Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, all that is mine is mine. This Disclaimer holds true for every chapter of this story that I will post or that has been posted.
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A/N: I couldn't let this fic get too dark too soon, it is really easy for me to write very dark, creepy fics, so the first part I added mainly for fun, but it does have purpose for later in the story. ^_^ So if it seems to not fit in with the rest of the mood, bear with me please. I promise that it will all work out. Besides, it was really fun to write. Anyway, there are some things in here that aren't going to make much sense if you haven't read Frostbitten, but you should be able to piece it together sort of. ^_^ Take care.
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Chapter 2: Repetitive Blows

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild language and violence.

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"Ever wayward, weak and blind"
-- Gustave Nadaud
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The lodging house in Brooklyn now had enough newsies in it, which Spot could sneak in and probably not be detected by the proprietor. For some reason, he wished that he could sneak a glance at Emily, but quickly shoved the thought aside. Sneaking up the stairs to the bunks upstairs, he talked to his friends.
Fire and Pastor, two of the more brutally injured, lay in bed, but were alert and well rested. Tomorrow, they claimed, they would be out to soak the bastards that did this to them. At that, someone would remind them of their broken ribs, and they would calm down, but continue to grumble. Ghost was still limping, and Red had a broken hand. Outsider and Fists were nearly recovered, but they all refused to talk publicly about what had happened. At least honestly, pride kept them from doing so.
Pips still wasn't back.
Spot was beginning to worry, but he didn't show it. It was a rare occasion that Spot showed anything that he was feeling inside, but that is probably why he was such a good leader, and such a good poker player. Some of the girls came in from their separate bunking area and suggested a game of cards.
Smiling to himself, Spot pulled out some money and began the bets. Soon he had cleaned up and possessed much of the other players' money, male and female. Only then did he allow a sly smile to creep across his face.
"Anybody up foah anoder round?" he asked, shuffling cockily.
"I don't got no more money," pouted one girl.
"I don't wanna play no more wit'choo, Spot, I says you cheat," Outsider complained, pushed back from the makeshift box table. Being the second in command, Outsider was the only one who would have the nerve to accuse Spot of such a thing, even in jest.
"Let's play foah somet'ing differ'nt dan money," the girl, Flower, suggested.
"What would we play foah?" Knife added.
"How 'bout we play foah kisses?" The girl, Spitfire added lewdly.
"Whot kinda kisses?" Spot listened to the conversation circle around him with unusual interest. This kind of betting could prove rewarding. Maybe if he kissed another girl, the baby spark for Emily would be drowned.
"Whot evah kind anybody wanted ta throw in," Spitfire explained. "Cheek kisses ain't wort' as much as lips, an' lips ain't wort' as much as passion kissin'," she grinned, obviously pleased with her suggestion.
"How much is each wort'?" Outsider asked, suddenly re-interested in the game.
"Cheek is wort' a penny, lips is wort' a nickel, passion is wort' a quarter," Spot proclaimed. No one bothered argue with Spot's rule. "You can bet youah money or kisses, whatevah you please. Anybody got somet'ing dat we could use foah kisses?" Spot looked around.
"We'se could use coal chips," Fists piped up.
"But de is all da same color an' size, we'se gotta have somet'ing differ'nt," Spot looked around the room. The problem with being a newsy is there weren't too many odds and ends around the lodging house.
"We'se could use doit," A girl with long dark hair and a hard sharp jaw known as Spice, spoke out.
"Doit? Why would we'se wanna use doit?" Spitfire reprimanded. "How could ya use doit?"
"Well I ain't seeing yous comin' up wit' no ideas," Spice spat in her direction.
"We could use rocks," Ghost added, joining the circle.
"We'se could use shootahs," Spot said. "We'se all got dem and we'se all knows our own shootahs," he pulled a few out of his pockets. The colored spheres gleaming in the late light shining through the windows.
The group looked around, Spot had a dangerous gleam in his eyes and they all knew better than to argue. Grudgingly, the dug into their pockets and pulled out what remained of their money, and their shooters. Spitfire started the betting setting out a nickel. Spot matched her by putting out one of his medium shooters.
"One on da lips," he smirked. "From youahs truly," the girls giggled, the boys grimaced.
"I'se shuah hope we'se can trade dese kisses from da boys to da goils," Outsider muttered, and the game began.
Five-card draw was the game of choice and it soon became heated, the stakes were high, and all of them had various assortments of kisses and money staked on the table. All Spot had bet so far were kisses, all three varieties, but he showed no sign of if his hand was good or bad. Flower, Outsider, Fire, and Ghost had all folding a few bets back. All there was left was Spice, Spitfire, Fists, Knife, and of course, Spot.
"I is raisin' yous all a passion kiss," Spot put another shooter in the middle. Knife looked nervous, Spitfire looked excited, Spice looked confused, Fists looked disgusted, and Spot didn't show any emotion.
"I fold," Fist threw down his cards.
"Me too," Spice put down her cards, she was knew to Poker and wasn't exactly sure on most of her hands.
Confidently, Spitfire put one of her 'passion kiss' in the pot and Knife added a quarter. So the game continued. Knife folded the next time around, so it was down to Spitfire and Spot.
"One o' each," Spot laid his shooters on the table, he had at least fifteen different kisses at stake on the table. Spitfire began to look a little unsure of her self, but held strong and held his bet with the last of her spending money and one passion kiss.
Spitfire was faced with the choice of either raising the bet, folding, or laying out her cards. Having spot as her opponent didn't help, as she couldn't even have a hint at how good his hand might be. Finally, she lay her cards face down on the table. "Full house," she lay them flat on the table. Sure enough, she had a pair of fives, and three kings, not a bad hand.
When Spot didn't react, she smiled broadly and started to collect her bounty, when Spot slammed his cards down on the table. "Royal - straight - flush," he said slowly, pronouncing every word clearly in a deadly low voice. It wasn't in spades, it was in hearts, but it still beat Spitfires' hand by a mile. Her face fell, but he glowed. The single king that she hadn't had in her hand had somehow miraculously appeared in his. "Looks like I gots me some kisses," he grinned, gloating, and put all of his shooters back in his pouch before he counted the others.
He had two passion kisses, from Spice, and three from Spitfire. The lip kisses came from a large mix, but he gave the girls the boy's, not wanting to present that image, and ten odd cheek kisses. Many of which came from the boys as well, which were dispersed evenly between the giggling girls. Eager to see if he could douse the little spark inside of him, Spot called over for Spice.
"I believe I gots a prize ta claim," he held up one of her large shooters, symbolizing a passion kiss. The boys in the room hooted and whistled the girls giggled and whispered to each other, Spice blushed crimson, but dutifully sat on Spots lap. Leaning up, she kissed him full on the mouth.
Nothing, That was the entirety of Spot feelings for the kiss. There was absolutely nothing there. He let her continue to kiss him though, he had won this fair and square and he was going to enjoy it. As her mouth moved over his, he returned the embrace half-heartedly. Slowly, her tongue parted his lips and nothing but a dull ache was aroused by the erotic gesture. After a bit, she pulled back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Looking at him, Spot gave a token grin then handed her the marble that he had won for the kiss.

It disturbed Spot that he hadn't even felt the slightest attraction or spawned any desires from such an amorous embrace. The cross around his neck seemed to burn as he felt the old familiar ache well up in his chest. Could it be that his flame for Frost still burned bright? Or that the spark he felt for Emily was truly something to be reckoned with?

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//Does anybody feel this way?

Does anybody feel like I do?

Does anybody feel this way?

Does anybody feel like I do…?//

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Spot walked back to his shack. His posture and pace showing his deep, brooding, melancholy mood. It was moments like these, the unguarded, honest, sober moments where he felt the most alone. In the company of friends, he had trained himself not to focus on these such thoughts. All day long he was hiding behind his cool facade, but it was nights like these that brought him to the chilling, sober, reality. Spot was alone, and he knew it. The loneliness wasn't a new factor in his life, but it still gnawed at him menacingly. Ever since Frost had been gone, his pain awareness of his lonely position had increased. If he weren't careful, his emptiness would eat him alive.

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//I don't ever want to feel,

The way I did that day,

Take me to the place I love,

Take me far away…//

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Queens was a tough part of town, arguably more so than Brooklyn. A group of boys sat around a single smaller boy who was obviously badly beaten. His lower lip was spit, blood smeared his face, one eye was swollen shut, and he was shivering even in the hot weather. An ox of a boy was circling him like a vulture; the other boys held lanterns or clubs.
"Whot was yous doin' in ouah terrahtory?" The large boy barked.
"I'se nevah been ta Queens afore an' I wanted ta see whot it wos like," The little boy shivered again.
"How come you came so fah inta Queens?" The large boy asked.
"Cause I got toyned around," the smaller boy shrank back from the larger one as he took a swing at his head.
"Yous a spy ain't ya?" A boy from the crowed yelled and the group affirmed the want of an answer with a low murmur.
"No I ain't!" The boy cried. "Why'd I be spyin'?"
"Cause evahybody knows dat Spot Conlon's has got spies," A shadowy figure spoke, coming away from the wall where he had been reclining. It was the first time he had spoken the entire night. "An' Spot Conlon's don't ca'ah much foah Queens," the shadow continued. "If we'se let you'se go back, yous can tell 'im dat we don't ca'ah much fo' Brooklyn neither," the boy stepped into the light, spitting on the dirt ground. He was tall and strongly built; half of his face was still shadowed, adding to the mystery of his appearance. A shock of brown hair ran wildly out of his head, it was messy and fairly unkempt.
"I don't spy foah nobody, I'se loyal ta nobody, I'se nevah even seen Spot Conlons!" The little boy knew that this had to be the leader of the group, he could tell by the way that the boys parted to make way for him and the commanding presence he had over the oaf that had been questioning him.
"He's lyin' Lice, ya know he is," the Oaf addressed the half-shadowed mystery.
"I don't know nothin' foah shuah, but I knows dat he ain't goin' ta talk," Lice frowned deeply. "Plank, Driftah, take dis boy back ta Brooklyn an make shuah dat he stays dere," The boy raised his hand and snapped his fingers and everyone moved at once. The circle dispersed instantly except for the two boys that had been instructed to take the smaller boy back.
"I hopes dat yous liked youah view o' Queens," The larger of the two growled. "Cause it's bettah be youah last."
The small boy gulped as he was practically dragged back to the line between Brooklyn and Queens. The boy was fairly sure that his captors wouldn't go into Brooklyn, but they did, they walked him as far as twenty blocks into territory then let him go. Turning that moved back towards their area as if they hadn't a care in the world. With what little strength the boy had left, he moved his battered body towards the lodging house.
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//He sees that,

They are blind,

Why does he,

Take all the blame…?//

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Spot was just leaving when Pips made it to the front door. Without a single word exchanged, Spot knew what had happened. The Queens' boys had beaten him. There wasn't anything too terribly wrong with Pips, he was limping, but he wasn't bleeding, he didn't seem to be in too much pain. The bruises would go away and so would the swelling, but he didn't have much of either, so Spot wasn't too worried about Pips directly. . What he wanted to know, more than anything was if Pips had found out anything about the new leader, Lice.
For awhile, Pips and Spot just stood looking at each other. Pips not daring to leave without permission, and Spot not giving him any. After a bit, Spot moved to help the boy back into the lodging house. Pips was a tiny boy of about ten, the boys that had beaten him must have been much larger. Even in the brutal street world there was some code of conduct, some honor among thieves, this crossed the line.
Bastahds, thought Spot.
A commotion broke loose in the boy's bunkroom when Spot and Pips walked in. Questions from all sides brought the girls into the room as well. Their shrill squeals and feminine rejoicing wrecked havoc on Spot's hearing. Never did he want to hear those high pitch noises again, they were enough to make a man cry. The mix of Banshee wails and rumbling questions brought the wrath of the owner upon them.
Lumbering steps were heard ascending the staircase and Spot melted into the group. He wasn't afraid of the man, but he wasn't stupid either. The red-bearded man burst through the door and scanned the room.
"What is going on in here?" He bellowed, and the room fell to a hush. "What are the girls doing in here?" No one answered again, until Spitfire bravely spoke up.
"Pips came back, we'se were woyied 'bout 'im," she explained. "'E went missin' dis aftahnoon, but 'e's back now, an' we'se glad," she smiled slightly, hoping to ease the hard gaze that set upon her.
"Which one of you is Pips?" The man growled, looking around the boys. Spot discretely pulled his cap down further on his face.
"I'se 'im," Pips raised his hand slightly.
"You're late for curfew, if it happens again, you're out of here," The man was as unsympathetic as could be. Couldn't he see that the boy was hurt? Not another word was said and the girls filed out of the room to their bunks and the owner turned and left. Pips then moved promptly to his bunk and collapsed.

"Wheah weah yous Pips?" Outsider asked as the battered boy closed his bruised eyes.

"Queens," he said distantly, sleep already claiming him.

"Did dey do dis to ya?" Outsider asked and Pips merely nodded.

"Let 'em sleep," Spot ordered. "We ain't goin' ta be able ta find out anyt'ing 'bout it now," he spoke knowingly, rubbing his temples, he was getting a headache.

"But Spot -" Outsider started but one sharp look from his leader was enough to shut him up.

"Tamarra he'll be t'inkin' bettah an' wes'll find out whot we'se wanna know den," he spoke smoothly, showing no definite emotions. With no more words, Spot turned and left the room. As he went down the stairs, he heard motions above him of the group getting ready for bed, and with good reason.

To invoke the wrath of this lodging house master would be like waking a bear from its winter nap. The man had the temperament of a hornet and the kindness of a dragon. It wasn't that they expected anyone to be kind to them, but this man was enough to strike fear into even the brawniest of boys. No one wanted to be kicked out of the lodging house, so no one rebelled openly against the lodging house master.

At the bottom of the stairs, Spot looked around. No one was around, the lights had been extinguished and only the dim light that filtered through the front window illuminated the front hall. Stepping silently, he moved to the door and touched the handle gingerly. Turning it, he expected to hear the familiar click of it opening, but instead, it didn't budge. The man must have locked it.
Damn, Spot cursed mentally, trying to think of another way out. Looking around quickly, he tried to find a key, but didn't discover anything. The man most definitely kept them with him at all times. Pausing to think, he turned and went back up the stairs. The boys were all in bed when Spot arrived at the bunkroom, but not all asleep. So Spot moved quietly, but assuredly to the windows that were on the far end of the room. Perhaps there would be a way of escape there.

"Spot," he heard someone whisper loudly. "Spot," the voice came again from the darkness.

"Whot?" he turned, rather irritated.

"Whot ah yous doin'?" he recognized Red's voice.

"Makin' an exit," he smirked, hoping his voice would carry over the sarcasm that his expression normally would have shown.

"Out da window?" Came the confused question.

"Yeah," Spot answered, making it sound as though Red were the stupid one for even thinking to ask such an absurd question. Uninterested in carrying on any other conversation with the boy, Spot turned and opened the window.
Looking out, Spot saw a narrow outcropping that circled around the building until it reached the small bit of roof that covered the lodging master's quarters. If he could simply edge his way around the building, he could make it to that roof. Then figure out a way from down from there. Easing out of the window, he tested the strength of the surface, and then stepped out completely. Pressing his back to the building, he shuffled along, hoping that he wouldn't fall. Depending on how he fell, he could just be sore in the morning, or break his neck, neither seemed too appealing.
Inch by inch he moved, bit by bit till he slowly eased around the corner to see the roof. Finally he made it, and paused to catch the breath he hadn't known he had lost. Laying flat on his stomach on the edge of the now one story roof, Spot shimmed down so that he was hanging on only by his hands. Being taller now, the drop wasn't as far and he rolled back to his feet. Something told him that he was going to have to get used to exiting that way, as he moved back towards his shack.
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//We fickle humans,

And the silly games we play,

They all amount to nothing,

By the end of the day…//

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Days went by, Spot saw Emily once in a while during the day, and every night in his dreams. The dreams that he had startled him, he hadn't remembered ever waking up so petrified, or so excited. More often than not she made more than a casual appearance in his dream and he didn't like it, he didn't want to care anything about this girl. His type were the coarse woman who knew how to please, how to tease, how to make him burn with an all consuming fire, not the cute, innocent, helpless dames.

Frost hadn't been like Emily. She was street smart and always pressing the limits. The way she would always make him angry with her on purpose, the way she would play with his heart and make him feel like he was on a ship in the middle of a storm. The danger and mystery about her had been entrancing, but Emily was different.
Shaking the sleep from his head and rubbing it from his eyes, Spot went to the stable like he did every morning. Today the metal pump was nearly scalding at first touch, the water was more than lukewarm and the air was oppressively hot and heavy. Perspiration was already forming on his lean body as he walked to the gate and waited.
It had been at least a two weeks since Spot's first encounter with Emily, and he hadn't been able to get it out of his mind. Encounters with Lodging house owner had been minimal and nothing direct, but each time Spot was more and more convinced of the possessive nature of the man. Much like the heat around him, the man was smothering.
Nightly visits to the lodging house had become regular, and it was mainly to see Emily. Sometimes he would sneak back into the kitchen, and if her father were heard coming, he would sneak out into the alleyway. She was nice girl and really seemed to care about what he had the say. That had never really happened with him before. Of course people had listened to him before, they had to listen for fear of their health, but it was for their benefit that they listened. This girl had nothing like that to make her listen to him, she just listened and it was refreshing. Sarah's advice about just being nice was working well, maybe a little too well….
Ripping his thoughts away from Emily, he dwelt on more pressing matters. Spies had continued to be sent to Queens even after Pips incident. None of them had been caught, but none of them had gone quite as deep as Pips had gone. None of them had seen the mysterious Lice that Pips continued to rave about.
"'E's as powerful as Spot," The boy had said solemnly. "'E snapped 'is fingahs an' everybody moved," These words were discomforting to Spot.

The Lice might have been powerful in Queens, but he had the Bronx and Manhattan on his side, at least he had Manhattan. The Bronx's loyalties could be bought, but he knew that as long as Jack Kelley was the leader, he had an ally.
Hopefully those alliances wouldn't have to be used and the Queens' hostilities would die down. Spot would have already attacked, but he had no real information about their abilities or the number of their newsies. If there was going to be a gang war, he needed to know more before he risked such a daring move. Still, something wasn't right.

In the back of his mind, he felt a restless tugging. Like there was something just not quite right, something missing from the big picture. He knew that there was something that he just couldn't figure, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure what it was. There was something very familiar about the name Lice, but for the life of him, he couldn't place it.

Sighing, he took his hat off his head and wiped his brow, then replaced the cap. Restlessly, he swung his cane from side to side and waited for the boys to get there. His nightly visits hadn't been as regular the past few nights, as Spot was avoiding Emily and anything that had to do with her, hoping to get her out of his head
A large group of boys moved towards the gate and Spot nodded in approval. They were early this morning. As they got closer he noted that there normal joking and gay mood was lacking. Most of them weren't even smiling. As always, they all acknowledged him, but Spot knew something was wrong. Scanning the group, he couldn't pick out anyone missing, but there had been so many holes and people being in and out lately, it was hard to remember.
"Ah we missin' moah peoples?" Asked Spot and the group squirmed.
"Bull got hit," Spitfire looked at the toe of her boot. "So did Stone an' Woym," she listed. "Fiah nevah came back," the group was silent.
So this was how it was going to be, was it? Brooklyn was getting more and more aggressive as time went on, but Spot couldn't fight him. The girl newsies in his group almost numbered the same as the healthy boys now. It was obvious that Bull, Stone, and Worm were hit hard enough that they were out to sell papers today. Fire not coming back was rare enough on it's own, but maybe had had found himself a girl for the night. Fire was like that, but only once in awhile and he almost always came back, checked in, then left so the lodging master wouldn't sell his bed.
"Nobody go inta Queens from now on," Spot announced. "Hold ya noymal sellin' grounds, but don' go nowhere inta Queens," his cold gaze roamed the group. They were relieved by the gates opening, and Spot going to buy some papers. If dats da way de wanna play, Spot thought. Let da games begin.
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A/N: Thank you to Ireland, Derby, Fearless, Kaylee, Falco Conlon, Annie, and Angel for the reviews. ^_^ They made me feel special. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Candy-Corn for all those that have/are going to review. Take cares all.