Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies only characters not from the movie

Chapter 10

All of a sudden she couldn't breathe. There was a soft material covering her nose and mouth. One moment she was breathing full breaths of fresh air and the next there was barely any air to fill her lungs. Her immediate reaction was the panic that had consumed her body the night before. She jumped to a sitting position on her bed. Her eyes opened wildly trying to take in their surroundings. Instinctually her hands flew to her face but whatever had been covering it had fallen onto the bed. She saw a boy before her and as he turned to walk into his own private bathroom he called over his shoulder

"Wear your own damn clothes today, Brooklyn"

She looked down and saw her own familiar wardrobe on the bed in front of her. The pain from waking and sitting too quickly finally reached her head and she lay back on her pillow trying to regain some precious moments of sleep. It was a lost cause however and a few moments later she obtained the strength to pull herself from the bed.

"Spot! Get out of the bathroom!" she called to the closed door the boy had disappeared behind.

"No?"

"If you don't get out I cant change"

"Change in that room"

"There is no lock on this door"

"Don't care"

"Fine then I guess I'm wearing your clothes again"

The door creaked open and an unhappy looking Spot stood in the doorway. He couldn't switch rooms with her without mumbling inaudible phrases under his breath. When she had changed and readjusted her own clothes to fit her size she felt a sense of home from being back in her own clothes. She opened the door and threw his clothes back to him before brushing her fingers through her hair and trying to make it presentable for the day ahead.

"What the hell is this?" She heard his rough deep voice call through the closed door.

"What?" She responded confused

"Is this?…Is this blood?" He screamed anger and disbelief trailing his voice. He burst through the door that she hadn't bothered to lock after returning his clothes. "Brooklyn is this blood on my shirt?" he yelled the anger in his voice full blown.

"What the hell? What is that?" He continued ranting and he grabbed her wrist looking at the cuts on her knuckles. The blood had dried but it hadn't been washed off. There was a deep purple and blue color surrounding the deep brick red that was the cut. He grabbed the other hand facing a mirror image of the first. He looked at Brooklyn confused and angry.

"What the hell is this from?" He asked loudly still holding onto her wrists.

"The chimney" She responded angrily forcefully freeing her arms from his grasp.

"The chimney?" he repeated louder and more confused than before. "What? Did it start with you?" he screamed mocking her stupidity even through his anger.

"No, you started it" she yelled back trying to defend herself so she didn't seem so stupid and childish for punching a chimney.

"I started a fight between you and the fucking chimney?" he yelled his anger boiling. He released the shirt he had been holding and sent it flying in her direction. She snatched it clear out of the air.

"It was the night I had to sleep on the roof" She shot back hotly.

"That doesn't make any sense" he half-yelled frustrated.

"Neither does making me sleep on the roof" She yelled her own anger boiling

"You missed curfew!" He screamed at her and with on fluid motion he caught hold of her wrist again and took another look at her knuckles

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" He screamed toward the bloody mess her hand had turned into. "They could be infected. Didn't think of that did you?" he nastily snapped at her dragging her over to the sink. He turned it on with his free hand and forced her hand under the running water. The pain seared through her hand as though a knife had been stuck into her open wound rather than water. She jumped and tried to pull her hand back but he held it firmly. He took his shirt that she had carelessly dropped on the floor and rubbed the dry blood out of her hand leaving only the black and blue and scabs along her knuckles. Her breathing continued to increase from the pain of water running over the parts that had not yet healed. He repeated the process with her other hand and she tried not to show how much the pain bothered her. He threw his wet and stained shirt back to the floor and turned to face her. The anger had subsided and he shook his head at her as though she were a child.

"Ya know the least you coulda done was wash the shirt" he said much more calmly. With the adrenaline pumping through her body from the pain, her anger was far from over.

"Wash the shirt!" she screamed back at him "When the hell would I have time to do that?! I have to sell all day"

"You'd have time if you'd listen to me about the selling" he said his calm demeanor mocking her angry one.

"Shut up!" she yelled as she pushed past him he grabbed her arm and turned her around pointing to his shirt on the floor.

"Wash the shirt" it was a command.

"No, I have to sell"

"Not today"

"What does that mean?"

"Your not selling today"

"Yes I am"

"Wash my shirt, and actually you can dot his whole room while your at it" he spoke as he looked around the disgusting mess his room had become.

"I'm not 'at it'. I'm not cleaning anything I'm going to sell" She began to turn around and leave but he stopped her.

"Wrong"

"How am I supposed to make money then Spot? I'm not sleeping on the street just so you can have a clean shirt"

"I'll cover it"

"What about food?"

"I'll bring you some later" He turned and started walking out of the room.

"But I want to sell" she whined in a pleading attempt to get out of it. He didn't even respond to her outburst as he closed the door behind himself as he walked to face the day ahead of him.

She kicked his filthy shirt that lay on the floor, releasing some of her anger. The moment she'd done it she felt guilty. It was the least she could do to was his shirt after he'd saved her life the night before. The panic spread through her body momentarily before she silenced it. She knew that she was lucky he was there to save her. She felt grateful toward him and in that moment she wanted to thank him again and again for saving her life. She couldn't though and her next thought was of how much of a jerk that same boy was. It was almost impossible to feel grateful toward him. He made it so much easier to hate him than to appreciate him. As her thoughts circled she felt both anger and fondness toward the king of Brooklyn. So she decided she would obey today and wash his shirt since she felt that she did owe him for the previous night. She started to clean the room and she could not figure out Spot Conlon no matter how hard she tried to understand. Had he been nicer to her this morning her feelings toward him would have changed. However, since he was still being the jerk that he is it was hard for her to want to thank him. His attitude that morning was uncalled for. Spot Conlon was probably the only person who could do something as heroic as save a person's life and then act as though it had never happened. The door creaked open as she made the bed and who else but Spot walked into the room.

Think of the devil. She thought to herself. He held out some kind of offering wrapped in a greasy looking bag and she took it hungrily. She thanked him as she quickly wolfed down the food and he took a look around the place. He found his shirt hanging by the window and went to check the sleeves, nodding at their cleanliness.

"Place looks good" he commented as he took a bite of his own food

"Yeah" she agreed paying more attention to her free meal than to him.

"Maybe you should do this everyday. Ya know like a maid"

"No. no way I'm going back to selling tomorrow"

"If you call it selling"

"Don't make me clean everyday" she asked calmly pleading in her voice taking this approach as opposed to anger.

"No, you're a newsie you can sell tomorrow" he said matter of factly, a little taken aback by her abruptness and lack of fighting. "I gotta go." He said pointing to the stack of papers still under his arm.

"Hey Spot" she called as he was half way out the door

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." She said "For yesterday"

"Part of the job" he responded giving her a full Spot Conlon smile. She smiled back and then he left her alone for the second time that day. After he left she decided to give the main room of the lodging house some work, she really hadn't spent much time in there other than climbing through the window at night. Cleaning a place where more boys than anyone would want to count live is not an easy task and she gave up when the first newsie walked through the door about 10 minutes after she started.

She didn't hear him when he'd first walked in and he slowly crept up behind her. When he was finally directly behind her he grabbed the side of her so that it tickled and screamed "Boo!" she must have jumped a mile in the air and let out a blood-curdling scream. The panic from the previous night returned to her and she whirled around to face her attacker. When she turned around and realized that her attacker was only Brandy she started breathing heavily trying to calm down.

"You asshole" she said the only words she could make out as she tried to regain her composure.

"Somebody's jumpy today" he responded

"What are you doing back so early?" she asked changing the subject

"Finished selling, didn't take a lot of papes today. Bad headline"

"Gotcha"

"Why are you here?"

"Spot made me clean"

At that answer Brandy burst out laughing, no matter how many times she told him he refused to stop until he was wiping the tears from his eyes. His laughter filled the room and she couldn't help but smile and that ridiculously funny sound. Out of boredom and lack of anything else to do Brandy taught her how to play poker. After going through the rules and status of each hand they played a few practice games. As newsies came back from their day of selling they joined the game. The card game continued to grow until they had to pull both tables over to fit the amount of people in. Spot even played a few hands.

Despite anything you may have heard poker is a game of luck. No amount of skill is going to give a player a good hand it all comes down to luck of the draw. The skill comes in by having a poker face. A person can win game after game bluffing if they can pull it off without anyone realizing they're lying. Anyone raised on the streets would have developed a good poker face from having to put on a mask to hide their vulnerability. It was this skill that allowed Brooklyn to win the few games that she did and then finally after many games that night luck stepped in. She was holding in her hands the best hand she'd seen all night. It was a straight flush. A very good hand and as far as she was concerned it meant money in the bank. She called and raised every time the bet came her way. One by one the other players dropped out like flies claiming "too rich for my blood" as they folded. It was down to three people Ace, Spot and Brooklyn. Spot raised, Brooklyn called and raised, Ace dropped out. It was Brooklyn verse Brooklyn. They continued to raise the bet until neither had anything left to bet. It was stupid, the dumbest thing they could do was bet all the money they'd won that night. They needed that money it was rare that they even had twp pennies to rub together and here in front of them was a pot of coins and their greed wouldn't let them stop. It was that damn Brooklyn pride. Neither could be the one who said enough, and so the pot grew until there were no coins left to throw in it. They weren't done though, they just couldn't be. Someone still had to raise because they couldn't be the one not to. It was Brooklyn who had called and now she wanted to raise, she had to.

"Okay I call and loser has to sell papes for the other for 2 days."

"What?" Spot responded "I don't want you selling for me, I want to make money" She scowled at this realizing he was right she tried again.

"Loser has to do whatever the winner says the whole day tomorrow"

"What if I win?" he asked "You already have to do everything I say I'm leader." She scowled for a second time and the Brooklyn newsies erupted in amusement.

"Loser has to sleep on the roof" he offered "Oh wait you already did that" the laughter swelled as did Brooklyn's anger.

"Loser's gotta perform at Medda's tomorrow night" she said with a mischevious smirk on her face. Her eyes lit up with the excitement of a bet. She'd heard the boys talking about the show at Medda's the upcoming night. Medda's relationship with Jack and past of being not much better off than the newsies allowed her to sympathize with their daily struggles. To relieve the stress every so often she would open Irving Hall on one of her nights off when it would be closed and allow the newsies a free show liquor and all. Spot's eyes danced with the idea and then finally settled on a response.

"It's a bet" They shook on it, both grinning with the anticipation of seeing the other dressed to perform at Medda's. Whatever act they participated in it promised to be a very entertaining night, especially if the King of Brooklyn was going to dance onstage in front of all his newsies. The leader of men lowered to the mere entertainment. They settled the rules that Medda could decide what act they did so long as they were onstage in front of the newsies doing some kind of performance, probably embarrassing themselves for the entertainment of the other.

Grinning wildly she set her cards down in front of her. The face of her opponent was purely shock. As though someone had hit him hard enough to knock all the arrogance from his body. Then his eyes shifted from the icy blue of anger to the rich full blue of amusement. As he set his cards down his lips turned upward into his famous smirk. Brooklyn felt a sickening feeling as she looked down at the cards. Not stage fright, she was not granted the gift of song. Whatever she would have to do the next night would be painfully embarrassing and in front of a group of people who were not really her friends. Her stomach dropped as she stared at the cards trying to change the hand that lay in front of Spot Conlon. Only the King of Brooklyn could have had the infamous Royal Flush.

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--Siren