Panic and I walked briskly through the streets and over the bridge to Brooklyn, hitching rides when we could, jumping off and dashing away when we were caught.

We reached the Brooklyn docks by way of side streets, and inexplicably arrived after Spot, who had somehow managed to overtake us.

He and Bourbon were the only ones there. The others, I assumed, were making their own way back. The papers weren't due to be sold for another hour at least.

They were reclining on crates, both laughing, when our heels on the dock caught their attention. They both immediately stood, concern etched on both their faces.

"What're you doin' here?" Spot asked, approaching me. "What's wrong?"

How quickly he went from elation and joy to preparing for the worst. It was a sad fact of our upbringing that the good rarely lasted, and there was usually more bad on the way.

"Nothing," I said, but I couldn't look him in the eye. I glanced at Bourbon, who stood behind Spot, and he nodded, his eyes lighting with comprehension. "We need to talk to you."

And so we did. I outlined our plan with a lot of help from Bourbon, and additions from Panic, while Spot listened, his arms folded so tightly across his body it was a wonder he could still breathe. His face clouded, and he ground his teeth together. By the time we were finished, he was so still it was eerie, and the fact that he had never once interrupted made me wary.

Finally, he dropped his arms, and all his breath rushed out of him. He licked his bottom lip and turned his head in Bourbon's direction. "Take Panic inside and get 'er somethin' t' drink. I'll be there in a minute."

Once they'd gone, he stepped closer to me, so close I could feel the heat emanating from his chest and his breath on my face. He reached up, and I tensed, but his hands were more gentle than I'd expected as he took hold of my forearms.

"First..." he began, "I'll stand behind ya if this is what ya wanna do." The knot of trepidation in my chest eased slightly. "I'll protect ya, and so will Bourbon and the rest o' my boys. I'll make sure the next leader knows that protectin' ya is his job, and he'll do it for free. I know Jack'll do the same. Ya right. The threat t' your territory is pretty much gone. Ya shouldn' even need us, really."

I heaved a sigh of relief, amazed that it had been so easy to convince him. Then I remembered. He'd said, "First."

"Second," he continued, and I felt my nerves return, "Are ya really doin' this t' save the girls who come next? Or are ya doin' this t' get away from me?"

"Oh, Spot," I said, feeling ready to cry, which horrified the self-preservationist in me. "No. That's...this isn't about you." I backtracked. "Well, I don't know, maybe it is. But not like that." I paused in order to organize my thoughts. "I don't want to get away from you. But I don't want us to do anything with each other because we have to. I don't want it to be some sort of requirement."

"So what do you want?" he asked, releasing me and taking a step back.

My heart was hammering in my chest, so hard I could feel my pulse in my throat, and though I was tempted to make something up, I didn't. For the first time, I told the whole truth. "You," I said simply.

His expression was inscrutable, then he shifted his weight and swept his hat off his head.

"Gleam..." he started, then trailed off. "You...you know that I never...I never thought o' you as jus'...a deal an' nothin' more-" I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "I know I said it before. I was mad. I wanted t' hurt you. But I..."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if the words he had in his mind were too much for him to say out loud. "You mean a lot more t' me than that," he finished, and I knew that was as close to "I love you" as I was going to get.

I stepped forward.

At exactly the same moment, he took another step back, as though this were a dance, not a conversation, and I felt it: the final piece of the wall that had been building between us for days now, shifting into place, and I knew what was going to happen next before it did.

"I can't be who ya want me t' be," he said, looking distressed, but not nearly as distressed as I felt. "I'm not the guy with the steady girl. I'm not the guy who's faithful, and tha's what y' want. I can't give that t' you."

I know it sounds corny and unforgivably trite, but at his words, I felt my heart break. It was a real, physical feeling, less like the breaking glass I'd always imagined, and more like someone had reached into my chest, grabbed hold of my heart, and torn a chunk out with their bare hands.

I could hardly breathe. Here it was, finally: He cared for me, loved me even, but he wasn't willing to change to be with me. Vaguely, as though I was watching from afar, I felt myself nod, and whisper, "Okay." I wanted to argue, but I didn't have the breath necessary, and I felt myself spinning down into my own emotions, losing myself inside my own mind.

The next few hours were hazy, and I couldn't seem to find my way out of my head. Panic and I hung around the docks while the boys went to sell, and though she tried valiantly to talk to me, to make me tell her what had happened, I couldn't speak.

I wanted to; I really did want to. But my thoughts were swirling so fast, and my emotions were literally clogging my throat, and I couldn't force myself to speak.

So we sat in silence until Bourbon and Spot came back. They had told the boys, I could tell. Spot nodded to me once, and in that nod, I knew that not only had Brooklyn been told, but they were also on board to help us if the need arose.

My brain had refocused upon their return, my survival instincts kicking in and deciding that, in the choice between fight or flight, I would choose to fight. I had to face Spot: face him, and finish this last duty together. And then...what?

I didn't know. I didn't have the extra brain power to even wonder.

Water was trailing after Spot and Bourbon, looking a little lost and off-guard. When they reached us, he moved to the front and stared at me. "Is it true?" he asked gruffly, and I knew his disbelief was just the first of many we'd encounter tonight.

"Yes," I sighed, then moved closer. "I'm sorry. About Mug-about Ginny. She..." I didn't know what to say. What would she want me to say? What did he want me to say? How did they really feel about each other? Did her real identity, her real life, even matter to him? "She's already in Manhattan, waiting, so you'll be able to talk to her."

He nodded and looked away. I sensed a certain role-reversal in his situation. Whereas I was the love struck fool in my "relationship" (for serious lack of a better word) I got the idea he was the one in his.

Stop, stop, stop. I could not think about this now. I had to focus. I had to handle this next phase of the plan; I had to go along to Manhattan and lay out the truth for them. I had to help Panic and the other girls talk to their boys. I had to lead. I had been failing lately, so absorbed in my own drama I couldn't see past it to see them.

It ended now. I only had a few months-6, to be precise, until I turned eighteen on January seventeenth, and until then, I had to be the leader I used to be. I had to get back to who I used to be.

After tonight, would I ever see Spot again? As we all walked to Manhattan, hurrying along in the falling darkness, I couldn't help but wonder. The obligation had been lifted, and there were no more requirements. He had told me where he stood. What else was there to say? He'd made himself perfectly clear, and there wasn't much else to do, except let it go.

I sighed and looked up from my feet, which I'd been studying in order to avoid looking at Spot's back as he walked directly in front of me, between Bourbon and Water. None of us spoke. Unlike the companionable silence in which Panic and I sometimes walked: the kind that felt comfortable and familiar alongside your best friend, the kind of silence that occurred when words were unnecessary because you knew each other so well, this silence was tense, awkward, and uneasy.

I had to fight the very physical urge to reach forward and grab Spot's shoulder, the urge to yank him around and kiss him. Kiss him until-what?-he changed? Grew up?

There was nothing I could say or do to force him to mature except wait. Nothing but time would change him, and even that was nothing more than a chance. The fact of the matter was, for all that I wanted him, wanted to be with him, ideally forever, he was still just a boy. He hadn't grown into a man, yet, and that's what I needed.

Maybe he was doing me a favor. He knew who he was, knew what he was capable of, what he was ready for. He wasn't ready for this.

But could I sit around and wait while he grew up enough to be ready? I didn't know. On the one hand, was I so fickle that I could just turn away without a backward glance and find someone new? On the other, was I so pathetic that I would twiddle my thumbs, stuck in limbo until he realized what we could be together?

It was one of those situations where, after telling someone about it, they'd shrug, and say, "Damned if you do, damned if you don't." And it would be true. There was no option open to me that would make me happy. The only thing that would, would be if Spot suddenly turned around and said, "I was a fool. I love you; that's all that matters. Be with me." It didn't take a genius to figure out that that wasn't going to happen.

Maybe it happened all the time in romance novels, but the fact was, that kind of thinking was nothing more than a young girl's fancy. The real world was messy, it was hard, and a lot of the time the bad outweighed the good. There was a lot of muddling through hard times before you reached a brief, shining, perfect moment. Perfection was hard to come by, and even harder to hold on to.

Next thing I knew, I was slamming into Spot's back, my dipped forehead connecting with the smooth expanse where his shoulders joined his neck, my nose smushing into the dip between his shoulder blades.

"Sorry," I murmured, not even having the energy to feel embarrassed. I looked up. We had arrived in Manhattan, and were standing in front of the lodging house.

"The girls are by Irving Hall," I whispered to Panic.

"No they're not," she replied, gesturing. Taller than me, she could see over the heads of the boys. I stood on my tiptoes to look.

Lady, Angel, Mugger, and Sprint were sitting on the stoop of the lodging house, surrounded by boys. Lady was sitting practically on Blink's lap, and Angel and Skittery were mirroring them.

Sprint was sitting close to David, smiling up at him as he spoke. I understood. Her whole job was about listening and reporting, and David desperately wanted to be heard.

The other boys were talking and laughing, still running high on the victory we'd had that afternoon. Jack and Sarah were sitting next to each other, their knees turned in and touching. Les was absent, home sleeping, I assumed.

Mugger was off to the side, looking vaguely bored by the conversation around her, and her eyes lit up when she saw Water. She hopped off the stoop and approached our glum group. Her smile faded when she reached us. We all must have been wearing variations of the same down-and-out expression. I could feel the frown on my face, pulling down my lips, weighting down my cheeks.

Water recoiled slightly when she reached him. Her face crumpled in dismay, and I again wondered how truthful she'd been when writing off their relationship as nothing serious.

Mugger turned away from him, still looking crestfallen, and Panic and I moved to the front of our small group to stand with her.

"Kassidy!" Mush looked up from his conversation with Blink (and Lady by extension) and bounded down the stairs. "Where were ya? I didn' even see ya at the strike this mornin'-the other girls said you was there."

"I-I was, but..." she replied, looking flustered and casting me a glance that clearly said, "Help!'

I leaned into her arm. "She had to help me with something today, so we had to rush off; sorry Mush." I cast him an apologetic smile.

Mush, always easygoing, flexible, took my explanation at face value and reached out to give Panic a quick, welcoming hug. "Well, ya here now," he said, as if that were all that mattered.

I sincerely hoped he would take our revelation with the same happy-go-lucky acceptance.

Lady, Angel, and Sprint, who had been watching with rapt attention, all stood as one and moved toward us. The three of them stood with Mugger, Panic, and myself, all of us in a line, like a veritable wall of solidarity.

Mush took us all in, and bemusement clouded his happy expression. He took a step back and leaned against the stair rail.

Spot cleared his throat. "The girls need t' talk t' all o' you," he said firmly, leaving no space for questions or inquiries before he went on, "Jack, we could go t' Irving Hall if ya could get Medda t' give us somewhere t' talk."

Jack stood up, and Sarah stood with him, Sarah looking confused, Jack wary. Jack nodded, and touched Swifty's arm. Swifty immediately nodded and vaulted off the stair, sprinting away toward Irving Hall.

"What's this about?" David asked, moving toward us, posing his question, not to Spot, but to Sprint, who looked at once embarrassed and uncomfortable. She squirmed to my left, and I reached down and held the side of her hand with the tips of my fingers.

"We'll tell ya as soon as we find somewhere private," Spot answered, and David was forced to turn toward him.

"Tell us what?" he pressed, not on to be deterred.

But no one answered him. The girls and I stood still and silent, all of us touching the girl to either side of us in some way-fingers on hands, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Spot and Bourbon avoided each other's eyes and kept their faces impassive, looking in the direction Swifty had gone, waiting for his return.

He was back in what I'm sure was no time at all, but felt like ages in the taut silence. He ran straight to Jack and murmured something to him. Jack straightened and said, "We got a room. Who's goin'?" he added.

Spot glanced at me, and I had to force myself to ignore the pang in my chest his eyes on mine caused. I shrugged. I didn't really care, honestly. It could be just Jack or every single one of them, and the outcome would be the same. They would all know almost immediately.

"Everyone can come," Spot said with the air of conceding defeat. He knew as well as I did that leaving people out wouldn't keep them from finding out, it would only cause complaints and protests.

In a clump we trooped to Irving Hall, and somewhere in the hustle I found myself sandwiched between Spot and Bourbon. Turning my head to the right, I could see Spot's profile, tense in the streetlamps; to the left, all I could see was Bourbon's firm shoulder, round and strong and covered in a thin, dusty dark blue long-john top.

We entered the side door and moved immediately to the same preparation room I'd worked in during the rally, although now it was covered in props and costumes. Countless chairs were pushed against the wall, and we each took one. There was much scrambling to find a place, and in the end, it was Manhattan and Sarah on one side, my girls and myself on the other, flanked by Spot and Bourbon.

Spot was on my right, Panic on my left. I could feel the tension in their bodies, and knew the same stress was emanating from mine.

"Wha's this all about, Spot?" Jack asked from between Sarah and Racetrack. I ran my eyes down the line from left to right, reading their faces like words in a book: Blink, Mush, Bumlets, Swifty, Skittery, David, Sarah, Jack, Racetrack, Specs, Dutchy.

Spot glanced at me, and I could almost hear him asking, "Should I do it or do you want to?" although his mouth never moved. Part of me wanted to sit back and let him do it: that would certainly be the easy way out. But it was also the coward's way out, and I'd already been enough of a coward today, what with accepting Spot's cop out without a fight.

I'd decided in Brooklyn: it was time to fight. And if I couldn't fight for Spot, I'd fight for my girls.

I stood up, and all the eyes in the room, eyes that had before been on Spot, turned to me. I heard the intake of breath from my five girls, and then nervousness threatened to overtake me. All I could hear was my heart slamming in my ears. My blood pressure was so high I could have sworn I could feel my blood rushing through my veins.

I drew in a deep breath and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I tried again, exhaling and inhaling, and this time, the pressure behind my ribcage loosened enough so I could speak. But where to begin? "First of all," I began, my voice much stronger than I'd expected it to be; for that, I was proud. "I'm so sorry. We're all so sorry. You don't...you can't possibly know what I'm talking about yet, but please believe me when I tell you that all of you guys mean a lot to us." I paused, looking away from the identical nonplussed looks on the faces of Manhattan and turning half around to look at my girls. They were all nodding, encouraging. Their approval gave me confidence. I turned back to face Manhattan and continued.

"We've been lying to you. We're not shop girls, or governesses, or maids, or whatever else it was we told you."

Eleven brows furrowed, and eleven people snuck sidelong glances at one another before returning their attention to my face.

My hands were shaking, and I ran them down my hips and thighs, trying to steady them. "We don't live in Manhattan," I continued. "We're from Queens, and-"

I broke off when Jack suddenly straightened violently. He looked from me to Spot and back. I could almost hear the gears in his head turning, trying to make sense of the conclusion his instincts had already reached.

"We're newsgirls," I said, and hurried on before anyone could react. "We run Queens. There are no boys there. I'm the leader." I knew I wasn't being very eloquent, but I figured it was best to get it all out there as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandage, and then deal with the questions.

Jack leapt to his feet, his mouth open, then glanced around himself as though unsure how he'd gone from sitting to standing. Everyone else seemed shocked into silence. Skittery, I could see, had focused his eyes on Angel, who was trying to look anywhere but into his gaze. Blink was doing the same to Lady. David had leaned back in his chair and was shooting glances at Sprint, who looked like she was about to cry.

Mush stood as well, and crossed to Panic, who cowered in her chair behind me. I turned to watch as he crouched down in front of her. "Is this true?" I heard him ask, his voice soft. She nodded, her eyes full and her chin trembling, and, as I watched, utterly amazed, he hugged her.

I felt a great swell of affection for Mush. He was one of the few people in the world who were inherently good. He didn't have a mean or vindictive bone in his body.

Jack spoke above the murmurings. "How can this be true?" he asked hotly. "Queens is full o' guys who'd jus' as soon kill ya as talk to ya." He turned suddenly to Spot and Bourbon, who had not moved.

"We heard those rumors from you, Spot," he said accusingly, pointing a finger. Suddenly, all eyes were on Spot, and I instantly felt sorry for him, caught there under everyone's suspicious eyes.

Spot stood, and without thinking, I went to stand next to him. Whatever happened between us-, more likely, didn't happen between us-from here on out, this, at least, we were together in.

Spot inhaled deeply and lifted his chin, looking defiant. "We had a deal," he said. "Gleam," he nodded to me, and Jack flicked his gaze to me briefly, "An' me. I spread the rumors and kept 'er girls an' her safe."

"In exchange for what?" David asked, his voice just slightly higher than usual, as though he already knew, moving forward to stand next to Jack. Suddenly, everyone was standing, Spot and me in the middle of the clump.

He glanced at me, and I closed my eyes for a moment, dreading what was coming: the scandalized looks, the condemning stares, the gasps.

When I opened them, Bourbon had stepped forward to stand on my left, tucked behind my shoulder like a strong wall for me to lean on.

"Sex," Spot answered, and it was just as I'd expected. There was great collective gasp, and then everyone was talking at once.

I couldn't stand it. "Stop, stop, stop!" I yelled, waving my arms. Everyone shut up and turned to me. "It's not his fault," I said shrilly, pointing at Spot. "It's not mine, either," I added, jabbing myself in the chest. "This deal has been in place for over thirty years. It was put in place because turf wars were so common and so brutal back then, and the Queens leader knew her lies were close to crumbling. She did it to protect her family. It was her idea. She brought it to Brooklyn."

I was half-yelling, talking in a rush and pacing, cutting lines through the group as people stepped back to let me by. "Back then, it was the only way we could hold on to our territory. It was the only solution; don't you see? Spot and I didn't come up with this-we inherited it!"

Everyone glanced at Spot, who was standing where I'd left him, but he said nothing, just kept watching me, his eyes following the path I was stalking.

"We only just realized that it doesn't have to be like this anymore. Turf wars almost never happen, and when they do, they're so half-assed they barely matter." I halted and turned to Jack.

"Spot already talked to Brooklyn, and they're on board. If anything ever does happen, they'll help Queens. We wanted to tell you, too, and see if you'd agree to help, too, if it ever came to that."

"Why should I?" Jack yelled, moving toward me. I knew what was making him so angry. He didn't like this one final piece of evidence that Brooklyn really was the most powerful borough, the most in-the-know. It had been Brooklyn Cameo had turned to all those years ago, and now, it was Brooklyn-and Spot-I depended on now.

"Because you're good," I said softly, stepping closer to him. "You all are," I said louder, running my glance over all the Manhattan newsies. "And a few of you care about my girls," I added.

Skittery looked wounded, and he pushed through the group to confront Angel. "Was that what this was? Did you start this with me so you could use me?"

His words caused a visible shock to go through Blink, who turned to Lady, the question in his eyes. Mush, however, stayed still and silent at Panic's side, and I wanted to hug him, or at the very least, high-five him.

Angel didn't seem to know what to say, but Panic did. "No, Skittery," she said loudly, then turned to Mush. "Gleam almost killed me when I started talkin' t' you, and I really thought she was gonna soak me when I agreed t' come t' that party in Brooklyn, but I couldn' help it." She cast me a sheepish look, and I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the small smile from my face. "We been watchin' you all for so long, and...we jus' wan'ed you t' know us," she finished, her eyes pleading.

Mush smiled and said nothing, just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. I watched as Skittery and Blink's faces relaxed as Angel and Lady repeated those sentiments to them.

Jack was still staring at me, and I squirmed under his scrutiny. "You slept with him," he said flatly, and so loudly that everyone heard and turned to regard me.

My face burned, and I felt shame and fury rise in my chest. How dare he? "I don't see what that has to do with you," I spat, feeling cornered.

Suddenly, Spot had stepped forward and lifted his hands to grip my shoulders. He pulled me back just slightly so that my back was pressed against his chest. "Don' look at 'er like that, Jacky-Boy," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Sarah stepped forward and spoke for the first time. I had forgotten she was even there. "I knew there was something wrong with you," she said, her voice righteous. "I knew you were a whore." She flung the word at me, and I stiffened. Spot's hands clamped down on my shoulders, his fingertips digging into my flesh, not to stop me from flying at her, I knew, but to stop himself.

"Shut up," he growled. "Jack, ya better control ya girl or get 'er outta here, 'cause I'm not gonna stand by an' let 'er talk to Gleam like that."

Jack studied us for the smallest of moments, then nodded. He pulled Sarah toward him and murmured, "Go home." She protested, but he insisted. She went, and David went with her, promising to return as quickly as he could.

Once they were gone, Spot squeezed my shoulders once and released me, stepping away. I wished he'd stayed. I felt the strength drain out of me as he moved away.

"So, wha' d'ya say, Jack?" Bourbon said, finally speaking. "Will ya help us protect 'em if they need it? Will ya make sure the boys who come after us know that it's their job?"

It wasn't Jack who answered first, but Mush. From where he still stood with Panic under his arm, he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm in. I ain' gonna let anythin' happen t' any o' these girls."

"I'm in, too," called Skittery, and Angel beamed at him. He smiled slightly at her, and I knew they'd be alright. Skittery would be a little standoffish for maybe a few hours or days, but he'd come around.

"Same here," said Blink, and he reached out his hand for Lady, who grasped it and beamed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mugger walk over to Water and take his hand. He didn't look at her, his eyes on Jack, waiting for his answer, but he didn't pull his hand away, either, and his fingers curled around hers.

Jack sighed and gave a one-sided grin, and I knew he was going to agree. The secret was out, and we were all ready to move on to the next phase, whatever that phase turned out to be.

{END}

A/N: DONE! Baaahahah! Yay! Not quite, obviously, since there's still the sequel, but now comes the three year jump, so THIS particular story will be ending. I know I said I would post the title of the sequel in here, but...I don't have the title figured out, yet...so, when I post the prologue of the sequel, I will come back into this story to post the link so no one misses out. It should be up soon! 3

Love 'n' Mush Pants (it's been a long time since I did that),

Glimm