Disclaimer: This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, Newsies. I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character.

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Pick Your Poison

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I swallowed while tryin' to keep my face expressionless. I'm pretty sure that it looked like I was constipated or something. I mean, I could actually feel my face screwin' up as I fought any hint of remorse or anger or, hell, even lust from crossin' it.

When I got the idea that I wasn't as good of an actor as I first thought, I just coughed again before clearin' all the shit from my throat. It was not something that I meant to do, really, but it served a purpose. With a callous wink in my direction, Spot took back both his hands and crossed his arms over his chest.

His lips thinned, losin' any humor that had been left, as he jerked his cocky head in my direction. Playtime was over, I guess. Time to finally get down to business.

"Okay, Skittery. You told Paulie out front that you needed to talk to me, right? So talk. I'm listenin'."

To be honest, for a second there, I'd completely forgotten what I was doin' there. As much as I hate to admit it, my attention was still on Sunny. She looked too damn good, it was hard to look away from her. My eyes were glued to her tits. Hell, they were her best assets – I couldn't help myself.

And that wasn't it. I sniffed the air and, I swear, I could smell her. Instead of that two-bit perfume she used to bathe in, she had on some real expensive shit, but I could still smell her. She always reminded me of honey and daisies and warm summer nights.

I know I should hate that smell… but I don't. So I hate me, instead.

Funny ol' world, in'it?

"Skittery?"

I heard Spot's voice that time and everything came rushin' back. I shook my head and turned to look at him. I could tell from the way his eyes had hardened that he knew I was oglin' his dame. But what had he expected? He purposely paraded her out in front of me. He had to have known that showing her off to me was like shovin' a thick, juicy steak under the nose of a guy who hadn't ate in three weeks. I only done what anyone else would have done.

I shrugged. He had no right to look so pissed off, I figure. He had the girl, the money, the power. I had shit. He really couldn't blame me for stealin' a cheap glance right?

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, Spot. I… I…" Ah, shit. How am I supposed to tell Spot what I was doin' with Sunny in the room? She would think she had something to do with it. I mean, she does and all, but I didn't want her to know that. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. It was another case of I had to, but didn't want to… "I came for some help." There. I said it.

So long, pride. It was nice knowin' ya.

"Help, huh? What kind of help?"

Oh, yeah. I kinda have to tell him that part, too. "I need an address, Spot. One of the ol' fellas. I figured you had it."

Spot lifted his hand and scratched at his chin. It was smooth and I could tell he must have just shaved. Me, on the other hand, I got a week's worth of stubble coverin' my chin. Gives me character, I think. That, and it cuts the amount of face I gotta wash in half. "An address, you say? Whose?"

This was it. I took a deep breath. "Jack Kelly's."

Ugh. If I thought the name of Skittery left a foul taste in my mouth, that one was ten times worst. Disgusting.

I think Spot was tryin' hard not to look interested at that. He failed miserably. "You wanna see Jack? Jack Kelly? After everything that happened? Why the hell would you do that?"

Somehow, I knew Spot was gonna ask me that. I knew he wouldn't even think of helpin' me out until I had told him everything. And, still, I was naïve and tried to play it off. Well, I couldn't play it off for any longer. "I… I wanted to say hey to him, you know." I shrugged. I still had some pride left. "And, uh, maybe apologize." But not much. The words rushed out but I could tell Spot heard them. Goddamn bastard was smirkin' again.

"Oh." Real articulate, that Spot. I'm honest for once and what does he say? 'Oh'. Lovely.

"Yeah, well, do you have his address? I'm only in Manhattan for a couple of days and it took me this long to find anyone who might even know where Cowboy was now. If anyone, I thought you did." There. Maybe if I appealed to his pride, he'd help.

Hot damn, I think it actually worked. "Well… I haven't seen ol' Jacky Boy in, oh, years. What would you say, baby? Years, right?" Spot had turned in his seat, searchin' out Sunny. In my admission, I had completely forgotten about her and from the look of surprise on her face, she thought that Spot had forgotten about her, too. Not to mention, from the way she flinched and purposely looked away from me, I think she wanted me to have forgotten about her.

"Yeah, Spot. Years."

That actually made me feel a bit better about the whole situation. Not much but… yeah.

I let myself stew on that for just a second before callin' Spot's attention back to me. "So you haven't seen Cowboy in years. That don't mean that you don't know where I can find him, right?"

"Maybe." The way that Spot was able to make that one word sound like five bothered me. That, and the way he was smirkin' at me. I know he knew. He knew I knew he knew. Why, then, was he playin' around with me?

I didn't have time for this bullshit. "Come on, Spot. One address from you and I'll be on my way."

There was a minute where I thought I had gone too far. Spot went all quiet and straightened up in his seat. His smirk had faded back into that tight-lipped, emotionless expression. Maybe he was thinkin', maybe he was plottin' where he was gonna dump my body. I didn't know but, I'll tell ya this. I didn't look away.

I wasn't afraid of death no more. If Spot wanted to have Baldy rip me in half, then let him do it. Just as long as I got that damn apology out of the way. A man's gotta die for something, right?

But Spot surprised me. He nodded, lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

Sunny damn near jumped at the sound. "Yes, Spot?"

"Be a good girl and go get me my book. The black one, not the green one. I don't want you goin' near that green one, alright, honey?"

With an obedient nod, Sunny exited out through the door she had come. She did not close the door behind her and, I noticed, Spot left it open.

I was waitin' for him to start up on me, waitin' for him to rub Sunny in my face. I didn't know what I would say when he did but that was alright. He never said anything. He kept silent – I didn't like that one bit. Real creepy. I'd rather him talk than not talk. When he's quiet, you never know what he's thinkin' about. God forbid he ever said he was thinkin' about me.

He didn't get the chance to think for too long. Sunny came back, a large black, leather-bound book bein' held up against her considerable chest.

Oh, was I jealous of that damn book right then…

"Here, Spot."

"Thanks, doll." He took the book and, settin' it on his desk, flipped it open. It seemed pretty neat and organized and had big letters on the corner. It was some sort of address book, I guessed, where Spot could keep all the information for the people he knew.

Thumbing through it absently, Spot only stopped when he found the page with a K in the corner. Jack Kelly. Cowboy. One perfectly clean finger ran down the page before stoppin' about halfway down. "Here he is. Jacky Boy. I do got something on him, after all. You want to hear it?"

I don't know if he was askin' me or Sunny when he said that. He had good cause to ask that of both of us but I didn't want to hear what Sunny had to say. So I answered him first. "I just need an address, Spot. That's it."

"Suit yourself," he retorted. "Alright. Jack Kelly. I got him down at some joint on the lower east side. Down on Norfolk Street, just off of Stanton. 177 Norfolk, to be exact."

" Norfolk Street," I repeated. "You mean, he never left New York?" I had been hopin' that Jack Kelly still lived in the City, that he never fled and went out West. It was definitely something to hear that he was so damn close, even after all of these years.

Norfolk Street. Shit, that's only about five miles from here. Sure, I'd gotta cross the Brooklyn Bridge and all but I would have had to do that anyway. Madame Rose's boarding house was on Bleekman St, right next to the Manhattan side of the Bridge.

Things were really startin' to look up for me.

"Yeah… as far as I know, at least. I've had this address for awhile, ever since—" He paused then. I swear, I could almost see his brain at work. He was thinkin' again.

And I knew I was in for it.

"Hang on a second. I just got a good idea," he said, removin' his fancy shmancy shoes from his desk and drawin' himself up so that he was standin' next to Sunny. That stupid grin was back and I really knew that I was in for it now. When Spot Conlon has a good idea, it only ever is good for Spot Conlon. "Skittery, you've been gone for a bit and maybe you've forgotten your way around here. Why don't I send someone with ya, to keep you company and help you search out Cowboy?"

I think I knew where he was goin' with it before he even told me. I tried to look casual but, inside, my stomach was droppin'. I felt like I was gonna hurl. "Uh—no, thanks, Spot. I'm pretty sure I can still figure out where everythin' is. You've already done enough for me. 177 Norfolk, right? I'll find it."

He wasn't having any of that. Surprise. "No, no, no, Skitts. I insist." And, look at him. He widened his eyes and his grin, tryin' to look all innocent as if this great idea had just come to him. I'll say this: Spot Conlon is as lousy an actor as I am.

I should have known he was goin' to pull something like this. You can't get something for nothing in this world and knowledge was worth a lot. Not to mention, he did seem really annoyed when I was lookin' Sunny over.

He couldn't really blame me for that, could he?

"I've just had an even better idea. Why don't you take Sunny as your guide?" he said, reachin' for Sunny's hand and offerin' it to me. "I'm sure you two have some catchin' up you need to do, eh?"

Hell. I guess he could blame me, after all.

God, I hate him.

Almost shyly – though I had been goin' for defiantly, shy was the only thing I could manage – I lifted my head to meet those lovely eyes that Sunny had. There was only a few seconds where we gazed at each other before she lowered her head.

"Spot. I don't… I don't know if that's really a good idea." Her voice was a lot quieter than I was used to. I guess when I had thought that Spot had trained her, I'd been right. Sunny never whispered. It was strange.

I don't know what Conlon's game was but he just shook his head, never once losin' the aura of amusement that surrounded him. "Don't be silly, honey. Skittery's an old friend. An old friend of yours and mine and he came to us, lookin' for help. You can't deny him that, can you?"

Despite the kind words he was usin' – which was enough to set the hairs on the back of my neck on end, it was that fuckin' weird – Spot's voice had a steel edge to it. It was so sharp that I knew that, if Sunny refused, she would only be cut for her refusal.

I didn't want to do it. But I had to. I sighed. "I'd be… honored," Oh, god. I sound like a queer, "if you'd come with me, Sunny." The words were mumbled as they tumbled out but I had to do it. I just hoped I didn't regret it later.

Sunny's mouth, which had been about to respond to Spot, just hung open. I was waitin' for a couple of flies to head on in there, she looked so surprised. I guess she wasn't expecting me to want her to come with me. And, to tell the truth, I knew I shouldn't want her to come with me. But, then again, she was lookin' real good…

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The reality of what I had done only hit me when big ol' bald Paulie led me and Sunny out of Spot's… accounting firm. She was walkin' behind me, about three steps behind, starin' down at the floor. Silent as the grave and just as cold.

I was really bein' to regret jumpin' in and lettin' her tagalong. She was Spot's dame and, if he wanted to fuck around with her, he could. It wasn't any business of mine. I had my own troubles and I was well on my way to takin' care of them.

It was really weird, though. As soon as Baldy let us out of 83 Bridge Street, and the door had been slammed behind us, Sunny's entire… everything seemed to change. Her shoulders slumped but her head rose. The gap between us was whittled down to only one step and, unless I was imaginin' it, her gloved hand was lightly caressin' the back of my arm.

Without even lookin' behind me I jerked my arm forward and increased my pace, makin' sure there was nearly three feet between me and her. This is Spot's dame, I kept tellin' myself, and God only knows what would happen if I made the slightest move on her. Besides, I had my chance and I—she—we blew it.

I never intended to forgive her. And, as far I was concerned, this whole being thrown together – I really fuckin' hate Spot Conlon – ain't gonna change that.

177 Norfolk Street. It kinda was a bit of a ways from here, not countin' the trek over that damn Bridge, but it really wouldn't take too long. And, ya know, the sooner I was away from Sunny Willows, the better.

Now, it was about five or six or so blocks away from Bridge Street – I could almost see the old Brooklyn Lodging House down on Poplar Street from where we were – when I started to calm down a bit. Well, not really, but my heart wasn't as racin' as much as it had been when I felt the soft touch of Sunny's glove. And, with a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was still keepin' her distance.

Good.

You know, I didn't even realize that I was doin' it but I was. Walkin' about four steps ahead of Sunny, I was absently pattin' my pockets, lookin' for my pack of smokes. I had forgotten that I left them back at Madame Rose's, sittin' in the pocket of my other pants. But, when my search came up empty-handed, I remembered and I grunted in frustration.

Damn it. I really needed a smoke. There's nothing like a good dose of tobacco to make even the strangest situations doable. And this situation – hell, any situation that included Sunny Willows – was fuckin' strange.

There was a crackin' sound just then, a real quick snap, loud enough that it jerked me out of my nicotine withdrawal. My eyes widened and I looked over my shoulder. Unless I was imaginin' it, I could smell smoke.

I wasn't imaginin' it. Sunny had a hand rolled cigarette perched invitingly between her lips. Her left hand was busy wavin' out the flame from the match she had just struck. Prim eyebrows raised and cheeks went gaunt as she puffed on the cigarette. Once the tip of the smoke was burning brightly, she removed the cigarette with her right hand and held it out to me. "Here, Skitts."

It was a battle of wills just then. Did I want to continue pretendin' that Sunny wasn't there? Or did I want to sell what little pride I had left for a cigarette?

I took the smoke. "Thanks." There. At least I didn't sound all that grateful. But, once I had taken the first drag off of the cigarette, and my muddled head cleared up somewhat, I figured that something was up. I glanced back over at Sunny and noticed: she didn't have a cigarette of her own. There was no pack, no matches left out. It was as if she did all that just for me – and that couldn't be right. I nodded at her. "What? Cheap shit not good enough for you?"

She shook her head, those bouncy bouncy curls wavin' slightly, not even touched by the summer night's humidity. "I'm good, Skitts. 'Sides, that was for you."

"For… for me?" I sounded surprised and quickly tried to turn that confusion into a scoff. I wasn't about to let this dame make a monkey out of me. "What the hell for?"

"Same old Skittery Daniels. So predictable."

I sniffed. Right then, I had the sudden urge to take that stupid cigarette, flip it casually to the dirt and stamp my old, worn boot down on it. Predictable… that wouldn't be so damn predictable, would it?

But I didn't. It was a smoke. And, hell, I sure needed it right then.

So I did the next best thing. Drudgin' up all the memories and all the pain and all the shit I went through followin' that one damn night in January, I coldly eyed her. I lifted my head up and, with a voice that I didn't think I would ever use on a lady, I said three little words.

"Fuck you, Sunny."


Author's Note: Thanks you guys! I really appreciated the feedback on the first chapter… and, not to mention, the replies to the minor CC's were great. I will send out a character interests type survey sometime soon, in between the third and fourth chapter (they will appear in the fifth chapter and onward, as far as my outline dictates right now). Anywho, here's the next chapter. It answers a couple of unsaid questions while raising more. Fun times.