A/N Hello all! I apoligize for the lack of updates. Between the APUSH exam on Friday (AHHH!!), my dad moving to California for a year and life deciding to upchuck a ton of crap on me, my writing has been put on the back burner. But never fear, more updates shall soon be on the way!! Review please!!! (yeah, I'm saying it up here. You don't need two authors notes bugging you :)

I don't own Newsies. If I did, I would be with them right now, not studying for this APUSH exam.

PS- FYI, Meara is an Irish name based off of the Irish word mara, which means sea. Now onwards!


Spot burst into the Lodging House in a blaze of glory, the golden sun lighting his back dramatically as the limp girl in his arm began to stir. The boys sitting in the lobby waiting for their friends looked up in surprise.

"'Ey Spotty, a wee bit early for a conquest, ain't it?" Hothead, Spot's right hand man, asked in a thick Irish accent, laughing at the same time.

"Sod off Hothead," Spot said softly as he began to walk up to his room, ignoring the other crude comments he received.

Once Spot reached the bunkroom, he put the girl on his bed, noticing her odd choice of clothing. Old, baggy dark brown pants were complemented with a tight, well loved, green shirt. Through the holes a dark red undershirt was visible. A grey hat, the twin to his own in fact, was jammed on her head. A pair of clunky, round toed, black shoes was tied onto her feet by hot pink laces, clashing tastefully with the rest of her outfit. His eyes traveled from the odd clothing to the girl's face. Her face was peaceful in her unconscious state, even covered in cuts and bruises. A sharply pointed chin broadened out into an oval shaped face. Thin pink lips, a long, skinny nose and wide eyes were the most noticeable features. As her eyes fluttered freckles dotting her nose and high cheekbones became more apparent.

Suddenly her eyes popped open, and bright green caught the steely blue eyes for a moment, and then darted to the open window and a hole in the ceiling before coming to rest once again on the steely blue eyes of the boy in front of her. "You ok?" he asked gently, not wanted to startle the poor girl.

Mera nodded, avoiding speaking at the current moment. She sat up slowly, wincing as the multiple abrasions on her face and arms began throbbing. "Easy, easy," Spot said softly as he helped her sit up.

"Sos, who are you?" Spot asked in his heavy New York accent. Mera quickly spelt out her name with her hands in response.

"Um, don' wave your hands like dat, it's odd. Are ya gonna tell me who ya are now goil?" he asked, quickly losing patience. His lack of sleep caused his short fuse to become non- existant. Mera slowly and deliberately mirrored the same hand movements from earlier, with a look on her face that said Spot should know exactly what she was saying.

"Ok, now you're tickin' me off. Who are youse and why are youse in Brooklyn?" Spot yelled at the girl. She again lifted her hands to respond, but he wacked them down.

"TELL ME!" Spot roared, his quick temper now ignited. Mera's face turned a dangerous shade of red as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a notebook and a pen. Flipping to a blank page she wrote, 'I'm Mera, and you're a jerk. Mind telling me why you've decided to treat me like crap?'

"Mera, eh? Well Mera, why aren't you talkin' like every udder human bein'?" Spot asked, his temper barely under control again.

'Because I CAN'T you half-wit!' Mera wrote, her pen shaking with the same fury Spot had just possessed.

"Oh," Spot said, properly humiliated.

'Yeah, oh,' Mera wrote. Spot could've sworn that those words were as venomous as anything he spat out in anger, even though they were written on paper.

"Sos, you can' talk," Spot thought out loud, watching Mera's face for a reaction, emotion, or anything. And a reaction he got, if only for a split second. Mera's face showed nothing, but her eyes revealed pure, undiluted fear. She knew what men would do if they knew a girl wouldn't, couldn't, cry out for help. She had hardened herself to the idea long ago, but facing it again terrified her. She quickly hardened her glare again, knowing showing any signs of weakness would encourage potential attackers.

But that split second was enough. Spot saw the fear in her eyes, and sadness shot through his system. He knew that fear, knew what it was to be scared to leave a safe place. He knew that fear, and the hardness in her eyes mirrored the hardness in his own. Both had been abused by those they had trusted, and both were more afraid than they would ever show. With an uncharacteristic surge of affection Spot slowly inched towards her, putting his hand palm up on the bed.

"I know what youse gone through, and I knows how it feels," Spot started softly, treating her much like a hurt wild animal. He felt slightly bipolar, but knew that his unpredictable mood would keep her from getting to comfortable. Besides, she was the stranger in the weird clothes, not him. He doubted she could be comfortable in this situation anyways. He just wanted to keep her off balance so she would slip up.

'Yeah right, and I'm the President of the United States.' Mera wrote sarcastically. Spot didn't even know that writing sarcastically was possible, but it seemed to be.

"Well, stranger things have happened," Spot said thoughtfully.

'Like what?' Mera asked, laughter replacing the fear in her eyes.

"Well, oddly dressed women have fallen onto da docks in da middle of Brooklyn," Spot teased, gently tugging on her hat. She threw her head back in silent laughter as her hand found the hand Spot had left on the bed, letting him know she trusted him. For some reason her trust made him happier than he had felt in a long time.