Only Time Will Tell
a Newsies Fanfiction by xFlipperx
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies

Chapter Thirty Six: Mandy/I'll Be the One

Rookie sighed as she looked around the streets. Was there a reason that absolutely everyone seem to be avoiding her? All of her usual customers didn't even throw her a glance. She walked over to a window and checked her reflection. She didn't look repulsive or unkempt...well, no more unkempt than usual for a newsie. Her shirt was tucked in, and the more oily parts of her hair were covered by her cap. She had no bruises, no dirt on her face, so there was no reason for her to be avoided.

So then she turned back to her corner and watched as people went by. They all seemed to already have papers. And that was just fabulous. Whoever was getting to her customers first was doing a damn good job of it. Rookie had just sold her fourteenth out of thirty, and by twelve o' clock, usually she had sold all of the morning editions. On a good day, at least.

She supposed that today just wasn't a good day. Or perhaps maybe it was just a bad morning. She looked at the papers in her hand, checked the time in a shop window, and decided she would have to sell the remaining back to the distributor and just buy some copies of the afternoon edition and try a new selling spot. Maybe Central Park would be a good bet. It was turning out to be a pretty nice day. Hot, in the high eighties, but with mixed clouds and a slightly cooler breeze.

Since it was only twelve-fifteen, and the morning editions didn't come out until one-thirty, she decided she would make a quick stop at the Lodging House. While she waited for the afternoon edition, she could attempt to sell the last of her morning editions to anyone she passed, as well as grab her slingshot and practice a little. She was getting the hang of fighting, so why couldn't she get the hang of slingshot-ting?

She walked back to the Lodging House shouting the headlines, twisting them slightly to make them sound more interesting, but shouting them none-the-less. She managed to sell three more, so she was down to selling thirteen back to the distributor, and that was better than sixteen. And who knew? It was possible for her to make a sale or two on the way to the distributor.

Thoughts of selling vanished as she turned down the street to the Lodging House. There was something about going in there, something that made her feel uneasy. Her thoughts reverted back to the last time she had returned to the Lodging House, when she was with Spot. When she discovered Suave with Talker. When everything seemed to go to hell in a hand basket. Those thoughts made her stop for a step, hesitate. Why she felt this way, she didn't know. The one bad experience had engraved itself in her brain and remained there, telling her not to go it.

But to not go in was ridiculous. She was being irrational and paranoid. Talker wasn't even in Manhattan at the moment. And every last second of every last day since the incident, Rookie and Suave had been attached at the hip. Their relationship seemed to be getting stronger, well the physical aspects of it at least. But it was a start, and Rookie was happy to delude herself into thinking things would get better.

So she shook her head and walked toward the Lodging House confidently. She was being ridiculous, irrational, and paranoid. Why should she be afraid to enter her own home? Why would Suave be cheating on her when their relationship had seemed to be growing? It didn't make sense, once Rookie thought about it for a few rational seconds.

But there was some sick sense of foreboding that erupted in her stomach as she walked up the steps and opened the door. It was beginning to make her feel nauseous, which spurred her enthusiasm to get upstairs even quicker. If vomiting was to be her reaction to walking into the Lodging House during the middle of the day, well this was more than ridiculous, it was insane.

And I'm going to prove I'm insane, she thought to herself ruefully. Despite the nauseous feeling, she decided to combat her psyche and counter what her instincts told her to do. She would go up to the bunkroom, slowly and carefully. She would peek her head in, just so, and prove to herself there was nothing going on, except the loss of her insanity.

When she walked into the Lodging House, she closed the door carefully behind her and looked around. No one was about, not even Kloppman. She heard what sounded to be like rummaging in the back room (Kloppman's room, where newsies were forbidden from entering), so she decided not to make a big deal and merely slink past the desk and ascend the staircase.

When she reached the landing she held her breath and walked slowly over to the door. Her heart began pounding in her chest, while her head commented how stupid she was acting. She got to the door, which was just slightly open, and peaked in. At first she saw nothing, and smiled, and then she heard voices.

And then she saw them. Suave was slowly backing Talker into a bedpost. His head was bent down, and he was planting kisses on the Queen of Queens' neck. Rookie stuck her fist in her mouth to prevent herself from yelling out and stayed planted in her spot. The embraces and kisses became more intense, and the two wound up falling back on a bunk to continue their dirty rendezvous. Tears were streaming down Rookie's cheeks, and she had bit her fist so hard she broke skin on her index finger.

She couldn't take this, any of it. She couldn't continue to watch, and she couldn't barge in their and stop them. She just couldn't. So silently, still biting her bleeding fist, she walked downstairs and snuck past the front desk again. She left the Lodging House beginning to run, letting the door slam behind her as she did.

Brooklyn. She had to get to Brooklyn. She had to get to Spot.

He was right, he was so right. Suave was cheating on her; he really, truly, was cheating on her. She was just beginning to fathom it, and yet she couldn't believe it. How could he? Why would he? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

When she made it out of the labyrinth of alleyways and onto the open street, she slowed to a walk. She pulled her hat low over her eyes and pulled her fist out of her mouth. She attempted to hide the bit of blood on her hand by cupping it in the other, and pretended that the taste of iron and salt did not linger in her mouth.

Tears fell down her cheeks and off onto her shoulders. She did her best to avoid any Manhattan newsie she saw, and so far she was doing pretty well. At one point she had ducked down an alley and got herself lost, and that nearly set her over the edge. She was on the verge of screaming and kicked the alley wall, letting out a yowl as she did so. Bear startled sharply, and Rookie was so far into herself she didn't attempt to soothe the dog until they had found their way out of the alley.

When the pair finally reached the Brooklyn Bridge, Rookie felt like she was nearly in the clear for Spot. Now all she had to look out for was Echo and any other unfriendly Brooklynites, and she would be safe.

Safe. She never thought she would associate 'Spot Conlon' and 'safe' again. But here she was, and there he was (wherever he was in Brooklyn), and she was running to him for safety. To hide her and protect her from the world, from reality. The first person to have come to her mind. She didn't care if she was being selfish or self-centered, she needed Spot, and she couldn't get over this on her own. She needed Spot, and she didn't care how ridiculous, how self-centered that made her.

When she reached the end of the Brooklyn Bridge, she picked up her pace again. She didn't need to be reminded where the Brooklyn Lodging House was, the memory of her visit with the Manhattan newsies that night that seemed so long ago, seemed fresh in her mind.

But when she found it, she was surprised to see newsies hanging out around outside it. Unlike at the Manhattan Lodging House, it seemed perfectly normal to return to the Brooklyn Lodging House in between selling and relax. She quickly wiped her eyes clear of tears and stuck her chin up. She mustered up what little confidence she felt she had in her and walked toward her.

Unfortunately, the first newsie that met her was Echo. The Brooklyn brunette marched right up to Rookie and met her shoulders squared, fists clenched, ready to fight.

"What doya want, Rookie?" she practically snarled.

"To see Spot," Rookie replied quietly. "It's of utmost importance."

"Oh really? Note from Cowboy?" Rookie shook her head, and the Brooklynite barked a laugh. "Then it ain't that important. Why's don't you tell me what's so important an' I'll pass on the message?" Rookie shook her head again.

"I need to talk to Spot," she replied, the volume of her voice still quiet.

"I don't think ya do," Echo replied, taking a step toward Rookie. Rookie stayed where she was and looked up to meet eyes with the Brooklynite.

"And why's that, Echo?" she said quietly. "Jealous?"

Echo barked a laugh at that comment and shook her head. "If yoah just gonna bring trouble foah our leadah, then you bettah get yoah ass outta heah."

"I'm not bringing trouble," Rookie protested, her voice still low.

"Oh please, ya always bring trouble," Echo snapped, her voice escalating. "An' as long as you show your face, ya gonna bring trouble." Rookie tilted her head to the side in confusion, just a tiny bit.

"Oh like you don't get it," the Brooklynite snapped. "Bullshit Rookie, I know ya do. Ya don't care about Spot; ya just care about the attention he gives you."

"That's not true," the Manhattan newsie said, he voice gaining volume slightly. "He's my friend."

"Really?" Echo snapped. "Ya don't have ta live wit him; ya don't know what goes on when ya walk away. If ya really cared about him, ya'd walk away an' nevah look back."

"If you really cared about your health, you'd follow Spot's orders and stay away from me," Rookie snapped in reply, the volume of her voice skyrocketing. The last comment had dug into her and struck a nerve. Walk away from the only person who forgives her every single time? The one person who hasn't given up on her? Absolutely not.

Echo didn't like her comment, and took another step toward Rookie, and Rookie got ready to fight. But before anyone could throw a punch or a jab or a kick, another Brooklynite stepped in. It was Axel, one of the first Brooklyn newsies Rookie had ever met. He walked over to the girls, who didn't see him until the last second, and stood between them. At first his back faced Rookie, and he talked to Echo.

Echo claimed that Rookie was here to mess with Spot and cause trouble. Rookie knew that was blasphemous, but kept her mouth shut. She was no longer just up against Echo, but now Axel as well. She would be on her best behavior.

Axel turned to her, his eyes narrowed. "If yoah heah to cause trouble, then yous will leave," he told her, his voice dripping with loathe.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," Rookie replied smoothly. "It found me. I just need to see Spot, it's very important." Axel looked straight into her eyes (and Rookie felt straight through) before nodding his head and motioning for her to follow him.

"Spot ain't gonna be back foah another five-ten minutes," Axel told Rookie while the two walked into the Lodging House. "I's gonna show ya to his private quatas and yous can wait foah him there." Rookie nodded her head and agreed.

Axel led Rookie up to Spot's room and stopped at the door. He opened it, watched her walk in, and then began closing the door. "No trouble," he warned before fully pulling the door into the frame and retreating down the stairs. Once his footsteps faded completely, she broke down.

No trouble? All she was, was trouble. Anytime she went looking for Spot, it was because of trouble. Trouble she was in, trouble she found, or trouble she wanted to avoid. But it was trouble. And he was always there. To forgive, if the trouble was her, or to help her through it. Her eyes began to well up again.

She was such a brat. How could she keep doing this to him? How could she call herself a good friend? All she did was lean on him when it was needed him, and then tease him and run away when she didn't, or when they got too chummy. She was really horrible to him, and yet he was always there. She couldn't understand why, or how he was still there, waiting for her. She choked on a sob and shook her head to herself. She began pacing, head down, watching the tears hit the floor.

And then the door opened, and she looked up to see Spot. He closed the door behind him, and his expression became hard, his fists clenched. "What'd da bummah do dis time?" he spat.

"He…and Talker…" she replied, adverting her eyes to the floor. "Again."

"Did ya bust him?" Spot asked, unmoving from is place in front of the door. Rookie shook her head. "Why not? Ya caught him red handed again. Ya coulda walked in there and put the bastahd in his place? Why don'tcha just leave him?"

"I don't know!" Rookie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and turning to Spot. "It's just…oh it's so stupid but I just don't want it to be true. Suave was the one person in Manhattan that I could always count on. He was there for me in South Carolina, he was there for me when I returned to New York. He's practically all I have to really hold onto. And even though I saw it twice, there's something inside me that wants it to be a lie, and even a part of me that doesn't care…I'm so botched up."

Spot was silent for a few moments. He just looked at her, and Rookie looked back. She was breathing heavily, and tears were still coming steadily out of the corners of her eyes. "How long did you watch?" he asked her, his tone changed to quiet, gentle.

"Two minutes?" Rookie replied with a shrug.

"Tiga," he said, his voice straining just so. "Suave cheated on ya. He was unfaithful. Ya saw it wit yoah own eyes. He cheated on ya, and theah's nothin' ya can do to make it seem like he didn't. He did."

Rookie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and shook her head slightly. She was not denying the fact that Suave had cheated on her, she was incredulous. She couldn't believe that he would do it, but he did. It was a fact.

"You can't keep comin' ta me when he hoits ya unless it's the last time an' yoah leavin' the bastard." Spots voice was one tone, and it had a sharp edge. Rookie's chest clenched at the words, and she opened her eyes and looked up to meet Spot's eyes.

"What, why?"

"Coz every time ya do, I consida goin' out an' killin' the fucka."

"I don't understand…why?"

"Ya know why, Tiga, you've known foah a while."

Of course she knew why. He had true, strong feelings for her. Feelings she didn't necessarily return. And yet she kept going to him, teasing him, leading him on. She felt absolutely horrible with the realization. She shook her head again and bit her lip. She turned her head to the window, where she could see the sun was set lower in the sky through a few missing bars in the tattered, old blinds. She had no idea what time it was, or how long it had taken her to get to Brooklyn.

She walked over to the window, right up to it, and stared out through the space in the blinds and into Brooklyn. She let out a shaky sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, holding herself. She felt like she was holding herself together, if she let go everything would fall off. She heard Spot's footsteps approach her, and expected him to say something, but he didn't.

Without saying a word, he slipped his arms through hers and wrapped them tightly around her middle. Rookie was only momentarily surprised, but then she relaxed into his embrace. She could not resist him anymore. She folded her arms across her chest now, relaxed her shoulders and back, and leaned into Spot. He stood there silently, holding her tightly, almost rocking her. Without words, he was telling her she was okay, she was safe.

"I t'ink ya should spend a few days in Brooklyn," he finally said as he put his chin on her shoulder. The tone of his voice was soft, but Rookie knew it wasn't a suggestion. She nodded her head slowly, agreeing.

"But how could I get away?" she asked, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his cheek and putting her hands on his arms, which were still wrapped tight around her middle. It was as if he was afraid to let go. Afraid that Rookie would fall apart. Afraid that I'll run away, a thought bounced through her head. She was relieved when he finally spoke.

"Tawk to Cowboy."

"Okay."

Author's Note

So I've made you wait a month, and for that I am really sorry. I almost failed math (and still waiting for final grade 0-o…so yeah, I had to spend some time to devote to my studies.

A HUGE thanks to all who reviewed the teeny tiny last chapter: newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O, Kelsey Gwendolyn007, Echo Quinlan, Mighty Lion, RandomRiter, ellestJenn, Myst. S., Kim, misato, MushSpotgoil, and devilnangel. I love ya'll so much for well, loving this fic so much and being so supportive. I hop you enjoyed this chapter as well, along with all those who don't review, and all those who have put me on their Author Alert/Story Alert/Favorite Stories list. I appreciate it to no ends.

Hope ya'll enjoyed the chapter, and I know I say this every time, but -hopefully- the next will be out soon.

Chapter title comes from "Mandy" by Barry Manilow (put Rookie in Barry's part), and "I'll Be the One" by the Backstreet Boys (put Spot in the boys' place). Listen to the songs. They're each very good.

Sincerely,
xFlipperx