and the ground rushed up to meet him. Blue rushed forward to help him up, but Spot did the same thing he did to Ember. Push him away. All the way back to the Lodging House, he refused to accept help from anyone.

Midnight watched after him. She had a not-too-bad gash above her eyebrow and a bruise on her stomach, but it didn't hurt too much. 'Must have cracked something when I landed on him,' she thought worriedly.

"Damn, dat kicked so much ass," Snicker commented lightly.

"Dis might mean war," she replied, "His pride is shot now. He'll come back ta confront me, try to bring some of it back, you know? And when he does, I won't hold back like I did."

"Dat was holdin' back?!" Mimic screeched, making Snicker chuckle.

Midnight only smiled. "Hey, Mimic, Snicker, Luna, go ta Manhattan. See what Jack has ta say."

"Is dat smart?" Snicker asked, "I mean, Jack's good friends wid Spot."

"Yeah," Midnight responded, "But he ain't gonna git in da middle of it. Aftah all, he's got Manhattan to look after too. Oh, and say hi ta everyone dere fo' me, all right? I gotta go think of some things."

Mimic, Snicker, and Luna nodded dutifully and the both of them started off.

Midnight looked thoughtfully after them and then started walking back to her Lodging House. "Stupid Spot," she remarked under her breath. "Stupid, stupid Spot."