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: Where have I been? Well, I survived finals, got my 4.0, wrote another short
Newsies" fiction (Reflux, and it is highly recommended), and revised every chapter of this story. Chapters 1-9 were heavily revised because of the two year gap in my writing this story. Mainly I fixed some character stuff and fleshed out the story a bit. 10-13 underwent minor revision (mainly the removal of the over the top "New Yawk" accents). I kept bits and pieces of them, but there were places where it was distracting from the flow of the story and I removed them. I don't want to insult the reader's intelligence by assume that they don't know what a New York accent sounds like, and if they don't I don't want to slow them down by having to process what it is the characters are saying.

Warning: PG-13 (language, sexuality)

Chapter 14: Progress

Damn broad. I nearly broke my ankle jumping off of that fire escape. That damn window was so loud. The only good thing about the situation was at least it wasn't Spot. That bastard half-brother of mine would have chased me down. Then I would have had to explain why I was there. There was no way that would have ended well.

I don't need Spot's approval to live my life, but when your brother runs Brooklyn it is best to stay on his good side. I'd had the shit beat out of me by Spot before in a fight, and that had been a few years back. Sure, I'd deserved it – but if he could beat me as a skinny little punk kid I didn't want to imagine the damage he could cause now. He may be a prick but I needed him. We all needed him, and he knows it.

I don't think they followed me but I kept running. It sounded like there had been two of them, but I could have been wrong. Hot damn I was not going back to that girl's place again. Hopefully I'd done enough to keep her quiet. What I'd told her along with the way that man sounded when he called after me told me chances were good she was too scared to go out looking for the rest of the story. That man sounded like he would rip my head off my shoulders if he had the chance. That is if he could catch me.

My blood hummed. Part of me wanted a good fight. A hard run mixed with the memories I'd stirred up made my insides turn with agitation. I wasn't sure if I needed a fight or a good hard drink, but I would have been happy with both.

Chores were done. The mess from supper was cleaned. The twins were upstairs supposedly finishing their required reading for the day before going to bed. Pastor Lindhart had retired earlier than his children. The laudanum which he was taking for the pain made him tired. He never complained but it was clear that the fall had left him much worse for ware. He never said so much as a word about his discomfort, and he was improving, but the awkwardly stiff way he moved told much more than he did of the pain he must feel. It was only this week that he was able to ascend the stairs to his traditional place of rest instead of the cot set up in the kitchen.

That left the two, Spot and Mary, in the kitchen. The sun, though out longer now in the warming months, was starting to wane. There were no words between them. It wasn't unnatural for him to be there now. In fact it would have almost been strange to have him absent. Silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Spot had come to expect it in many situations.

He had a seat at the table as did she. A lamp sat on the table, but it wasn't lit. Mary's hands worked swiftly at patching clothes and darning socks. A basket of sewing tools rested on the table along side the unlit lamp. Another large basket sat at her feet full of things that required her attention. Spot rocked back on two legs of the chair and just watched her. Her hands moved swiftly.

Spot's eyes watched those hands. A silver thimble guarded her thumb against the assault of the needle. His steely orbs followed the long cream colored sleeves of her shirt as they would wave ever so slightly with ever move of her hands. Those arms ran up to her shoulders which held her gracefully even while performing busywork. The fabric from her collar gave way to the smooth, pale skin of the column of her neck which didn't go unnoticed by the boy. He had dreams about the curve of that neck. He couldn't remember a neck he'd wanted to touch more desperately in his entire life.

As his gaze burned up to her face he took in the curves and planes of her features. The plain white cap remained in its proper place covering her hair. Spot wondered what it looked like when it wasn't pulled back so restrictively.

His mind flashed back to the one time he had seen her without her cap, when her father had fallen from the ladder and she'd offered her cap to stop his bleeding. That day seemed ages ago, but that image was branded in his mind. A familiar sensation tightened in the back of his throat as he continued to watch her. The desire to touch her grew stronger with every day that he was there. It took monumental amounts of self control not to rip that little white cap from her head and dig his fingers into her hair until it was loose and tumbling past her shoulders. He wondered if it was soft as it looked.

Swallowing heavily – he pressed back the feeling. It never escaped him that they were alone. They'd been alone before, but it was a rare enough occasion that he knew not to waste it. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he set all four legs of the chair on the floor. She didn't look up from her work at the noise and he wondered what she was thinking. He was thinking of things he wanted to do to her that probably would send him straight to hell. Standing Spot walked around the table and sat in the chair next to her.

This got her attention.

She looked up at him. In her hands she held a man's shirt and was sewing back on a few buttons that had gone astray. The shirt wasn't one that looked familiar. In fact it looked to be a few sizes too large for her father. She must have been mending it for someone else. Spot learned that money was very much a short coming in this family, and he had come to accept the fact that they outsourced their abilities. More true was that they outsourced Mary's abilities. She mended, baked, cleaned, sewed, ran errands, and still managed to keep the church and her small family. All of this was done without complaint and without expectation of keeping any of the money for her gain. It was all as unselfish as you could expect a single person to be.

Even though she acted older and had all of the responsibilities of a full grown woman – Spot knew she was only sixteen. He'd never asked her age, but wondered how young she had been when she had started taking care of her family. Had she forgotten how young she was? Surely she longed for something different from time to time and that is what he intended to provide for her – something different.

Without a word, Spot grabbed the shirt and put it in the wicker basket at her feet, and then took her hand. The feel of her small cool fingers in his made his blood go hot. He was careful to not let his face show the electric pulse that came from purposeful contact with her.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Giving you a break." He smiled and pulled her up from her seat and led her to the back door of the rectory.

He moved quickly and without hesitation. She offered no resistance until he grabbed his cap and opened the door to the outside. It was then that she stopped moving with him.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

It was clear that she had mentally caught up with him and was not willing to blindly follow his lead. Their hands were still joined though he stood in front of her and twisted back to see her. Her hand felt incredibly small and delicate in his large rougher palm. Her eyes were wide and wary as they watched him. Rakishly he grinned and pulled his gray cap onto his head. The shadow shaded his eyes, but the lopsided smile was still in perfect view. It was a reassuring smile to settle the hesitation he saw in her wide eyes.

"It's a surprise, but we gotta move or we'll miss it." He said, but he didn't pull on her hand. He wouldn't force her to come, he wanted her to make that choice herself.

This was the most abrupt behavior he ever showed around the Lindhart family. He tried to always been calm and predictable with them until this moment where he was taking a chance.

"Mary. Trust me. You're gonna love it." There was a flickering in her eyes that said she wanted to come but something held her back.

"I have things I need to finish." She said, looking back at her pile of sewing. "And Martha and Henry might need me…" Her voice drifted off tiredly and she looked back towards the stairwell which led to where Martha and Henry were upstairs in their beds.

He realized that he was losing her to the tug of responsibility. At this Spot turned around and faced her fully. He kept a strong grip on her captive hand and drew it closer to him so it practically touched his chest. This in turn brought Mary into a tighter proximity. She'd been so distracted in her unreasonable dedication to her family that she didn't resist the pull. She stumbled forward a few steps and her head whipped back towards his. They were still a good foot apart but her eyes grew two sizes larger at the new situation.

He held her eyes with his, a little smile flirting on his full lips, until he thought he saw a slight flush creeping onto her skin. It wasn't long before she ducked her head bashfully. This was, as far as intimate encounters went, as far as Spot had dared press his limits since the night he kissed her forehead.

"Martha and Henry will be fine." He said and she looked up at him. "I gives ya my word that Is'll get ya back soon." He spoke softly, hypnotically, as he stared into her eyes and he could see she wanted to come. "I just wanna show ya something." There was a fleeting trace of suspicion in her eyes, but the starch was melting out of her frame. "Just come with me." He stepped back from her and pulled her hand gently but she stayed firm in her place. "Please?"

Begging wasn't in his nature but he knew the power of asking a woman as if she were in charge. He looked at her with his best pleading look which had melted many hearts before hers and he felt the last of the steel leave her shoes. Maybe she wasn't oblivious to his charms.

"We'll be back soon." She said and she took one step forward at his prompting. Her eyes never left his.

"Yes." He nodded seriously, and then smiled. "Now come on." He kept her hand firmly in his as he led her out into the alley and then shut the door behind them.

Once the door was shut he turned and started their journey. He guided her quickly through the streets and byways. There were no more words through the venture. Mary followed behind him with her hand tucked securely in his with no objections or complaints. She managed to keep a fairly good pace which was important for the means of their excursion. Spot made sure to look back and check on her throughout their journey through the nearly empty streets. Not many people were out and about on the late May evening, which was understandable. With work tomorrow many had already turned in for the night even though there was still a slice of daylight to be had. That slice of daylight was very precious to the mission.

It was near ten minutes after they had set out on their venture that Spot pulled her into an alleyway along side a building. When he made for the fire escape on the side of the brick edifice Mary stopped in her tracks. He looked at her questioningly and she had an expression of confusion on her face as well.

"Where are we going?" She asked and Spot was surprised that she hadn't asked it earlier.

"We'se almost there." Spot said. They were so close to meeting his goal that he could practically taste it. "Just at the top of this building. Come on." He told her and pulled on her hand once more. She followed but her steps were hesitant.

He had her go first so he could catch her if she tripped. As she went up the first ladder, however, he realized he hadn't calculated the fact that this would provide an ultimate peepshow. As she climbed he was afforded several glimpses up her skirt. Physical hunger raged in the pit of his stomach.

The first look was purely accidental. It was a flash of creamy pale skin shaped in the alluring curve of her calf. The celibacy he'd endured caused his body to respond automatically to the sight. He could not remember the last time he'd been so turned on by a leg. A leg that wasn't even offered to him as temptation or intended to allure him heated his blood hotter than any other display he'd been shown. He marveled at the color of her skin, the curve and flex of the muscle, and the delicate size.

By the third time she had accidentally flashed him her legs he had to look away or else he would have a very hard, painful situation.

It wasn't a long journey to the top. Spot was exceedingly glad when they had reached it. If this girl had been different would have grabbed her and kissed her senseless right then and there. But she wasn't that kind of girl. The views of skin were purely accidental. Everything in him though wanted to hold her body against his and feel every contour mold against him.

They'd made it just in time.

The building wasn't exceptionally tall, but Spot knew that it was tall enough. On the ground in Brooklyn, where streets were crowded and buildings were cramped together, there was rarely a view of the skyline. Here on this building, however, there was just enough of a vantage point to serve its purpose. It wasn't remarkable by any stretch of the imagination, but it was beautiful.

They reached the top just as the most brilliant colors painted the sky. Reds, oranges, and yellows smeared the horizon. The majestic skyscape caught onto the wispy clouds which hung in the sky. The fiery hues quickly shifted to more muted tones as darkness pressed down on them. A deep twilight purple wove its way across the top as if to chase the brighter colors down towards the sinking sun. The blazing ball of fire was hidden from view by the other structures.

Neither one said a word as they watched the colors morph and change. For the moment everything was calm. To Mary – Spot's purpose was now clear: He'd wanted to show her the sunset. However Spot knew that his intentions were anything but wholly noble. This was a matter of seduction and timing. Even if they were alone in her home he knew that there were rules there. Here she was more on his terms. Here he was the one who wrote the rules.

They weren't touching, but he was standing closer to her than he dared do in her kitchen or around the church. She stood in front of him at the edge of the roof watching the last of the colors fade to black. He was directly behind her so close that he could almost feel the heat of her body. They were so close that her back brushed his shirt when she sighed. She didn't notice, but he felt an uncomfortable tingle run through his whole body.

He wanted to touch her. Both of his palms were itching to rip off her cap and stroke her hair. As he stood this close and looked down at her body – it wasn't a long stretch of the imagination how every one of her curves would feel pressed against his body. He'd known enough women to have a good concept of how they felt, how they responded to touch, and how much he wanted one right this moment.

Spot had so completely focused on restraining himself he didn't realize that the sunlight had completely faded and been lost to the night until Mary turned around. Due to his unexpectedly close proximity she collided with him. It took him completely off guard and they both were set off balance. Instinctively he reached out and gripped her small waist firmly between his hands. She reached for him and ended up clinging to his biceps. Those small hands were surprisingly strong in their hold.

They stood still, highlighted in the first beams of moonglow. It was just enough to catch Mary's eyes looking as much like glass plates reflecting back up at him. If it had been lighter he would have sworn she was blushing because she ducked her head quickly and tried to step back. Because of the ledge surrounding the roof this proved difficult and she ended up ramming her backside against it and distancing herself less than a few inches.

"Careful." Spot said. He barely recognized his own voice.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. She looked up at him now and he knew that at this moment she was vulnerable. Right now he could kiss her, and she would let him. Her could lean down and touch his lips so gently to hers his body ached just at the idea of it. But he wouldn't. Kissing her right then would have been pleasurable, but also foolish. All of his time building her trust would be lost on impulse.

When he did kiss her it wouldn't be on a dark rooftop where he had led her away from her family. It would be in a place where she felt comfortable and wasn't trapped between his body and falling off a building. If he kissed her then she would see him for what he really was.

He let go of her. Both of his hands released her waist and stepped back. She came off the wall. She was innocent she wasn't stupid. There was a primal dance which happened between a man and a woman which was unexplainable and instinctual. Spot knew by her reaction that he wasn't the only one who felt the repercussions of their contact. While he understood what it was – she might still be too naïve to grasp it in entirety, but he would give her time. Tonight he'd made progress. He wanted her. Hopefully she knew that now.

"We need to go back. I don't want to be missed." Mary said. Her voice frustratingly unchanged

"Yeah. Let's go." He reached out for her in the dark and found that she had already extended her hand for him to guide her.

The trip down was less tempting than the one going up. Partially due to the lack of light and partially that he was thinking about everything and anything besides pinning Mary to the wall at the bottom and having his way with her. His need was eating him alive.

Spot led her home through the streets and byways like he had before, but this time at a slower pace. They weren't racing against time like they had been before. He'd practically dragged her along with him, but this time he still held her hand and there was no dragging involved. It was a protective gesture and he knew that she could pull her hand away if she wanted to, but she didn't.

"Here ya go." Spot said as they finally reached the rectory.

They'd been silent the entire journey back. In his time with the Lindharts Spot had learned that Mary was a woman of very few words. She was quiet, introspective, and polite, but by no means was she cool or aloof. There was warmth to her that he hadn't found in other women. The girls he knew all had that softness bled out of them long ago, but Mary was different. Mary still had a compassion and peace that he lacked and, at times, envied.

Now when she let go of his hand Spot felt a strange separation from that tranquility she provided. Or perhaps it was the loss of physical contact, no matter how small, that made his body cry out against it. He needed to be careful. He didn't want her to leave, but knew he must. His physical cravings were too strong to be alone with her another minute.

"Thank you." Was all Mary said as she opened the door and went into the rectory.

Spot didn't follow and she turned to shut the door – but not before Spot caught it in his hand and kept her from doing so. Again those dark eyes looked up at him cautiously. How could she be so openly warm but still so guarded?

"Wait." He said. He struggled for the words he wanted. "I just wanted to let ya know that I didn't wanna scare ya or anything tonight. I just wanted ya to have a little fun." He shifted legs. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Nothing he said sounded right.

She watched him during his little speech with a soft expression and an even softer smile. Though both held the same door they weren't close – Spot had made sure of that. He knew his limits and he wasn't stupid. Right now he was too vulnerable and she was too willing – even though she didn't know it.

"I did have fun." She said.

It was the same voice and expression she had when she had told him about helping people. There was an extreme peace about her that he couldn't grasp for the life of him. The supreme contentedness irritated as much as it intrigued. Spot didn't dwell on his annoyance though. Instead he only smiled at her. He smiled his best heart-melting, knee-weakening, pulse-racing smile, and before she turned to go inside he could have sworn he saw her blush.

With a sigh he turned and walked back in the direction of the lodging house. He knew that he needed to figure out a way to let Mary have more fun again, but right now more than anything, he needed to get off.

There are two types of people in the world: The people who act on their anger and the people who don't. I tend to be the person who does. Sometimes I get so fucking pissed that I could punch my fist into a brick wall, but I'm not stupid. At least most of the time when I'm mad I'm not stupid. Normally I would either beat the hell out of whoever pissed me off or I would get Spot to buy me a hard drink. The problem with this was that I couldn't beat up the person who mad me angry and Spot was no where to be found.

I needed a place to let my anger simmer down from a boil to a more controlled level – so I went to the lodging house. No one should be in the bunkroom so I figured it would be a safe place to hide until my temper had cooled. I'd taken back routes to avoid seeing anyone I knew. It was near eleven-thirty in the morning which meant most of the boys would either be selling or out having a good time before the afternoon edition came out for sale.

I went inside and up the stairs. When I entered the bunkroom I saw something unexpected. There, a few bunks down, sat Ireland with tears streaming down her face.

Now Ireland was the type of girl who you knew always had a good sob, but you never saw her do it. You could tell by how puffy and red her face was for the next two days, but you never actually saw her crying. The sight made me uncomfortable. Give me a fight, give me a cigarette, give a shot of whiskey, and I know how to handle it. But a crying girl? Shit.

"Ireland?" I said from the doorway.

"I just slept with Spot." There was no preamble, no greeting, just the confession.

"What?" I felt my mouth drop open.

"I just spread my legs for your bastard half- brother – okay?" She looked at me this time – her voice all rage and malice.

Her blue eyes were bloodshot and tortured. How long had she been crying? Obviously long enough. For an instant all my anger was gone, but then it came back with redoubled force.

If Ireland and Spot really had fucked it was clear that the after effect wasn't what Ireland had wanted. Everyone and their dead aunt knew that Ireland still held a flame for my son-of-a-bitch half-brother so this meant that he had used her. Spot, that idiot, had fucked and shucked her like all the other bimbos he used. Accusations flew through my mind along with plans that would shoot me straight to hell if I did anything with them.

My brother might rule Brooklyn but that doesn't mean he can abuse good sellers like Ireland for his own benefit. He had plenty of floozies and whores he could go to – why had he gone to Ireland? It didn't make sense. I knew my half-brother's policy of only taking those who were willing, but willing or not it was wrong to take Ireland. It was wrong and it pissed me off even more.

Here I'd been trying to save him from himself by spending my morning with his nosy slut and I come back here to find that he'd hurt Ireland. Now I don't have friends in the sense that most people do, but I do know who will fight for me. Ireland is one of those people. You don't mess with the people who will fight for me or I will rip your damn eyeballs out of their sockets.

"Where is he?" I asked. My blood was pumping so fast I could hear it in my ears.

"I don't know." Ireland sniffed loudly and before she could ask anything I was out the door.

I didn't have time for her dramatics. If she wanted to cry then I would let her do it, but right now I had to find Spot. And I would. I'd find him. I'd find that bastard and when I did he'd be sorry. I knew things about him that would crush his rule as king of Brooklyn. There were stories that I could tell that would make even the most loyal of his followers look at him and see him for what he really was – nothing.

There wasn't a fancy thing about him besides the airs he put on to impress those around him. That gold tipped cane was nothing but malarkey and claims to leadership were as weak as he was. How long would he last without me covering his ass for all of his drunken missteps in the last year? A year ago he was a leader – but now he was just pathetic and I was pissed.

Maybe it was time for Brooklyn to have a new leader.

A/N: Ah gosh. I don't think it is ever good to make Snaps mad. Don't feel bad for her Snaps – at least she got to sleep with Spot! Oh gosh. I don't think that makes it any better…. I'm working summer camps for the next five weeks, but I should have enough computer access to at least get one or two chapters posted.

Leave me cheese-wiz sculptures of Spot.