Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.

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The Lark

The Sparrow has Sarah, that much is certain.
Now, with Jack and Spot's help, it's up to David and his new friend Teller to find the Sparrow and save Sarah in time.
If, of course, he can…

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"Jack..."

Teller placed her hand on Jack's arm—whether it was in sympathy or a warning, I couldn't tell—but he huffed and shook it off. He was breathing heavily, his frayed temper already fragile as it was, but he kept his mouth shut. I think he remembered how important this was, just how much was at stake.

I decided that I should probably jump in and help so, in an attempt to draw his attention away from Jack—and give Jack a little more time to cool down—I turned to Grampa and asked, "Just where are we exactly?"

He looked at me as if seeing me standing there for the first time. Now that he was done baiting Jack, I guess it was my turn. "I take it you've never been this way before, have ya?"

Was it really that obvious? "No," I said, more harshly than I meant to, "I haven't."

"Then you're in luck!" Grampa roared, spreading his arms wide as he laughed loudly. His response and his glee were so overwhelming, so sudden, that I had to take a step back. He seemed to be filling up more than half the room alone. "The theatre life, boyo, it's a grand life and there ain't no theatre grander than the Bowery Theatre. It's seen it all. Irish plays, Yiddish theatre, and even now Italian vaudeville. And it's like a beautiful phoenix. Been burned down so many times but it always rises up from the ashes, bigger and better than before."

Teller just nodded but Jack, still visibly angry and obviously hesitant to join in on the conversation, muttered to me out of the side of his mouth. "Phoenix? What the hell's a phoenix?"

I could feel my brow furrowing as I tried to remember where I'd heard that word before. And then I got it. "It's a bird," I told him, almost scowling. A bird—figures. "I learned about them in lessons. The phoenix is a bird in mythology that, when it dies, it bursts into flames. But it's not really dead because it is reborn from its own ashes."

"Aye and you're absolutely right," Grampa said, impressed. "And it's a fittin' name, too, for the place I've come to roost in. Wouldn't ye say so, Teller?"

"Yeah, sure. But you know and I know that this ain't actually part of the theatre," Teller pointed out smugly. Something about the way she said that peaked my interest. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't anything new to her, that she'd been here before.

"No, it's not. And to answer your question, boyo," he said, glancing at me again, "this part used to be an old tavern and a cattle market. Backstage keeps rooms for the stagehands and the chorus performers… not the big names, no, they get the Waldorf… and then a couple o' boarders or two. Me dad, he used to pull the curtains and set the scene for the theatre when he was a lad, back when this was an Irish place. The Italians, it ain't the same with them, but they're pretty obligin' when a fella needs a place to stay."

"And all the chorus girls don't hurt either, huh?"

Grampa laughed that strange deep laugh he had. The entire cot seemed to shake with the short, barking blasts. "Charmin' as ever, me girl. Don't ya ever change?"

"Never," she declared defiantly.

"Then I'm glad." He shook his head, grinning wryly as he stood up and gestured towards the three of us. "Well, I'm sure you ain't here to blarney about the old days or show off your young man—" he paused there, nodding over at me in particular. Before I'd even worked out what he meant I could feel my face heating up, "—so why don't ya tell me what you're doin' my way. 'Specially since you've already gone to see dear Meggie first."

Teller lost a little bit of her swagger then as the truth behind our visit was remembered. After Jack had shaken her hand off his shoulder she'd kept it at her side; she was tapping her fingers anxiously against the patched pocket of her threadbare skirt. A small frown and a tiny shrug as she pointedly looked past Grampa, all humor gone, told him much more of our intent than any words could ever do.

Picking up on her shift in mood, his good mood and cheer vanished almost immediately. Mirroring her frown, he rubbed his large hand over his face. Grampa sighed and, in that one sound, he looked much older than he had before. "C'mon now, Teller. Don't say it's got anything to do with him."

"I wouldn't be here if it didn't."

"Why not? Don't you enjoy me company?"

Grampa was the kind of man you couldn't keep down for long. Maybe he was trying to make light of the situation—that, or trying to pretend there wasn't a situation at all—because his smile was back in place. It was strained but it was there—and so were the jokes.

Even Teller's frown wavered, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Not as much as others," she teased. From the way she said it, I don't think I was alone in remembering the half-naked redheaded woman who was in the room with Grampa when we first arrived.

The man didn't even have the decency to look ashamed at her outright implications. With a loud bark that seemed to shake the room, he laughed until Teller's next words wiped the smile clean off his face.

"Grampa, I… we need your help."

And then he was serious, all thoughts of cheap performing girls gone from his mind. He was scratching his chin again, absently plucking the dark, coarse hairs of his beard. "Ya know I don't do that anymore," he said at last.

"Yeah, and I know that ya haven't gone as underground as you'd like everyone to think."

"Oh, ya know, do ye?"

"How else do you explain yourself? The Bowery, Grampa? And Meggie?" She scoffed, suddenly every inch of the spitfire I knew she could be. "You haven't moved more than five blocks away in all this time. There's no way ya lost touch with all the fellas."

"No," he retorted, "just the ones at the top."

"Because ya turned yellow and turned tail on 'em," Teller snapped, her hands on her hips. Like a mother scolding her child, she looked down on Grampa with severity in her dark blue eyes. "So what does that mean anyway? Ya ain't gonna help? Ya ain't gonna help me, Shaunassey?"

That did it. Whether it was the way her voice cracked or just the use of his name, Teller's lecture brought about the most sheepish, guilty look to ever cross his face. Folding his arms over his barrel-sized chest, Grampa leaned back into his cot. He was giving in. "I might've… well, the stagehands do like to talk."

She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Yeah, and they ain't the only ones."

If he heard her mutterings, he ignored her. "The Sparrow, eh? You try to forget but he's one stubborn bastard who won't let ya. I've been told he was back around again but I didn't want to believe it. They say he's got some pretty little bird in tow with him, too, one he's taken to callin' the Lark."

"The Lark?" I asked hopefully. It sounded like the Sparrow already had a girl on his arm. Maybe he wasn't really after Sarah—maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe…

Grampa's beady eyes met mine and, I swear, there was pity in them. "I'd drop that grin, young Davey, if I was you. The Lark, she's your sister."

I didn't really register what he meant at first. I got that we were—unfortunately—talking about Sarah, and it irked me when I finally figured what the Sparrow's nickname for her added up to. Like his name, and the pet name he had for Meggie, the Sparrow had given my sister a name of her own that matched his; a lark, another small, brown bird like a sparrow, with a sweet cry and a stubborn streak. It suited Sarah, and I had to admit that it was a relief to learn that, for sure, Sarah was with him; that, and that Sarah wasn't considered a meadowlark like Medda Larkson.

With all that on my mind, it never occurred to me to wonder just how Grampa knew who Sarah was, or how she was my sister. He even knew my name! Teller hadn't been able to introduce me on account of Jack's outburst but somehow he knew. He knew my name and he knew my sister—

—and Teller didn't look surprised in the least.

"Why don't you tell us something we don't know? The Sparrow's been back for ages now, long enough to pick out the Jacobs girl as his next pet. He didn't make his move until Friday," she told him. It was odd, hearing Teller talk about it all so calmly. Just being reminded made me itch to go back outside and recklessly continue my search. Only a touch of good sense—and an uncertainty of how to navigate the labyrinth to go back outside—kept me still as I listened to Teller.

"It's Sunday now," she was saying. "Three days and there hasn't been nothin' from him but his sign and a tossed rock. It ain't like him to hide, and I can't find him. That's why I'm here, that's why I went after Meggie. I promised I'd help Dave and I mean to."

Grampa absorbed everything she had to say, nodding to himself as he did. He was quiet for a minute before he held out one of his hands. "What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me where he is."

He sighed, letting his hand drop on the cot. "I can't tell ya that."

"Why not?" asked Jack, fire in his voice. He'd been biding his time, quiet as he listened to everything Teller and Grampa had to say. But now that the conversation had been steered towards a topic he cared about himself—namely Sarah and her capture by the Sparrow—he didn't feel the need to stand off to the side anymore. "Ya just told Teller you was gonna help. Goin' back on your word?" He was as riled up as me now.

"No, boyo." Grampa shook his head, not sure if he should be offended or amused by Jack's attitude. "I can't tell ya 'cause I don't know meself."

"Oh." Jack rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, as sheepish now as Grampa had been after Teller's scolding. "I knew that."

Teller rolled her eyes. She wasn't impressed at the way Jack just jumped in there; after telling everything to her old friend, I think she wanted to be the one to get the information out of him. I noticed her upset and I remembered what Jack had told me when we were standing together outside of Bottle Alley. Maybe the two of them really didn't get on like that. I'd been so preoccupied by the obviously strained relationship between Teller and Spot that I never paid much attention—with the exception of their proximity—to the way they regarded each other.

"I don't get it," Teller said roughly, her voice gruff and thick with pent up frustration. "Meggie sent us your way after Racetrack Higgins told us to see her. I never had this much trouble trackin' him down before. Why doesn't anyone know where to find the Sparrow?"

If I didn't think Teller might slap me for my forwardness, I might've just kissed her for her question. She'd been able to put into words the one thing that was really nagging me. Why couldn't we find him? He had to be somewhere… but where?

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, lassie."

She scowled at the name again but didn't say anything. She stared at Grampa instead, her eyes narrowed sharply as she waited for him to continue.

He got the hint.

"If you want to find the Sparrow… find him before he comes a lookin' for you, I mean… you're gonna have to go after the Pigeon first."

"The Pigeon?" Jack said, almost disbelievingly. For the only time since we entered Grampa's room, Jack was wearing that cocky grin of his. "I thought he was a myth."

The grin was short-lived as Grampa countered with a knowing smirk. "That's what a lot of folks say about the Sparrow."

Somehow I should've expected this. Teller was right when she said everyone sends us to someone else—now Grampa was doing it, too. And who was it this time? The Pigeon? First there was the Sparrow, Songbird, the Lark and now this? The Pigeon? These bird names were beginning to get to me. And to think I used to regard all of the newsies' nicknames as something ridiculous. I'd never secretly snicker at Snoddy's name again after this!

This new information seemed to rattle Teller. She blinked a few times, almost as if she wasn't sure what she had heard him say. Letting her long braid rest over her right shoulder, she shook her head. "Why would the Pigeon know where the Sparrow was? And, even if he did, why would he tell us?"

"I think you misunderstood. I don't think the Pigeon knows anymore than you do," Grampa explained, his grin suddenly mischievous , "but, before long, the Sparrow'll be where the Pigeon is."

"Why's that?"

"From what I've heard, he's gunnin' for the Pigeon. The Jacobs lad," he said, nodding over at me. I kept my face straight, trying to hide the discomfort his look gave me, "he's playin' second fiddle right now. The Sparrrow's got all his birdies out lookin' for the Pigeon. They way I figure it, ya get to the Pigeon first, you'll meet up with he Sparrow sooner or later."

"Ya know, for someone who doesn't live that life no more, ya sure do hear a lot."

"I still got ears, and I use 'em, too. 'Course I still hear some things, Teller, me girl. Don't you?"

"No." Teller turned her head slightly to her left, shooting me a quick and uneasy look before turning back to shrug at Grampa. "Not anymore."

I didn't like the way that Teller looked at me then, either.

The room went quiet, nobody having anything to say. Well, no, that wasn't true. As awkward and as tense a mood as ever had settled over us all after Grampa made his pronouncement—even though I couldn't really explain why it hit it us all that way—and only a sharp jab in my side courtesy of Jack's elbow brought my attention around.

Frowning, I lifted my head up, making sure to keep my eyes away from both Grampa and Teller. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me and I wished I didn't. Exhaustion crept up on me as I could still hear Grampa's words ringing in my ear.

"So, the Pigeon, huh?" Jack asked, speaking my thoughts out loud. Looking at me out of the corner of his eye, his voice sounded as tired as I suddenly felt.

I couldn't help it. I groaned out loud.

Finding the Sparrow was turning out to be much harder than I ever thought.


Author's Note: So, are we finally getting somewhere? Oh, goodness, I hope so ;)

-- stress, 02.12.09