Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends. Disney owns Spot, Ireland owns herself, the Lindharts, Alice, Marbles, and Snaps belong to me.

A/N: I aim to have this done by the end of Christmas break because if I don't… who knows when it will get done?

Warning: PG (thematic elements and sexuality)

Chapter 12: Propositions

I hadn't seen Spot since our incident at The Scrape the night before. I hadn't sold the morning edition and no one had seen him show up for the afternoon edition. That wasn't surprising, though. He rarely sold in the afternoon anymore. His excuse was that he had too many things to attend to. Why couldn't one of those things be me?

I hadn't been able to sleep last night because of all of the thoughts pounding through my head. I hadn't been able to focus today because of the same tormented pattern of memories. I hadn't been able to eat because my stomach was sick with worry. I hadn't been able to talk to anyone without asking about Spot. Everything within me ached for him.

My trinity knot had left an impression on the palm where I had clutched it. My eyes burned from lack of sleep and the dirt and grim of the city. My heart sunk lower every time I thought of him. My mind raced with possibilities of where he could be or what he could be doing. My fingers ached to touch him the way that I had once touched him. My lips longed to be the ones that he kissed when he needed comfort – but I knew that the time for that had passed.

All because of her.

She had been the one that made him smile. She had been the one that he wanted forever. She had been the one that he loved in a way that I wanted. She was the one that broke him down to what he was today. She was the one that had left him. I hated her

These thoughts plagued me as I wandered around the streets in hopes to catch a glimpse of him. I was hoping that I would find him joking with his friends as he used to do. The same old smirk set in its same infuriating place. His stormy eyes would be smoldering with the same sin and seduction that made my knees weak. Lean body folded back against a wall or held imperiously upon a crate. His gold tipped cane would proclaim him royally. Oh, how I ached to think of what he was and how he had made me feel.

I was overwhelmed with the exhaustion. My feet slowed and I lent against a wall. Sorrow gripped me like a vice.

How I ached to fix him. How I ached for him to want me once again. The key that banged alongside my trinity knot was a constant reminder of what I had lost and what I probably would never have again. It was cruel reminder, but I couldn't bring myself to remove it. I couldn't remove it from my chain anymore than I could remove Spot from my heart.

People moved past me, not caring a button for what I was or what I could be feeling. I didn't expect them to, but as I looked around I noticed that this was a place that I had rarely ever been. The streets were familiar, but only vaguely. I hadn't been here often. It wasn't in my selling route or near any of my usual haunts. It was primarily residential here. A few shops tucked themselves away on corners and there was a glittering of something in the back of my mind. There was something about this place that was familiar.

Shaking my head I tried to get the strange feeling out of my system. My mind needed sleep – it was starting to think things that weren't true. However I couldn't get myself to move towards the lodging house. So I sat and let my mind wander. Pressing back against the brick wall as far as I could I barely even saw the people pass by me on the sidewalk. My mind ventured back to the blue-eyed devil that I couldn't forget and the one of the first times I'd found him with drunk with Snaps. Snaps was obviously trying to sober him up before taking him back to the lodging house – a smart move – and Spot had been babbling about Mary. It was a strange thing to be remembering, but I couldn't help but recall the story he was telling that night.

Pastor Lindhart was awake by the time that Spot had brought back Martha and Henry, but it was clear that he was worried. There was so much work to be done around the church before the extremely hot days of summer set in, but in his current state there was no way which he could complete them. Henry was too young to do it by himself and Martha and Mary worked in the house. It would be impossible to ask his congregation. They all worked through the week in factories and mills or at the dock – they had no time to donate to this project. The little money that they gathered during offering was spread during the week so they could keep this little building alive and well. The check that they received each month from their mother church barely covered his family's most basic needs. There was no way that they could hire help.

Seeing this as a golden opportunity to spend even more time with the family and worm his way deeper into Mary's system, Spot instantly brought forth a proposition. After he sold the morning edition he would come and do whatever was needed in exchange for his lunch and supper. With little persuasion needed, it practically arranged itself. That was how Spot his afternoons for the next three weeks.

Time passed. Each day that Spot came it was clear he was welcomed more and more into the Lindhart's small world. He learned about their way of life and filled in the blanks about how a family operated. The rules he'd imagined to be infinite weren't as complex as he thought they would be.

He learned that profanity and slang were never appreciated. Curbing his language didn't prove to be that difficult, and neither did the putting forth a kind face. Martha and Henry were eating out of the palm of his hand and Pastor Lindhart was well on his way to be there along with them. Mary proved to be more difficult than he thought she would be. Though she was polite and kind, that is all she was. Besides a fleeting brush or accidental bump, Spot hadn't touched her since he kissed her forehead. This frustrated him to no end.

Spot patched the church's roof, white washed the entire exterior and interior of the building, and sealed cracks around the windows the first week. Henry followed him like a dog would his master. Helping Spot in whatever way he could, but primarily just getting in the way. While he would normally yell at a younger newsie for doing such a thing, Spot bit his tongue. Instead of rebuking the boy, he told him stories.

He told him about being a newsie. Spot didn't glamorize the stories about the fights, the sickness, the starving and striving for every penny they had – but Henry still seemed enamored with the idea. Spot told him about the late night poker games, the trips to the race tracks, and the visits to Coney Island in the summer when the circus came into town; how they'd hitch rides on the back of carriages and sneak onto trolleys to get from territory to territory, and how they'd share bunks because there weren't enough for everyone. Henry ate up every word.

Some of the week was spent under the careful instruction of Pastor Lindhart repairing various things around the church. A wobbly pew, the stoves' pipes needed to be cleaned, a new cupboard that he had ordered for Mary needed to be stained because he couldn't afford to pay the craftsmen to do that as well. Then, of course, she needed help moving all of her dishes from the shelves to the new stately looking piece of furniture (Henry and Spot both dropped a piece that broke). It stood taller than the newsboy and had two doors that opened out into the room. Simply made and practical in its functions, the piece of furnishing was much like its mistress.

If only he could open her doors as easily as he could open that cupboard.

It was the first day of the second week in May and Spot had sold his morning editions save one copy. This was now a ritual. He'd always buy one hundred and one copies, knowing that Pastor Lindhart would purchase the last remaining paper. The old man was definitely opposed towards being cooped up and incapacitated, but it hurt to walk on his ankle. His broken arm made it difficult to manage a crutch, and Mary was very attentive to her father. For all of his good nature and humor, Pastor Lindhart was obviously getting tired of being coddled.

Spot was just coming in the sanctuary door when he heard Pastor Lindhart and Mary were having what seemed to be a heated discussion back in the kitchen. The door back to the rectory was open, and Spot went towards it – tucking his cane into his suspenders.

"I don't want you to go alone, Mary." Pastor Lindhart said as Spot walked through the narrow hallway.

"Papa, you are in no shape to come with me." Mary protested in the closest things to disrespect Spot had ever heard come from her mouth.

When he came around the corner, he saw the two sitting at the kitchen table with Henry and Martha. The younger two were studying. Pastor Lindhart was the first to notice his entrance. Spot doffed his hat and nodded towards the older gentlemen, his eyes moving to Mary who had her back turned towards him in her seat. When she noticed her father's line of sight, she turned and noticed the newsboy as well. He gave her an enigmatic smile and she returned it in her own sweetly naïve way.

"Spot." Pastor Lindhart greeted warmly using his good arm to push himself into a standing posture.

"Spot!" Henry jumped up excitedly at the sight of his hero. His small face breaking into a huge smile. Martha's greeting was a roll of her eyes at her brother's admiration.

"Did you bring me my paper?" He asked, his good natured tone clearly stating her knew he did.

"Yes sir." Spot strode forward and placed the desired edition on the table in front of the man; intentionally leaning over Mary in the process.

"Mary, have you seen my spectacles?" Pastor Lindhart asked, picking up the paper and resuming his seat.

"They're upstairs." Mary replied, making moves to rise. As she did, Spot pulled out her chair from the table in a debonair gesture. Mary looked surprised, but rose and thanked him softly before demurely hurrying towards the stairs.

"Did you fight anyone today, Spot? Did you?" Henry asked as soon as Mary left the room. Pastor Lindhart had been trying to read the paper by holding it out in front of his face at different positions, but he stopped at his son's question.

"Henry, tisn't polite to ask such things!" Martha reprimanded. Her lessons were forgotten along with her brother's.

"He's been in fights afore!" Henry said and Spot shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Being in a fight probably wasn't the most Christian of pastimes. Could they understand the necessity of battle on the streets?

"That doesn't mean you need to be asking him about it." Martha said.

"I asked him a question, not you - Martha!" Henry's little face flushing with excitement.

"Tis a rude question!" Her small hands clenching on the table.

"Well Spot, have you been in a fight today?" Pastor Lindhart interrupted the squabbling duo. His warm eyes twinkling where Spot thought he'd see harsh judgment.

"Not today, sir." Spot answered with a hint of a smirk. He understood the Pastor's indulgence of his son's question was also a way to help put Martha in her place. Somewhere in these moments Mary had returned from her quest.

"But you do fight, don't you Spot?" Henry returned to his excitement. His previous conflict with Martha was already a thing of the past.

"I'm sure that if Spot fights he has his own reasons." Mary said, but her words weren't the ones of disapproval he had expected. He knew that Henry probably would repeat the stories he told. He should have expected the ones about fighting to be a favorite.

"Ah, thank you Mary." Pastor Lindhart said as she went around the table to give him his spectacles. Spot's gaze trailed her the entire way.

The headline was uninteresting today, something about the mayor's proposal for some tax associated matter. They were nothing but empty promises that were a hard sell for politician and newsie alike. As the older gentlemen skimmed through the paper - Spot took a seat the table as was custom. He'd sit and eat lunch – then the Pastor would tell him what needed to be done that day. The twins had returned to their studying. A Bible sat on the table between them; by the way they continuously looked at the manuscript and scribbled on the paper in front of them – they must have been practicing penmanship. A worthy pursuit, but it was an art lost to the newsboy.

"Are you hungry, Spot?" Mary asked; standing across from him.

"Yes, thanks."

It was past noon and he hadn't eaten besides the stale bread he'd stolen from a baker's cart. He was hungry and he smelled the fresh bread she must have baked earlier. The stale bread he'd had that morning tasted like rocks compared to hers.

He smiled at her and she bustled over to her stately cupboard. Spot noted the motion of her hips. She didn't move like the women who knew they were attractive, but there was an undeniably feminine sway in the way she walked. Her clothing was simple, but well fitted. The skirt showed the pleasant flair of hips from a cinched waist. She'd reached up to the top shelf in the cupboard, and his eyes traced the curve of her breasts hungrily. It had been weeks since he'd been with a woman. While Mary was far from the most attractive girl he'd ever seen – she was comely in her own plain way.

She set a plate in front of the news boy, and he smiled at her winsomely. He could have sworn he saw her blush. The fare was plain, cheese and salted pork between two slices of fresh bread with water for a drink, but it was good. The meals always were all modest, but filling. Spot had learned that thankfulness ranked high among this family. Mary took her seat between Spot and her father at the circular table.

"Papa," she started and the older man grunted as he read the paper. "I need to make the deliveries." she spoke evenly, but the old man set down his reading at her statement. "I'm sure that I'll be fine if I go alone with Martha and Henry. After all, I –" she was stopped short.

"No." Her father said. His mouth set. "I will go with you. It isn't safe for you to go by yourself." His expression was determined.

"But Papa, you aren't in any shape to walk the distance." Mary said. Her tone was born from concern, not rebellion.

"I am not a child. I've endured worse." He said and Mary's face looked pained.

"If yous don't mind me asking," Spot interrupted between bites. "What are yous talking about?" He inquired politely. Demanding answers wasn't something that was done here, either.

At his interjection, Pastor Lindhart looked at Spot at with revelation.

"Spot can escort you." The Pastor said. He laughed at Mary's surprised expression. "And I'll stay home."

"Yes!" Henry said. "Spot, do you think you could show me the lodging house or the docks or the-" Henry listed various locations he'd heard in the stories the newsboy had told.

"We're making deliveries." Martha said, rolling her eyes. "Not taking a tour."

"He could show us stuff, too." Henry said. "Couldn't you, Spot?" The boy turned his wide eyes towards his idol.

"Well, I'se not sure where we'se going." Spot said. All in all he was rather confused by the whole situation.

"We're going to deliver bread." Martha piped in quickly, obviously proud of her knowledge.

"Yeah, cause it's Friday." Henry added. His childish voice fluttered with British overtones.

"Yous deliver bread on Fridays?" Spot asked, not following the logic. The way Henry had stated it made him think this was quite the tradition.

"My Mary bakes bread for several families about the town." Pastor Lindhart said. "And we all deliver them together – but Mary doesn't feel I'm up for it." He gave her a playfully wounded look and Mary offered him a sympathetic smile.

"It would mean a lot if you would help." Mary said. "I think it would be best of Papa stayed here." She looked at him warmly.

"If anyone goes after us – Spot can soak them!" Henry said, not paying any attention to his work in front of him. Before Martha could say a word - Pastor Lindhart gave them both a pointed glance.

"I don't think anyone will try to 'soak' you." Pastor Lindhart chuckled. "My son seems much more adept to learning your vocabulary than his." He said to Spot with a chuckle; those merry brown eyes twinkling.

"Would you help us, Spot?" Mary asked and he turned his attention back to her.

"I'se here to work." Spot said and locked eyes with Mary before he added, "Is'll do anything ya ask me to." The double entendre was a loss to the girl, but she smiled broadly.

Spot finished his meal as the siblings prepared all of their needs for the deliveries. Pastor Lindhart was careful to explain the procedure – listing every stop on their route. Every neighborhood he listed was relatively safe; as far as Spot knew. The family didn't know exactly how much protection they were getting through his presence. Any ruffians that might have wanted to try something would think twice after seeing the Brooklyn leader accompanying them. In a few minutes Spot had finished eating, and the Lindhart children were ready to leave.

They left. All carried several loafs of bread in sacks Mary had made specifically for this purpose. It was a nice day. This time of year offered some of the few best days of the year in New York. The streets weren't too busy as most people had things to do. Men, women, and children alike were working. Martha and Henry walked in front of Mary and Spot, but never too far away. They both followed their normal pattern of squabbling and then making up only to pick a petty argument once more. Spot had learned to find amusement in this little show.

"Children have a way of forgiving and forgetting, don't they?" Mary posed the question near five minutes into their excursion.

Spot turned to look at her, and paused a moment. Forgiving and forgetting were two things that had never come easily to Spot - mainly because he had never had to use them. Being a leader showed him that swift, hard revenge was a powerful tool to keep oneself elevated among the boys. This was something that was passed on to the younger generations. If someone wronged you – you had the right to reciprocate the intention and further it. That was the way of the street. It was the way that respect was gained.

"Yeah, I guess they do." He said and smiled at her. There were a few more moments of silence before Spot asked: "These people buy there bread from ya every week?"

"Not every week, but with fair regularity." Mary said.

"It's alota bread." Spot adjusted the strap on his shoulder for comfort. "I'se going ta look like a prize fighter after carrying these sacks." He joked. Mary smiled and ducked her head shyly.

"We get a lot of orders – much more than we used to. Papa says it is a blessing –but he doesn't make the bread!" She said. Her own dry sense of humor showed and Spot chucked.

"Who buys alla it?" This was the closest thing to a flirtatious conversation he had engaged with her.

"A few from the congregation – then the other heard from them, I suppose. We're cheaper than most bakeries. It is my way of helping those who can't afford bread otherwise." She said.

"You likes helping folks, don'tcha?" Spot looked at her now and she smiled. It was a pure smile of honest joy.

"Yes." Her voice hadn't changed its pitch, but the tone carried an excitement he hadn't heard before now. "Yes, I do." She didn't hide behind any pretense or attempt to mask any part of her feelings.

She was what she was. Spot looked at her and felt envious towards her ability to be so free with others. The bout of envy was short lived as Henry and Martha both dropped back and entered into the conversation with their own.

"Tell Martha about the lion at the circus. She doesn't believe me." Henry said and adjusted his own small bag of bread.

Spot licked his lips and glanced at Mary. She was listening to him – he could tell. So he proceeded to explain the story of how the circus would come to Coney Island and there would be cages and cages of animals from across the world. He told a tale of a beast so big it could have swallowed him whole; with claws and teeth that could shred a man to pieces and a mane bigger than its head. He emphasized and elaborated. In the end it made his story much like the headlines when he called them out – much more interesting than they actually were. Hands made exaggerated motions and he even pulled out his cane for further effect. All in all he gave them quite a show and they seemed to have enjoyed it.

"I told you so." Henry said, but Martha seemed too enthralled in the idea of a large cat to care if her brother was right or not.

"Next time the circus in town yous should go see." Spot said.

"We've never been to Coney. We never get to have any fun." Henry said. His lamentation filled with the injustice only a child can feel.

"That's because tisn't safe." Martha said, but it was clear that after Spot's story she was disappointed in her inability to visit such a magical place.

Henry didn't have any objections to her statements. Spot's brow furrowed. Perhaps for a straight laced family like the Lindharts Coney wasn't the best place, but Spot hadn't considered it unsafe. If you knew where to avoid it wasn't unsafe at all. Lots of families went there, especially when there was a special attraction in town.

It wasn't fair that they hadn't been able to go to Coney and see the hotels and the different amusements that were there. Between the horse races and the traveling acts that came through there was always something to do on Coney Island. The Brooklyn and Coney boroughs were almost always on excellent terms, and now was no exception. It was then that the idea struck him.

"Who wants to go to Coney Island with me?"

"Ireland!" I heard my voice being called from across the street, but I didn't look up. I didn't want to talk to anyone. "Ireland!" The voice came again with more force this time and I raised my head.

It was Spot.

My heart started racing as I stood to meet him. He was coming towards me quickly. His pace and stance were intimidating, but they held nothing to the intensity of his expression on his face. It was as though a thunderstorm had been sucked into his eyes and now brewed there without control. I felt my mouth fall open slightly at the power radiating from him and I straightened. My instincts told me to draw away from this dangerous creature but I couldn't. The thoughts in my mind throbbed as wildly as my pulse. Everything moved so quickly I was unable to process any of it.

Spot cut across the street quickly and grabbed my upper arms forcefully. He grabbed me with hands that hurt but I was unable to do anything about it. With him in this close of proximity I could feel pain and anger radiating off of him in thick waves. My breath caught in my throat as I felt the heat from his eyes fall to my open mouth before coming back up to my eyes. Those stormy eyes wandered my features and his face hovered teasingly close to mine.

I knew that I shouldn't let him do this to me, but I wanted this so badly. I wanted him to touch me, to want me, like he used to. We had been so good together and he had to know that somewhere behind those gorgeous eyes. He knew that I wouldn't refuse him. Already my body was softened and ready to mold to his. I wanted this, even though I shouldn't have, I wanted this badly.

His mouth was on mine. It took me a moment to comprehend the rush of sensations that swept through me at the contact. Those lips I remembered so well moved sensuously against mine. His tongue didn't ask permission because he knew he already had it as he plundered the depths of my mouth. It was a hard, desperate kiss that I couldn't help but return. I felt the pleasant wilting sensation I always felt when he touched me like this. My world was nothing more than a dark dizzying blur and Spot was the other thing that existed in it.

He let go of my biceps and let his hands move down my torso to my hips as he pressed against me – pinning me against the wall. His hands skimmed up my sides again and barely caressed the curves of my breasts. I groaned against his mouth and I knew what was coming. How I had missed this desire. His kiss set me fire in every imaginable place of my body. I never wanted it to end.

When his mouth left mine it was to work its way down my jaw. My head lolled back against the brick wall behind me. For an instant I was still completely lost in the wonder of it all – then I opened my eyes and gasped at our surroundings. We were still out in public!

"Spot." I said as my hands came up to dig into his dirty hair as hands had already undone the two top buttons of my shirt. "Not here." I managed breathily as his tongue slipped out across the top curve of my breast.

His eyes came to mine after he planted a searing kiss in the crook of my neck. His hot breath played along my skin. Those eyes almost made me forget why I had stopped him in the first place, but I could still faintly hear people on the crowded street around us.

"Some where else." I murmured huskily as I stared into his eyes – already hungry for his next kiss.

In that instant I saw an infinite pain in those stormy blue orbs. It was something that ran too deep for me to even begin to understand. I saw a boy who was searching for an answer that just wasn't there, but I wanted to help him find it anyway.

That's why I didn't protest when he picked me up in his strong arms or when his mouth came crashing back down to mine. That's why I let him take me into a place I didn't recognize and didn't care to. That's why I didn't complain when I lost my shirt and then my pants. That's why I lay back and lost myself in the fires that consumed me whenever we touched. I let him do this because I love him.

I always have.

A/N: I feel for Ireland… I'm such a jerk to my characters.