Ace of Hearts

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Whew! This chapter is really long, perhaps one of my longest. I'm not quite sure I'm happy with it though and I feel like something's wrong around the rally bit, but then again, I tend to be really critical about my own stuff. Oh yeah…I'm sorry for being so fickle, but I found yet another girl for Ace…I think I picked her above Alexis and Avril. There you go:

http:(slash)(slash)www.geocties.jp/kosmeokanai/aceofhearts.htm

Disclaimer: Ace, Fire, Smoke, Swipes, Lil, and Trek, are mine. AAAAALLL mine! Everyone else belongs to Disney or to the great readers/former readers of this story.

Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review!


I feebly searched around for an excuse, for a reason, for anything to decline Spot's 'kind' offer, but nothing came to mind. I glanced at Milkshake and Pithon, who grinned before walking away. I felt like calling to them, telling them not to leave me alone with Spot, but they obviously weren't going to do anything of the sort. I turned back to Spot, who was still waiting. I sighed and reminded myself of my resolution to at least pretend to be nicer to Spot.

"Okay," I said, standing up, "But don't expect me to be a fast learner," I added quickly.

Spot smiled. I knew what a fast fighter he was, especially after that incident with Swiper at Medda's party. So I ought to be happy to get to learn stuff from him, who was probably one of the best. But I was more uncomfortable than happy.

I stood there nervously as Spot gave me a scrutinizing look from my head to toe. He looked serious, but I wasn't too sure. Maybe he knew that I'd get mad if I saw any trace of humor in his face. After all, I already felt somewhat humiliated.

"So," he said. I tried not to look sullen. "Someone punches at you. What do ya do."

I shrugged. "Duck."

His fist came in a calculated arc towards my face. It was slow, so I was able to easily duck down and avoid it. Spot was smiling now, but I knew he wasn't laughing at me. I smiled tentatively back, feeling a little better.

"Okay, good, but dis is another way. Throw me a punch."

I gave him an uncertain look. He grinned. "I know you can punch; I saw that shiner on Fire dat day, remember?"

I felt myself grin back at the memory and took a deep breath before hooking a fast right. He flung up an arm to block it. The impact of his arm against mine nearly knocked me off balance and I felt myself flush an even deeper red. There. I made a fool out of myself. I hope he was happy.

Spot was no longer grinning and had a calm, serious expression on his face. "Nice one." And then he went into explaining how my arm should be in a straight line with my wrist, how I should allow strength from my shoulder to be the main force behind the bunch, how my fingers should be placed, and etc. He paused after I had sent him another quick punch at his bidding and looked at me with a smirk. "I thought you just said you couldn't fight?"

"I…ah…," I stumbled for words. "I can't. I mean, I guess I meant I can't up to your standards." I sighed inwardly. Spot always made me sound like a fool.

"We had lots of, eh, misunderstandings at the orphanage. And I also lived on the streets a couple of years," I hastened to explain as he raise his eyebrows. "You pick up little things."

He smiled again, but this time I simply couldn't read what he was thinking (well, when can I?) and then he nodded as if saying, 'Okay. I'll accept that.' I watched as he flexed his arm.

"Well, dats how ya punch. Now blockin'. Da way I jus' did. Just tighten the muscles in your arm so the impact gets absorbed, den you push in just da right way."

Without wasting another word, he threw another arcing punch towards my face. I tried following Spot's example by throwing up my left arm and the shock jarred up all the way to my shoulder down to my toes. Almost instinctively, my right arm flew up in an uppercut. Don't ask me why, but it just felt like the natural thing to do.

Spot sprang back with lightening reflexes, but to my complete amazement, my fist clipped his jaw slightly and there was an audible click as his teeth slammed together. He blinked and then looked at me with this queer look. I gaped, stared, bit my lip, looked away, and then burst out laughing.

I could sense Spot narrow his eyes at me, but I couldn't help stop the laughter from pealing out. The shocked, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on Spot's face had been priceless! In my mind, Spot was always the cool, calm, and collected guy who I could never get through, but man, that look!

The next thing I knew, something hooked itself behind my ankle and tugged slightly, but it was enough for me to completely lose my balance. I yelped and went toppling backwards into the pile of fishing nets behind me. I didn't hit the ground too hard, but it more or less knocked the breath out of me, cutting my laughter abruptly. I winced and frowned at Spot. He was chuckling now.

"Well, at least dat got you to stop."

I felt myself smile despite myself. "You're just miffed I got you."

Spot shrugged. "It was a lucky punch and it only got me because I wasn't expectin' it at all. Once in a lifetime thing." His lips tugged upwards. "Well, it's not happenin' again."

For a second, we both knew that the tension that had always between us had lessened. It didn't disappear, but it did lessen. At least, I wasn't glaring and I was actually smiling back at him, so I guess that was a step towards the right direction.

To my surprise, which I knew he saw all too plainly, he reached down to help me get up. I paused a little at this sudden gentleman-ly action from Spot and then took his hand to pull myself up. I noticed briefly at how cold his hand was in mine and then went red. I told myself there was no way he could have read that thought off my mind…but then who knows with Spot?

"Thanks," I quickly let go in a pretense of brushing imaginary dirt off my clothes with my hands. Spot's smile was gone when I looked up, but it was replaced with his usual calm, impassive look which I wasn't sure whether I hated or not.

In the next few minutes, Spot had told me how to throw a correct uppercut (he claimed that the one I had just caught him with wasn't correct), where an opponent is the most vulnerable, and all these little tips and techniques he knew and I really didn't understand. It was more than obvious that he was holding back and that he was being very careful not to hurt me, but I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. I was a lot more relaxed than before, though and I admit that it was fun learning all this.

Of course, 'fun' didn't mean I wasn't tired when I got back to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Sher and Sodapop were the only ones there, the both of them lying on their beds and happily snoring away.

I glanced at the old pocket watch hanging over Milkshake's bunk post. The rally was starting at six tonight and if Milkshake's watch worked, which I highly doubted, I had about three hours to kill. An hour or so of sleep sounded nice…


I woke up with a start, as if something had jerked me out of sleep. Thankfully, I didn't shoot up to hit the top bunk again. I turned and saw nearly all the Brooklyn girls doing something or another in the room. Artemis was whistling a strange melody which I knew she made up, Milkshake was shaking her pocket watch up and down in an effort to make it work, and Ob was swearing loudly because she couldn't find her hat.

"Da foist thing I'm gonna do when-," started Sodapop happily as she tried to comb out the tangles in her hair.

The whistling abruptly stopped and I sighed as I went for the washroom. Time to get ready.

"If you even dare finish dat sentence one moah time, I'm gonna soak you so bad dat you can't go to da rally tonight!" Artemis' hiss, quiet as it was, was threatening enough for me to know that I ought to stay out of her way tonight. Jackal had probably ticked her off again.

"Okay, okay, no need t'lose yoah tempah like dat…," Sodapop mumbled, yanking at one particular spot in her brown hair. I went off towards to the washroom, half-laughing.

We all wanted to look our best for the rally, because of the many newsies coming from all over New York. Even Cat was scrutinizing herself in her usual calm, impassive way.

I wrinkled my nose at my reflection in the cracked mirror in front of me. The slowly healing gash on my forehead was painfully obvious and I frowned. I hated this 'stage' when, you know, cuts and stuff begin to scab over. So disgusting.

I splashed water onto my face, wiping gently around the gash. I narrowed my eyes at a streak of dirt on my chin and furiously rubbed at it until it came off. I ended up with my skin looking red. I sighed again. I was never good at appearances.

There wasn't much to do really. Not that I had nothing to improve (I knew I hated practically every feature I had), but I couldn't really do anything about it. I haphazardly ran a hand through my dark brown hair in an effort to smooth it out, but it was hopeless, because it simply came out looking wildly uncontrollable. I hastily flattened it down with water before anything worse happened.

I returned to my bunk to grab my cloak and shook it out, sending dust and little particles of dried dirt wooshing into the air. Milkshake coughed and shot me an annoyed look, but she soon returned to trying to fix her watch again.

I was proceeding in gathering my hair together as I always did, except in a cleaner way this time, when I heard light footsteps coming from the boys' room. Everyone else was busy to really care, but I looked up from where I was sitting on my bunk. Spot's lean form came in view and he leaned against the door frame, watching the bustle with amusement through the wide-open door.

He lightly tapped the floor with his cane to get our attention, which he easily got.

"Let's go," he said simply. I looked at him closely. His hat was off and his dirty-blonde, darkish-streaked hair suspiciously looked like it had been combed. Well. At least I knew that it wasn't just the girls who were picky about how they looked tonight. He nodded to us and then walked down the stairs.

I felt another tingling of excitement. At first I had not altogether looked forward to the rally, but now I couldn't wait. Call me fickle, but I was just like that. Just think of all the newsies from The Queens, Bronx, West Side, Harlem, and, of course, Manhattan…and other boroughs which I really wasn't informed about. They were all coming and it was all for just one cause. I smirked a little as I wondered what they were thinking about us Brooklynites going to the rally.

Enough with that, I told myself fiercely. This was for the strike, for Jack, and for all of us. It was going to be fun, yeah, but the real purpose for the rally was for us to be too much of a united voice for Pulitzer to handle. Not for me to feel all good about being in the most powerful borough in New York. Anyway…I felt a flare of humor, I was becoming arrogant…a sure sign of my becoming a Brooklynite.

I shrugged on the cloak and grabbed for my hat. I brushed it off and firmly placed it down on my head. I ran downstairs and out of the Lodging House, to find Spot waiting alone, which wasn't that much of a surprise, because he liked being early, but I stopped short anyway.

He turned towards me as I barged out, his hands in his pockets. We just looked at each other for some time, waiting for someone to speak. I forced myself to remember how surprisingly nice he was earlier so I gave Spot a smile that I hoped looked friendly. He didn't look startled, but I think he was, because he didn't give his usual I-knew-it-all-along smirk back. He turned away and took one hand out of his pockets to fiddle with the golden top of his cane.

"Y'ready?" he asked quietly without looking at me, his breath making white mist in the cold air. I shot him a sidelong glance and answered an affirmative. He didn't smile, he didn't smirk, and he didn't do anything.

For a while, we stayed in a silence that was horribly stifling to me. Spot seemed perfectly fine, looking up at the growing, still-dim stars, but I was tense and waiting for him to say something. It was like watching for a hammer to fall on me or something, because Spot always said the most unexpected things that always somehow ruffled my feelings. The silence grew long until I felt I couldn't bear it anymore.

"Do you think it'll be crowded?" I blurted suddenly, causing Spot to glance at me with raised eyebrows. I felt like an utter fool. My voice had sounded too loud in my ears. And of course it was going to be crowded. You know it was going to be crowded. Spot gave me a look full of an expression I completely couldn't read.

"Yeah," he answered shortly and I flushed, looking down at the ground and jamming my hands into my pockets while bitter thoughts raced through my head. Where was that slight friendliness I had felt towards him earlier on this afternoon? Wherever it was, it was far, far away...

I was spared from further embarrassment as I heard a loud pounding of the others charging down the stairs. Spot smiled a little, tipped his hat to me, and strode down the street. I made a face at his back and waited for the rest, before following.

As I said, Spot liked being early. That was why we arrived at Medda's place perhaps half an hour before everyone came. The last time I came, it had already been crowded because Medda's party had been in full gear.N owI was struck by the stark emptiness. The hall was huge and the lack of people made it seem enormously vacant.

"Hey Spot!"

Jack strolled over from where he had been speaking to Medda. Spot's grey eyes flickered over to him and he smirked a little, but it didn't grow.

"Heya Jack," Spot said, striding towards the tall Manhattan leader. I watched them spitshake and Spot nodded to us. We went off our separate ways, some of us heading towards the Manhattaners and the others sort of wandering around the vacant hall.

Race spotted me and called me over, where he was helping set up more chairs and tables with Skittery and Mush. I began to help too, but Skittery wouldn't have any of it and snatched away the chairs I had picked up. I looked up sharply at his towering form in surprise.

"Girls shouldn't go 'round carryin' tables an' chairs," he stated darkly and carried the chairs towards his table. I blinked, unable to make up my mind whether I thought that it was sweet of him to do something like that or that he was making some form of insult.

"Hah," I declared and began helping out anyway. Race laughed good-naturedly and began wiping the tables. I paused, surprised at how carefully he was cleaning the wooden tables. I had never expected Race to be the nitpicky type.

"Medda told us to," he said, answering my questioning look. He scowled so fiercely and it didn't suit his usual cheekiness at all so I couldn't help but laugh. "More like threatened really," he continued, She wanted da tables clean. We told her dey was gonna to get dirty anyways, but she'd have none of it."

I grabbed two more chairs and smiled at him innocently, "Yes, and I suppose the fact that you'd do anything Medda'll tell you has nothing to do with it, right?"

Racetrack just grinned back and went off to the next table. Mush came back for more chairs, his face set in concentration to his task. Even with the serious look however, his soft features still looked friendly as ever. I greeted him and he answered with a smile that lightened up his face so brightly that I couldn't help but notice again one of the many differences between Manhattanners and Brooklynites. While they answered with a smile,Brooklynites just answer with a dark scowl or a noncommittal nod. Of course, not all of us did; I could never scowl without looking strangely like I had a toothache.

Spot soon had the rest help out and before long, the place was full of empty seats and bare tables. By then, the Queens had come. I managed to meet up with Shooter and Professor again, which was nice, but I couldn't stay long to talk to them because Milkshake called me over to sit at her table with Pike and Sodapop.

Food and drinks were on one long table at the side and, as I walked over to get some, I realized this had to be Medda's doing, especially the drinks. There was no way any of us could afford that large a quantity of rootbeer (Spot had been saddened there was 'no beah? No beah at all?').

Then came the many newsies from Bronx, then Harlems, and the next thing I knew, Medda's place was just as full and as crowded as I had imagined it to be. The Bronx were a loud bunch, very raucous and somewhat rude. Of course, that was just my first impression of them and that could be because one huge guy who looked well into his twenties with beetle-y eyebrows had bowled me over and had continued on his way without even seeing me on the floor. I had scrambled up quickly before anyone noticed me, but Spot had seen and motioned for me to get to back to my table.

I quickly got my rootbeer and went quickly back to Milkshake, self-consciously pushing my way past a small group of guys from West Side talking. Guys usually didn't make me nervous, but somehow these West Side newsies did, especially when they were eyeing everyone around them like that.

I sipped my rootbeer and watched as more and more newsies trickled through the door in a steady stream. Some of them were as young as Lil (yes, I met up with her as well, though thankfully I saw no signs of her brother) while others, like the guy who had sent me sprawling, were in their twenties. But the majority was teenagers and not all of them seemed very friendly. Still, no fights had broken out so far and most of them were talking, meeting up with newsies they had not seen for some time, eating, or drinking.

As soon as everyone, as in everyone, was here, Spot and Jack stood up and walked over to the front. We cheered and those two were the few guys every newsie knew, or at least heard about, so they all cheered with us. Jack, a smile on his good-looking face, beckoned a boy out of his side out of the crowd. I watched curiously as the dark, curly-haired boy nervously stumbled near Jack's side.

With a start, I recognized him. He had come with Jack and that little black boy on the day with the news of the strike…and the day Spot had pushed me into the dock water. I flushed a little, no longer feeling irritated and angry as I always used to at the memory, but embarrassed.

I had not heard the curly-haired boy's name, but I waited, knowing sooner or later I would find out. Jack quieted us down and, that huge smile still on his face, raised a fist as if in triumph.

"Carryin' da Banner!' he yelled, his clear voice ringing in the silence loudly.

The answering roar was deafening, like a tidal wave crashing over me with tremendous force. I felt a grim sort of smile grow on my face. I'd like to see Pulitzer try and break a group as unified or as defiant as we were. Denton had promised Jack to print this out on The Morning Sun and that would certainly be a nice little blow against that nasty newspaper giant.

"First off," Jack began as every newsie in the hall listened attentively, "I just wanna thank everyone fer comin'. Dis is gonna hit Pulitzer real hard 'cos he can't do anythin' about us gathering an' having a big, loud rally like dis."

Cheering erupted again as we soaked up Jack's words. Spot just stood at Jack's side, his presence simply radiating power and support. It was as if him being there dared any disagreeing newsie to speak up against Jack.

"We Manhattaners got into a bit of trouble da other day, I'm sure you all know," Jack continued and the slightest of smirks flashed across Spot's face. Jack quickly glanced at him and said, "Brooklyn helped us out and if dey didn't, we'd probably not have gone dis far."

I knew how much he didn't like saying it. Leaders had their pride and Spot had just prodded Jack's with that small smirk. But Jack knew better than to take credit away from Spot.

"But I know," Jack said, regaining his confident smile and charisma from that momentary lapse of humility, "Pulitzer's not gonna let us newsies just win like dat. He's thinks we'll give up easy after he puts up a little more of a fight. But we ain't so soft, are we?"

A loud chorus of "No!" answered that question. Jack's smile turned into a grin and he took up his speech again.

"So, we've come a long way, but we ain't dere yet and maybe it's only gonna get tougher from now on. But dat's fine, we'll just get tougher with it!"

Scattered yells of agreement and some profane insults against Pulitzer rose from Harlems, but we didn't break into another cheer again. We sensed Jack was coming to the main point of his talk.

"But also," he paused and seemed to chose his next words carefully. Yep, he was getting to it, "We gotta get smart an' start listening to my pal David heah," he slung an arm across the curly-haired boy, who smiled nervously, "who says 'stop soakin' da scabs'.

At this, we fell silent, disbelief written in our faces. There were barely any scabs in Brooklyn because of the authority Spot held over us all, but I knew there were plenty in other boroughs. How were they going to keep them in line then? Other than soaking them, the newsies had no other way to stop them from buying papers.

David (so that was his name) began looking uncomfortable at the growing resentment and at the dirty looks being shot in his and Jack's way. As I watched, Spot's smirk disappeared into a pale, cold sort of expression that I knew wasn't good. I knew that one of the things Spot hated the most was scabs, next to traitors, that is. Jackal had told me plenty of stories.

"What are we supposed to do da bums, kiss 'em?" smart-mouthed Race, starting some chuckles, but their humor was short-lived. Spot decided to have his say in this 'save the scabs' thing.

"Hey," Spot began quietly, his voice growing, "Any scab I see, I soak 'em, period." His voice cut through the ripples of dissent that had begun to spread. He wasn't quite yelling, but his voice rose a notch. It was as if he was declaring that no one, even some smart walking mouth, was going to tell him what to do.

At his words, loud arguments began as some of the newsies started to take sides. Jack tried to keep it down, but Spot's words had fired them up. David frantically took a step closer to Jack and Spot glared daggers at him. To my admiration, David ignored Spot's icy blue stare and spoke up desperately.

"No, no," he said, calling out to all the arguing newsies, "That's what they want us to do. If we get violent, it's just playing into their hands."

His words finally seemed to reach them and they turned suspiciously and looked at Spot, who, strode towards David. Apparently, Spot wasn't too fond of the boy and, for the first time, I saw him actually display anger on his face. I watched with fixed interest at this new side of Spot which I knew had always been there but had never seen.

"Hey, look," his words were bitingly clear and he somehow staring a terrified David down despite his shorter, slighter stature. "They're gonna be playing with my hands, alright."

He put up the hands in question, which caused all the blood drain from David's lips. I heard some chuckles from our side, but then again, being menaced by Spot would probably not be something altogether pleasant.

""Cuz it ain't what they say, it's what we say," Spot said, lowering his hands and I saw a familiar smirk nearly reach his lips, but it quickly disappeared. He turned to the silent, watching newsies, the anger gone from his face and replaced with a cool expression. "And nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em," he finished, his steely gaze sweeping over us all.

His eyes seemed to soften when they met mine, but I easily could have just imagined it. Then he tore away his gaze and turned back to stare coldly at David, who was frantically trying to talk everyone down. By this time, protests (against what or who I couldn't tell) and yells of agreement had practically taken over the formerly cooperative boroughs. I didn't join in and silently watched the three standing up there.

I couldn't explain what came over me, but as I studied Spot fervently yelling at the newsies at his side, I felt a strange, unfamiliar feeling which left me quite confused. It was like I finally saw Spot as a real person, you know, and not as some cryptic leader who always sent me into a raging temper or something else entirely. My mind in a whirl, I downed my rootbeer and tried to pay attention to what was going on.

"-street rats with no brains! No respect for nothing, including ourselves!" Jack was shouting, his words finally getting to every arguing newsie. They began to sit back down like sulking children (well, that wasn't actually far from the truth), muttering their unhappiness over the subject. Jack grabbed this chance eagerly.

"So," he began again, "here's how it's gonna be. If we don't act together, den we're nothin'. If we don't stick together, den we're nothin'. And if we can't even trust each other…den we're nothin'!"

These almost insulting words decidedly forced reason into the listeners and I noticed many nods of agreement. I found my gaze drawn back to Spot, who had just been furious, now had a curious, thoughtful look on his face, but he didn't say anything.

"Tell 'em, Jack!" came a call from somewhere from the crowd and Jack finally smiled again, as if relieved at some support at last.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Jack shouted challengingly, but I already knew the answer to it. It depended on Spot. Jack also seemed to realized the same thing and he turned to the slim, silent leader at his side.

"So, what about you, Spot," he asked in a quiet tone and despite his carefully masked face, I saw in his earnest dark eyes that searched Spot's unforgiving icy ones that Jack was practically begging Spot to agree with him, to support him in this, and to not let him down. Spot's eyes narrowed for a second and I knew he hated having to go back on what he had said.

"I say," he finally began, "dat what you say…" The crowd was hushed and we all hung onto his every word. A smirk grew on his face and he relaxed his cold stare before finishing, "is what I say."

Trust Spot to say something so confusing for some of the dim-witted ones and their cheers came a split-second later than ours as they took time to figure it out. Jack grinned and spat in his hand. Spot, without hesitation, spat into his own and the two leaders shook firmly, confirming to any of the doubters in the crowd that their union in this was complete. David stood at the side, smiling and beaming happily as if content to not take any credit.

I smiled and began standing up with my glass in my hand to get more rootbeer. The moment I got my feet though, the curtain next to where the three boys were standing rose unexpectedly. In the center stood Medda, clad in a form-fitting pink gown that had on so many frills and ribbons that it looked terribly uncomfortable, but her beautiful smile was genuine in the white spotlight that shone on her.

There goes my chance for more drinks, I thought, as the cheers turned into ear-piercing whistles, applause, and yells of infatuation. Everyone had gotten on their feet the moment Medda had come on stage and, as I looked around at the wild, cheering newsies, there was no way I could pick my way towards the table at the side. I tried to inconspicuously look for Spot and found him edging his way back to the table next to us. I sat back down and tried to enjoy the show.

Medda began singing a chorus of a song and I joined in, knowing the lyrics and the tune vaguely. Milkshake and Sodapop were warbling away, their clear, high-pitched voices only audible to me because I was sitting next to them. Medda sauntered around the hall, her sweet vocals ringing clear and loud as she led us in song. Pike was on his feet with the rest of us, his eyes fixed on the bright pink figure striding past our table. Milkshake snickered and jabbed him in the stomach playfully.

"You look like a love-sick puppy!" she yelled and Pike smirked before quickly giving her a sweet, short kiss full on her mouth. Sodapop and I laughed at the shocked look on Milkshake's face as they broke apart. Pike smiled and then went back to the song. Milkshake stared at him again and grinned suddenly before enthusiastically joining Pike's slightly off-key voice.

"Now who's the love-sick puppy?" shouted Sodapop to me and I grinned.

Medda entered her solo part and we allowed her to sing, though most of the newsies remained on their feet. I coughed and glanced down at my empty glass. Ugh. I really wanted something to drink; all that loud singing had gotten my throat even drier. At least I wasn't losing my voice. I got up and decided to pick my way towards the back of the hall for more rootbeer while everyone (well, the males) remained relatively calm.

It was easier than I expected to reach my destination because the attention was solely on the singing lady and no one gave me no more than glance as I pushed and slipped through the packed crowd. One advantage of being small and scrawny.

I quickly filled my glass and drank the bubbly, sweet drink quickly. I was filling it up once more to carry back when the chorus started all over again. Oh great, now how was I going to get back, what with everyone swaying in beat like they were possessed? I sighed, covered the top of my glass with one hand, and began my way back to my table at the entrance.

I was stuck in a group of Harlem newsies toasting and laughing uproariously and I was striving to slither past them when I stopped short at a piercing whistle that sent the song faltering to a stop. The whistle was blown over again and I felt an uneasy feeling in my gut as I heard some urgent shouts and yells coming from the direction of my table. Alarmed, I sprang up on the Harlem newsies' table despite their protesting shouts and I looked over.

Policemen began flooding the already crowded hall, coming from the direction of the front entrance. I whirled around and my eyes widened at the burly, dirty-looking men slamming their way in from the backdoor. What was going on? I turned back to look over at my table. Milkshake, Pike, and Sodapop were scrambling to get away from the police. What did they want? Were they here to just break up the rally or did they have another reason? The thugs were probably hired by Pulitzer, but what about the police?

I jumped down from the abandoned table and someone promptly rammed into me. My arms flailed wildly as I tried to keep my balance, but whoever it was quickly steadied me and I turned to see Kid Blink smiling apologetically.

"Sorry 'bout dat, didn't see you," he said in a rush of words and then dashed off in another direction, leaving me staring after him. I rubbed my bruised shoulder and then quickly headed for the backdoor. Perhaps I could get out through there. I had taken only a few steps when I realized that some of the newsies had already reached the back door, but they were being flung back in by men posted outside.

I frowned, trying to place what was happening. The police weren't arresting anyone, except for those putting up a fight. They seemed more to just be wanting to keep us in. But really, why? Were they looking for someone? I turned again and ran towards the entrance, which was a bit of a distance ahead. I knew there would be even more police outside, but maybe I could slip out in the confusion.

"Ace!"

I whirled around so quickly and wildly that Spot took a little step backwards in surprise.

"What in the world is going on!" I shouted furiously, but I wasn't really mad at him. I was just angry at feeling so helpless. I stopped short at the sight of two thugs heading towards us. Spot merely glanced at them, grabbed my arm, and began dragging me towards the entrance. I was helplessly pulled along, my eyes darting everywhere at the scene of panic unfolding around me.

Spot let go of me suddenly and ruthlessly slugged down a dirty, lean man who had moved to block his entrance. The man fell heavily with a grunt of pain. Spot moved to grab my arm again when the man grabbed Spot's ankle from where he lay on the ground and yanked. Spot went down with a surprised, uncharacteristic shout and the man was on him in a second, pummeling with bony fists. Spot, however, somehow managed to twist quickly away and sprang back to his feet at the same moment the thug had.

"Get to da entrance!" Spot hissed to me, not taking his steely gaze off from the sneering thug. I hesitated, hating to just leave without doing something to help him, but I realized, as Spot gave his full attention on the thug and his lips curled into a vicious sort of smile, he really didn't need my help at all.

I didn't like leaving him, but I nodded (not that he was watching me; he was busy ramming his fist into the other guy's stomach) and ran towards the milling door of the entrance. David appeared out of nowhere, his eyes frantically looking for someone.

"Have you seen Jack?" he practically screamed at me, waving his hands around in a desperate manner. I shook my head and glanced at the entrance he was blocking me from.

"Why?" I asked, looking at the crazy milling of people all around me. David's brown eyes were wide (like a rabbit's, I thought distantly) and he earnestly scanned the hall as he explained.

"They're after him! The bulls, uh, er, the police! Snyder's here too, but we got him with the swing, but he should have recovered by now, but I don't know what happened to Jack, because they're trying to get him, and we have to get him out!"

I had no idea what he was talking about (Who on earth was Snyder and what's all this about a swing?), but I understood enough that Jack Kelly was in trouble and that he was the one the police were apparently looking for.

"Okay," I said impulsively, "I'll help! Where was he last?"

David still didn't make sense. "I only saw him at the swing, he couldn't have gotten caught or else we'd have known!" Then his face changed expressions into one of relief and then horror. "Look!"

I turned and saw Jack himself, nimbly dodging the grasps of the officers and…and of the Delanceys. I felt myself grow pale at their all-too familiar faces, but I knew they wouldn't see me from where I was. What were they doing here? They were after Jack as well?

I resisted the urge to scream. Too much was happening at the same time and I was just so confused. David said something to me, but I couldn't hear him. Then he was gone in a flash, running towards Jack, who was still a bit of a distance away from him.

As I watched, Jack abruptly spun on his heel to head towards the piano. He sprang on it and used it to pull himself gracefully over onto the balcony. I gloated silently at the frustration on the Delanceys' faces. Show 'em, Jack, I urged silently and quickly moved towards the entrance at the front of the stairs I was sure Jack would come down from the balcony.

Avoiding the officers and thugs took way too long and when I finally could see the front, Jack was running out the entrance. I hastened to reach it, but then Jack entered back with a panicky look on his face. He then stumbled as a horse, with a guard riding it, ran inside the entrance in a frenzied manner. With such security posted outside, there was no way we could get out, I realized in dismay.

I was sure the backdoor wasn't as guarded. Maybe if Jack managed to go back again? But that was nearly impossible. But it was still a chance, slim as it was.

"Jack!" I yelled, but he didn't hear me. The poor horse reared above him with a frightened whinny and Jack sprang up before it pounded him into the floor. I tried again, but then he was running back up the stairs again. The whole entrance way was packed and I couldn't make a single move.

Suddenly, Jack's way was blocked by a burly, stout thug. The Manhattan leader reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. The thug swung a powerful upper cut that slammed against Jack's jaw with horrible force. I swallowed hard, realizing that it was all over. Jack fell, stunned at the blow. The policemen quickly grabbed him and he was dragged out. Lots of the Manhattaners tried to fight the officers, but they were flung off by the thugs. I swallowed again, watching them leave. The rally was a failure without its leader and I knew without Jack, the strike might as well be over as well.

I slipped out of the crowd as quickly as I could and went back into the hall, deciding to try the backdoor again. I should have stayed there from the beginning, but it had been impossible at the time. I looked around for Spot and didn't see him anywhere. I quickly tripped a thug chasing after a newsie and then started swiftly away as the thug fell. I had no intention of getting chased.

I had taken only a few running steps when I felt someone snag the back of my shirt and jerk me to a sudden stop that caused me to nearly lose my balance. Angrily, I lashed out blindly and whoever had grabbed me let me go. I spun around to face my attacker, ready to bestow pain and injury on whoever it was.

"Well, well, look who it is," snickered Oscar loudly to allow him to be heard over the noise. He grinned a wide, toothy grin and I stared at him, half from fear and half from disgust.

I glanced around quickly and realized with a sinking feeling that even with so many friends around, they were all occupied with their own problems. I couldn't expect any help now. Morris, thankfully, was nowhere in sight. I didn't know what I'd do if I had to deal with the both of them.

I fixed my gaze on Oscar again and sized him up. As I had noticed before, he wasn't very tall for a guy, but still stood half a head taller than me. He was stocky and broad-shouldered, built for strength more than speed. I knew I couldn't allow him to fix a hold on me or I'd never break out of it.

"Ace, wasn't it?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest in a pompous manner and eyeing me insolently from my head to my toes before meeting my stare and grinning again.

My fear and disgust suddenly dissipated into a strange, emotionless sort of fury instead of the usual flare of temper. Cold anger swept through me and I concentrated on it, feeling nothing else. I drew myself to my full height and my mouth twisted into an involuntary sneer.

"Shocked," I started with a mocking bow, "That you had liked me so much from our last encounter that you decided to remember my name with what sad little mental capacity you have."

It wasn't much of an insult, but Oscar's face slowly turned livid anyway. I silently thanked the English teacher at my orphanage for her lessons, which I had always loathed. I watched him carefully, noting how his fists clenched. He wasn't a newsie; I knew he wouldn't have any qualms about the rule concerning girls and fights. Well, fine, I thought defiantly. I don't care, I can still find my way out of this.

"And where's your dear brother? I thought he'd always be-"

Oscar's hand snaked out suddenly. The moment he closed around my arm, I yanked backwards. He had no time to really tighten his hold so he had to let go. I took a step back and clenched my own fists.

"Don't you dare," I said fiercely, narrowing my eyes at him. He glowered and I glared back, knowing he had had enough with talking by now. I moved farther away from Oscar to keep the distance between us, but he moved with me.

Oscar suddenly leaped forward and lunged with sudden speed. I stumbled back in surprise and he managed to grab me again. Instantly, I swung my other arm and struck the side of his face with all the strength I could muster. It wasn't a punch, but it was more of my whole arm whacking him hard. Either way, he grunted and cursed again, but he didn't release me. He drew me closer, his face inches from mine and already starting to turn red from my hit.

"You made us look like a fool yesterday," he growled, "You can join Jack in the refuge after I'm done with you."

I spat in his face and he started. Then his mouth tightened and I braced myself for a blow, but it never came. Instead, he started dragging me back towards the entrance and I dug my heels into the ground, gritting my teeth. I knew he meant to get out of Medda's place and if he did that, I would have no chance at all.

He turned, scowling, and tried to reach for my other arm. I did my wild swing again, this time accompanying it with a sharp kick to his shin. He swung an arm up to block my swing, but his balance off though with the kick I bestowed. Instead of doing me good however, it simply caused his elbow to slam against my jaw hard and it made me bite down on my tongue painfully, causing tears to spring to my eyes.

"You…you…worthless jerk!" I screamed childishly, officially losing my temper at the grin on Oscar's face. I threw myself on him, forgetting everything Spot told me about not giving into impulses and letting opponents make the first move. Barely any of my blows landed and I admit I even resorted to biting when he tried to push me away, but it was enough to see the alarmed, slightly panicked look on Oscar's face. At least he had let go of me in his surprise.

Then one of his flailing hands knocked me down and I landed with an ungraceful oof. I quickly picked myself up and he gave me a sneer again, but it was a bit of a guarded one, as if wary of what else I might fly into.

I wasn't quite sure what happened then. He swiped at me again and I tried to block it, but it connected with my forehead and I fell backwards to land heavily on the floor, my breath knocked out of me. He started to reach down for me, but then he stopped, gaping at something I couldn't see from where I was. He suddenly paled before taking a step away and then Spot suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He tackled Oscar to the ground so hard that they both rolled over twice.

I jumped up in surprise and then swayed slightly, wincing at the sudden sharp stab in my head. Oscar's hand had cut open the gash from Fire's stone again and blood was trickling slowly down the side of my face. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath and calm my racing heart.

Spot and Oscar had been struggling to get on top, but Spot won. He hauled Oscar to his feet and then felled him again with an uppercut across his jaw. He gave him a vicious kick, followed by another, and then stepped back.

"Get up, Oscah. Get up!" Spot was angry, angrier than I had ever seen him, and even I felt a sudden chill of fear up my spine.

As all bullies are, Oscar was a coward at heart and a wimp as well. He took advantage of the short distance between him and Spot and scrambled up so quickly before he fled, looking bruised and battered. He didn't even glance back as he ran for dear life towards the front entrance. Spot swore and stormed after him, practically flinging aside everyone in his path with black murder on his face.

Without a single glance at me. At all. Not a word to me. Nothing.

I started to frown, but I stopped as pain streaked through my jaw. Ouch. Well, I certainly was grateful Spot came when he did. I was a bit ticked off about him completely ignoring me, but I was sure he didn't really mean to…anyway, I wasn't about to act all high and mighty about it.

I had meant to get out through the backdoor, but as I looked over, the front entrance was not as packed as it had been, because Jack had already been caught. It was still full of newsies trying to get out, but it wasn't too bad.

I managed to push past them and then saw there were only a few guards now. They were obviously only set there to keep 'order', though their presence simply made the fleeing newsies more violent.

I looked around for Spot or any familiar faces, but I saw none. Sighing at the havoc still continuing around me, I slipped past the guards easily. There were a few stragglers on the street, but I knew none of them and they were busy setting out for their respective homes. Which, to me, seemed like a very good idea.

Feeling immensely tired and worn out, I began making my way back to Brooklyn.


A/N: Sorry if you expected more out of the Oscar/Ace confrontation, but I didn't want it to be that dumb typical plot where guy beats up/harasses girl, boyfriend comes to the rescue thing…so if Oscar seemed a little out of character, I apologize. This was a bit of a depressing ending, but I promise the next chapter won't be as sad. :D Thanks for reading, please review!

Hurray for a new reader, RainySunshine! Thanks for reviewing! And of course, thank yous to all the other great readers who've reviewed!