Author's note: Wow, we've come to the end. I hope you've enjoyed this story. Thanks to Jenny, Iris, Sweets, and especially Lange for reviewing.

The tombstone was already entangled in a mass of weeds, as no dedicated friend or family member existed to keep the area tidy. Dandelions had sprung up, although they seemed out of place in comparison to the bouquets of pink roses and lilies placed in front of other graves. The shadows cast from massive grave markers and statues of stern-faced angels covered the grave like a delicate blanket. The words carved into the stone would evidently soon be caked with a layer of dirt and grime. Yet one was still able to read the words clearly:

Joseph Philip Sarmons

1859-1900

Rest in Peace

Shadow wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, despite the intense summer heat. That morning, she had wondered what possessed her to want to travel to the solitary cemetery at the edge of Manhattan. Why would she wish to see the grave of the man who had been obsessed with her for years and nearly killed her? It was at the sight of the tombstone that she realized this was the end.

Ya don't gotta blame your behavior on anyone now, she told herself earnestly.

Her mind wandered back to the events that had taken place only a few weeks prior, just after Monahan had declared her innocent. Police later informed newspapers that Sarmons had suddenly gone insane and attacked the newsgirl in a blind rage. Shadow knew better. From the sounds of the gunshot and his wild laughter, she realized that Sarmons hadn't simply snapped; he had always been deeply disturbed, a problem that didn't even begin with her.

He woulda killed me for shoah, she admitted solemnly, if it hadn't been for Specs.

Specs had leapt like a panther at the detective, tackling him to the floor and causing him to lose his aim. I coulda gotten off a lot woise den jus' a hoit arm, she thought as she gazed down at her right arm, only just free of its sling. I can't believe I passed out, that day of all days. And in front of everybody else, no less. What am I gettin' ta be? A tremblin' mouse? She stopped and began to frown at the rest of the story. Specs, along with the bailiff and the warden of the Refuge, and pinned Sarmons to the floor.

So stupid, she thought, he coulda been killed.

The newsgirl, who had been told the entire story in detail by a wide-eyed Ivy, imagined what had happened. She could see Specs using the skills he had picked up on the streets to fight against the armed and insane Sarmons. When another gunshot exploded throughout the courtroom, the newsies jumped in fear that their peer had been killed. The newsboy had tossed himself back from the fray, fresh blood smeared across his shirt and his face as white as milk. The newsies' eyes all simultaneously widened at the sight and for a moment the room was consumed in an anxious silence. The next sound was that of the detective's last gasp for air.

Specs had remained on the courtroom floor, blinking not at the corpse before him but at his stained shirt. "I hope da nuns have anuddah one," he murmured unsteadily.

"Specs, ya okay?" Dutchy, moving to his friend's side, questioned cautiously as though he were faced with an injured animal prepared to fight.

"Yeah…yeah, I t'ink so…" he replied, growing still more pale. He pushed a trembling hand through his unkempt tresses. "He was tryin' ta shoot his way outta it, I guess. Ended up shootin' hisself. Funny, huh?" He began to laugh softly, then rather hysterically.

"Maybe ya need a doctah," the blonde boy remarked as calmly as possible.

Specs shook his head absently, his eyes traveling to the still body of Shadow, surrounded by Ivy, Violet and Crutchy. "No, I'se fine, really…is she okay?"

Shadow chewed at the corner of her lower lip as she considered these events. Her eyes were glazed and fixated upon the gravestone's carved words. Rest in peace…I guess it's da closest t'ing ta peace dat he'll evah get. The words seemed to ripple and she envisioned her own name scrawled across the stone. What if it was me, if I was six feet undahground by now? I guess I'd've said da same t'ing about me…

Shadow's mind wandered to the night she had spent in the Refuge, as Sarmons demonstrated his deranged desperation for the first time. It's all about trust, she remarked to herself, furrowing her forehead in sober thought. The sight of the detective's eyes flashing anxiously had spoken more clearly to the newsgirl than any available words could have. He couldn't trust his wife and he killed her, maybe even when deah wasn't anyt'ing ta distrust her about. A vision of a young woman lying cold on a carpet was quickly replaced by the memory of Bainesworth's corpse. Even deah, it's about trust. His wife trusted him too much, when he shouldn't've been trusted at all.

"Ya gotta know how ta trust. And when ya find dem, deah can't be da slightest doubt," she murmured so softly that her words were consumed by the faint breeze.

Returning her attention back to the grave, Shadow realized that she was now at the edge of a precipice. Perhaps, with the fighting instincts of a lifetime, things would be far more difficult than anything she had ever experienced. But den again, Shadow thought as a slow smile suffused at the edges of her lips, it could be beddah den anyt'ing else I've known befoah.

Images of the newsies flashed cheerfully inside of her eyelids. So maybe Medda's right. It only took me a night in jail, a trial, and a bullet in my arm to find out.

Several days ago, as the newsies gorged on a breakfast of nearly stale rolls and weak coffee, Pocket had cautiously approached the raven-haired newsgirl. Casting the other newsies anxious looks, she stepped to Shadow's side and squeaked out a poor excuse for small talk.

"Heya, Shadow."

Shadow, who had never been a morning person, glared at her fellow newsgirl through narrowed eyes. "Hey," she muttered noncommittally.

"Nice weadah we'se havin', ain't it?" she remarked, nodding her head as though the other girl had agreed. Before Shadow could say anything in response, concurring or otherwise, Pocket spit out, "So ya really killed dat guy, huh Shadow?"

She blinked at the girl, her frown deepening. "Yeah."

"Well, why? Was he some kinda deranged psycho who was gonna cut you'se head off and wear you'se ribcage as a hat? What made ya do it?"

Although she realized that Pocket was inquiring out of her innate need to know everything about everyone and not simply some sick pleasure, Shadow couldn't resist dropping her voice dramatically low as she replied: "It was because he had da irritatin' habit of askin' too many interferin' questions of people dat didn't feel like givin' him answers."

Pocket's eyes widened to the size of carriage wheels. "Oh," was all she could murmur before she turned swiftly on her heel and marched away.

Shadow shook her head good-naturedly as she thought of the newsies- Ivy and Specs, Jack and Violet, Crutchy and Twink, and even Pocket. She had taken so much effort to cut herself off from them, even when she lived among them and should have known better. And now, when she had no physical enemy to confine her, she knew she would have to raze the protective walls that she had taken such pains to build around her heart.

For a moment, as a real shadow cascaded over the newsgirl's body, it seemed as though the sun had entirely disappeared. She blinked and frowned momentarily, but then a small grin reappeared. Without even glancing backwards, she mumbled, "So, you'se makin' a livin' outta followin' me, or do ya jus' enjoy it?"

"It's da only true joy I got," Specs retorted facetiously as he rolled his eyes towards the startlingly bleu sky. He paused for a moment and his tone softened as he continued, "I t'ought ya might be heah…ya okay?"

She drew a deep breath, the air smelling of freshly cut flowers, horses, and pretzels crystallized with salt. "Yeah, " she replied as she lifted herself off of the damp earth and turned to face her friend, "I am."

"Good." He smiled mischievously and adopted a playfully smug expression. "Da crowd y St. Patrick's is great tahday. And I didn't save you'se life jus' ta let ya waste a golden opportunity."

Eyebrow raised critically, Shadow smirked at the newsboy. "So what am I supposed ta do, t'ank ya or somet'ing?" she inquired. Just as Specs was about to sigh and think that some things would never change, Shadow's countenance changed to one of seriousness, caution, and something else he couldn't name.

"Specs?" she asked as her stomach twisted violently. She seemed to have suddenly become fixated on her tattered boots. "I jus' wanted ta…well…see…I wanted ta tell ya…"

On any other occasion, Specs would have piped up with some sarcastic remark. But with the newsgirl, who had always seemed so cool and detached, looking so vulnerable, he found the usual words stuck in his throat. "Yeah?"

Let go…a very distant, but very gentle voice whispered in Shadow's mind. Before another, more vicious voice had the opportunity to response, the newsgirl had gathered every ounce of courage that existed in her soul and flung her arms desperately around her friend's neck.

Specs's eyes widened in shock and for a moment he wondered what odd dream had he stumbled into? He carefully wound his arms around Shadow and had to smile to himself as he mused. Indifferent outsider, immoral whore, merciless killer…Whatever Shadow had been, it really didn't seem to matter at all now.

When they separated, the newsgirl half-smiled self-consciously and absently pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. She was still unable to meet Specs's eyes. "T'anks," she whispered, her voice mingling with the breeze.

A smile spread across his lips as he replied just as quiet, "You'se welcome." He raised his thoughtful eyes to the blue skies that spread like wings over the city. Turning back to his companion, he handed her a stack of papers and nodded towards the cemetery's gated entrance. "Come on, we'd beddah get sellin' befoah da oddahs get all da good customahs."

Shadow met her friend's eyes as she accepted the papers. For a moment, she recalled that night when she had sobbed in the gutter and felt as though she would drown in her own tears. Staring into Specs's eyes, she felt as though she were drowning again, although another sort of drowning altogether. As the two marched through the cemetery's massive iron gates and were swept away into the sea of pedestrians on the sidewalk, Shadow swore that, for the first time in years, she felt her heart begin to stir.

~~The End