Chapter 4

"So, who is she?"

Spot remembered looking up somewhat irritably from the half-finished plate of food in front of him, immediately scowling when his eyes met Rummy's dark, humor-filled ones.

"Dammit, Rummy. What the hell do you want?"

"To find out who that girl you've been makin' eyes at all night is," Rummy muttered, a self-satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "The dark-haired one over there."

Spot's eyes followed Rummy's suggestive nod, traveling across the crowded pub to settle on Katherine Moore's slim figure. She was swaying slightly, a bright smile on her face as she stood next to Jack and a few others surrounding him. Her hair was somewhat haphazardly pulled up, dark, wild curls framing her face, but there was a carefree confidence in her air that made her look almost enchanting.

Spot nearly choked on his food as the unexpected thought crossed his mind. He shook his head, turning back to meet Rummy's expectant stare.

"She's Sullivan's new girl. And I ain't makin' eyes at her," Spot said a little too forcefully, securing a knowing chuckle from Rummy.

Anyone else would have earned a swift punch to the gut or nose for that sort of daring commentary, but lucky for Rummy, Spot wasn't one to overlook years of dependable, honest friendship. He had known Rummy from almost the first week he had been with the Brooklyn newsies. And though he sometimes found Rummy's laid back and easily humored personality annoying, it was also the thing he appreciated the most about him. Spot often had a penchant for being serious—some even ventured to call him detached and calculating. But those that truly knew him, like Jack and Rummy, were privy to a completely different side of the Brooklynite on the rare occasions he chose to show it. Over the last several years though, he had found himself becoming more inhibited than usual, even to those who knew him best.

Looking back, it had been a subtle transformation, a slow hardening of his exterior, but he hadn't been aware enough to feel the changes himself. Until someone managed to push him into feeling the opposite. Which was why he still found himself reeling from his impromptu conversation with Katherine Moore at the vaudeville show three weeks prior.

"Sullivan don't usually bring his girls out in public. 'Specially not to somethin' like this." Rummy paused, looking closer at the group across from them. "Honestly, he don't look all that interested in her."

Spot sighed irritably, shooting Rummy a warning look. "What are you, a matchmaker now?"

Rummy's smile widened. "Maybe I dabble. But, really. What's a girl like that doin' with the likes a' Sullivan?"

Spot scoffed as he snuck another glance at Katherine. "What? It ain't like she's royalty. She's workin' class, same as us."

"That ain't what I mean," Rummy quickly added, a devious look in his eyes. "She looks like she'd take a bite outa anyone that got close enough to try somethin'. An' we both know Jack don't take too kindly to his women bein' mouthy—or bright."

Spot rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Well, I don't suspect it'll last long. But since you dabble, maybe you can give us all an exact date to look out for."

At that, Rummy chuckled heartily, shooting Spot a suggestive look. "Why? So you know when's a good time to stake your own claim?"

Spot shot a fierce glare toward his tall friend. "You oughta watch your mouth. 'Sides, you know me well enough to know that I don't go after someone's leftovers. And I sure as shit don't like 'em mouthy either."

"Then why do I keep catchin' you lookin over there like you're missin' out on somethin'?"

Spot let his spoon clank onto his plate as he shook his head exasperatedly at his friend. "For fuck's sake, Rummy. It ain't like that. Now get outa my sight 'fore I finally give you the soakin' you deserve."

"How bout I get you a drink for the trouble instead?" Rummy said, winking.

Spot groaned, rolling his eyes. But upon seeing Rummy signal the bartender for two drinks, he sighed and resignedly muttered, "Fine. As long as you're buyin'."

Yet even as the drinks kept pouring and a pretty redhead settled beside him, Spot still found his eyes wandering throughout the pub to find Katherine's form amidst the din. It was an infuriating impulse he couldn't seem to quell, and for the next several hours he fought against the urge, throwing himself into a mind-numbing conversation with the girl sitting next to him and the solace of the cold drink pouring down his throat.

But instead of the disorienting bliss he had hoped to drown himself in, he only became more focused on the dark-haired enigma moving throughout the barroom. So much so, that when the nameless red head beside him placed her small hand suggestively on his thigh and whispered, "We should get out of here and go someplace quiet." He couldn't help but bat her off, responding, "I ain't in the mood tonight. Maybe another time, dollface."

The girl sulked off, clearly disappointed in his reaction. And it hadn't taken him too much longer to emit a drunken groan of irritation at his clear error.

Had he really just turned down a sure thing? For what? To watch Katherine Moore stumble into a corner with Jack? To see her entangle her lips with his friend's before she slipped coyly away to grab another drink from the bar?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

But as he downed yet another whiskey, his eyes catching Katherine's form yet again across the room, he started to formulate a somewhat disjointed, though still fully fervent plan. Because even in his alcohol-addled brain, he knew that there was only one way to fix the perpetual distraction he had suffered through. He needed to talk to Katherine again—needed to figure out what the hell she had meant at the bar the other night. And maybe then he could finally settle on why it had reverberated through his thoughts without pause for the last three weeks. Why he had felt invigorated but at the same time wanting.

And why the hell it was her face that had appeared in his mind for the past three nights.

Thus, when he noted Katherine finally bidding farewell to the table of men she had been sitting with, donning her coat and heading toward the door, he pushed himself up as well with every intention of confronting her.

Rummy caught his arm for a moment, jovially slurring, "Where ya goin', Conlon?" but Spot shook him off, muttering a quick, "I'll see ya back in Brooklyn later."

He headed out the door, the chill of the night making him push his hands uncomfortably within his pockets as he called out, "Hey! Kate! Wait up!"

She was only about a half a block ahead of him, and his call immediately made her stop and turn toward him, her eyes narrowed as she said, "Are you talking to me? And did you just call me Kate?"

Spot smirked, secretly pleased at the irritation he saw in her face as he jogged the last few paces to catch up to her. "I don't see anyone else here that fits that description."

He motioned to the empty street around them, but she only huffed in further distaste. "I don't like nicknames."

She began walking again, Spot falling into step beside her. "Why not? I feel like that one suits you just fine."

"Shouldn't I be the one that gets to decide if I'm comfortable with something or not?" she quickly replied, shooting him a challenging look.

"A nickname's a pretty strange thing to get upset about," Spot commented back. "And I feel like Kate's a good, sturdy one anyway. A name fit for Irish royalty, if ya ask me."

At that she emitted a short, surprised laugh, shaking her head before turning back to him. "And how do you know I'm Irish?"

"The dark hair, green eyes, and freckles are a dead giveaway."

Several moments' silence stretched on between them as she picked up the pace. But just as Spot was about to assert the real reason he was out in the cold following her, she said, "You're only half right, you know. I'm Irish and Italian."

"Well its no wonder you can hold your drink so well then," Spot muttered wryly in response.

She shook her head in confoundment, stopping suddenly and facing him. "Is there something I can help you with? I'm pretty sure your home is in the opposite direction of where I'm heading."

Her eyes were flickering with confusion and just the smallest hint of curiosity as she stood silently in wait for what he had to say. But he simply flashed her a charming smirk before murmuring, "You know, most people don't talk to me like that. Especially not girls."

"Well, maybe they should," she quipped back. "And you still haven't answered my question."

Spot met her challenging gaze steadily. "Can't a guy make sure a girl gets home okay? It's late and you were out here all by yourself. I'm surprised Jack didn't offer."

But Kate rolled her eyes, scoffing. "I wasn't going to interrupt his evening when I can get along just fine. But I know as well as you that people rarely do things without expecting something in return. Though the knight in shining armor bit was a nice touch, I'll give you that."

She waited for a moment, searching his face for the truth, but he only stared passively back. So, upon rolling her eyes at him, she turned on her heel and began walking quickly away again. "Go find someone else to play games with, Spot Conlon. I'm not interested."

However, Spot easily caught up with her, halting her steady gait as he gently grasped her arm. "Jesus, hold up. I'm not gonna take anything out in trade. I just wanted to chat a little while we walked."

She pulled her arm quickly away from his hold. "About what?"

"You know, the stuff you were talkin' about at the show a while back," Spot said, running a hand through his hair.

Her eyes took on a distant sheen for a moment before she shot him a suspicious look. "I don't think anything I said was particularly groundbreaking."

Spot sighed exasperatedly. "For God's sake. I don't have some secret scheme up my sleeves."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "I've heard that's usually not the case."

"Fine," he said definitively. "I'll prove it. Lemme walk you home. I'll be a perfect gentleman. And besides, a girl shouldn't be walkin' the streets alone at this time a night anyway."

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him one last warning glance before slowly beginning to move forward again. Spot smirked, matching her gait while he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it and puffed up into the cold air. "You know, at the show the other night I coulda sworn you were some kinda sappy optimist with the way you were talkin' about fightin' the powers that be and all. But now," Spot shook his head, shrugging, "I'd say you were more of a cynic."

Kate laughed shortly, shooting him an affronted look. "Well, gosh, Conlon. With the flattering way you just described each of those things, can't a girl strive to be both?"

He chuckled at her, taking in another inhale off his smoke. "You gotta admit. It is pretty foolish to think that people like us can make any kind of waves in this city. The strike's a perfect example of that."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is it? I'd say it was a perfect example of the opposite."

"How do you figure?"

She smiled at him, her eyes glowing in the darkness. "You managed to lead a bunch of downtrodden street kids to fight against one of the richest men in the city. And for all intents and purposes, you won. He blinked first. I'd say that's a hell of an accomplishment."

He shrugged, blowing out more smoke. "But nothin' really changed. I aged out of it okay, found a place at the docks, but I still see kids that ain't much past their toddlin' years in those sweatshops and factories."

"Now those are the words of a true cynic," she said with a half-smile. "But, if you truly believe nothing's changed, then you're missing the point."

He squinted at her, intrigued, playful curiosity in his voice. "Enlighten me, then."

"Well," she started, looking up thoughtfully into the night sky. "In the grand scheme of things, sure, it was a small win. Maybe all Pulitzer did was blink. And maybe there aren't a whole lot of visible changes that have immediately resulted from it. The rich are still rich, the poor are still poor. But," she paused, meeting his gaze purposefully. "The whole city's eyes were on you, watching as it happened. And before that moment, no one knew that someone like Pulitzer, a guy with all the power in his hands, could be forced to give even a sliver of it over. Now they do."

Spot stopped walking, looking her slowly over. Her dark hair surrounded her pale face, her eyes earnest and impassioned. He inhaled deeply from his cigarette as she looked expectantly toward him.

"What?" she finally said with a raise of her eyebrow. "Are you uncomfortable because a girl has strong opinions about important things?"

He shook his head, flicking his cigarette off into the distance. "No. I just was thinkin', it's a shame you weren't with us during the strike. You mighta' made an impressive union leader yourself."

Her eyes widened in momentary shock, then just as quickly she dropped her gaze, a smile touching her lips. "Good thing our work is far from over."

"You're quite the revolutionary," Spot quipped back as they fell into stride again.

"Just here to fight the good fight is all," she said softly with a somewhat derisive chuckle. "Someone's got to."

Spot smiled a genuine smile, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before he said. "You know, maybe with some convincing, I can be recruited for the cause again."

"We'll see," she said, chuckling. "You'll have to prove yourself under the direst of circumstances."

"Oh, then I'm definitely sold. Where do I sign up?" he muttered sarcastically, securing an even brighter laugh from her.

She had smiled, her eyes lighting up with a beautiful mixture of intrigue and warmth. And in that moment, as Spot had stared at her in complete confoundment, he had felt something—something that, at the time, had made him exceedingly uncomfortable. He had followed Kate that night to settle whatever deep-seated questions had remained unresolved from their previous discussion. But all he had managed to do was open even more threads of interest and connection with her.

Now, however, thinking back onto the small snippet of dialogue from two years prior, Spot wondered if that had been the night, or maybe even the moment that everything had started to shift for him. He had been so busy moving through the motions of his life, pushing past whatever inconvenience or trouble had come knocking at his door that he had never stopped to consider what the hell it was all for anyway. But Kate—she had not only thought about it, she had made it so that he couldn't help but consider it too. She had looked into his eyes on their third meeting, smiling, and had easily reached past all the walls he had so carefully erected about himself and into the core of what made him feel alive.

That had been the most freeing experience in all of his life up to that point, which was why he had, in turn, become utterly and unapologetically hooked on whatever else Katherine Moore had been willing to offer.

Had it really been her, then, that had started it all?

Who was he kidding—of course it had been Kate.

Spot sighed, running a hand through his chilled hair as he walked into his room—the small spare bedroom that he rented from the elderly Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House proprietor, Mary O'Connell. He had long since aged out of selling papers, but Mary had been kind enough to let him stay in one of the annexed apartment's rooms for a very small fee. Sometimes he felt guilty that he paid so little to the woman who had taken him in when he had been a troubled kid with nowhere else to go. But he did pull his weight in other ways. Like helping to keep all the boys in line, fixing up things around the house, and the occasional grocery run he made on Mary's behalf. It also didn't hurt that she had been a close friend of his mother's for many years prior to her passing.

Just then, a knock sounded on the semi-ajar door behind him. He turned with a start, sighing in relief when his eyes met the bright green ones of Mary.

"You alright then, Mary?" he muttered, eyeing her curiously. "Ain't you normally in bed by now?"

She offered him a brief smile, the wrinkles in her face coming together in a disarming way. "I left you some dinner on the stove, Thomas."

He nodded in thanks as she shot him one more worried look then exited to her own room. He wondered if she suspected something was wrong. But upon thinking of the older woman's clear, discerning eyes, and typical sharp commentary on any number of matters, he had his answer. Guaranteed she had some inkling of an idea.

After scarfing down the generous portion of dinner Mary had left for him and then returning to his room to fall exhaustedly upon his bed, an image of Kate passed through his mind with surprising force. She was smiling at him, her eyes alight with mischief. It was a painful reminder, one that demanded everything from him. Because she was gone, in danger, possible hurt, and maybe even—

His stomach clenched in discomfort as he shut his eyes against the thought. No. It wasn't over yet. It couldn't be.

There was so much work left to do.