Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story.
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A/N: This was an interesting chapter for me to write because I kept having to check myself to keep my people in character. It is so hard to do that sometimes. Spot is such a strong personality and so is Frost, it is almost impossible to get this to work right. - Growls - Also this story holds references to the series "All in A Whisper", which btw is another work in progress. It isn't important to read this story, but if you want to, it kind of gives what is happening in Manhattan while all of this is happening in Brooklyn. Mind you, that I am mainly working on "Frostbitten," and "Blind Spot," right now. So updates on that story will be few and far between.
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-13 for adult situations, and language.
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Chapter 3: Inquisition
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//I can't forget…
I can't force…
I can't flee…
These feelings I have …//
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"I'se not int'rested in talkin' ta ya," Frost groaned as Spot approached her selling Spot. The weather was more miserable that it had been before. The snow had gone, but the wind had come. A cold biting wind that ripped through the light coat she wore and chilled her to the bone.
"I don't remembah dat bein' an option," Spot said coldly.
"I'se sellin' my papes, I don' have da time ta talk," She excused herself, turning her back to him. "Gimme some o' youah papes," Spot demanded.
"Whot?" She was shocked at his audacious command. "Dese ah my papes, I paid foah dems," She stood to her full height and met his eyes. "An' you ain't takin' dem," She growled.
"Is'll sell dem fastah dan yous," He challenged. "Gimme half ya papes, an I bet ya Is'll sell dem fastah dan yous."
"You sell heah an' I gets youah spot," She bargained. "If ya sell out foist, ya can keep da money ya make," she started counting off the papers before he agreed and Spot entertained a slight smile.
"An' if I wins, I gets anoddah kiss," he smirked, and her eyes shot to his, then quickly ducked back down to counting the papers.
So she stills sensitive ta it, he marked.
"Fine, take dese papes," She shoved them into his chest and stuck out her hand. "Shake on it," she demanded and he shook her hand firmly and then she was off.
Wes'll just havta see who's da best pape sellah, Spot reasoned. I gots 'er beat a'eady, he smirked and began to call out the headline.
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"Yous cheated," Frost accused as the pair walked the moderately busy streets of Brooklyn.
"How can ya cheat at sellin' papes?" Spot posed the question, sidestepping a child as it ran through the street.
"I dunno, yous da one dat did it," She grumbled as they walked down the sludge lined streets.
"Ya pro'ly hid da papes some wheah's, it ain't like yous need da money," she continued to babble, walking slightly faster than Spot.
"Yous just sore cause ya lost," Spot smirked.
"Is'll stop losin' when yous stop cheatin'," she growled.
"Ya know dat yous wanted me ta win," he didn't listen to her complaining. "Aftah all, now I gets a kiss," his voice held the mockery that she had come to hate. Was that all she was to him, a prize?
"I nevah agreed ta no kiss," Frost shook her head firmly, still walking in front of Spot.
"Ya shook on it!" Spot reminded raising his voice slightly as she continued to moved forward more.
"No, I shook on da oder stuff, not da kiss," She pointed out, and refused to walk beside him. If she had, she would have seen the sparkling merriment in his eyes reflected by the late afternoon light. "Yous a'eady keepin' my money, ain't dat 'nuff?" she sounded exasperated.
"Ya knows dat kissin' me ain't dat bad," he kept up the subject.
"Look, I ain't kissin' yous," she said frankly, continuing to move down the streets, walking a little bit ahead of him.
"So yous ain't goin' ta keep youah side o' da deal?" He tried to appeal to her sense of fairness.
"I kept me side," she walked faster still. "An' I ain't goin' ta kiss ya."
"Ya 'fraid yous'll like it?" Spot teased and made no attempt to catch her, there was always later. She didn't respond, she was a good twenty feet ahead, lost to him in the sea of people, and turned a corner to go a different route than normal. Somehow, this bothered Spot. No female had the right to do this to him, he was the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, he had won that kiss fair and square, and he was going to get it. How could he do that without seeming too eager? It was true that he had enjoyed kissing here the other night, hell, he had more than enjoyed it.
Walking towards the place where she had disappeared from view, Spot mentally mulled over the way he would get the kiss, the sound of muffled voices and rustling clothing brought him to his senses. Speeding up slightly, he made it to the alleyway where Frost had turned and looked down the passageway. About twenty feet away, three larger shadows were obviously facing off with one smaller one. The clarity of the situation took a few moments to strike Spot, but when it did, it did so with startling severity.
Shit, he thought, reaching for his slingshot. Dat's Frost, he already had a shooter in the middle of the worn rubber and was aiming carefully. The three that surrounded her, taking various strikes were none other than the Pullvine brothers. Frost was doing her best to hold her own, striking out against them, but they had the advantage. Three grown boys, against one small girl, were no competition.
Launching the marble, he didn't try to hit as much for pain as for distraction. Distraction was attained as he repeatedly fired into the group. The two larger of the group, Chester and Caleb who had their backs to Spot previously, turned to see who pelted them with so mercilessly. Now standing only about ten feet away, Spot saw the anger flash into their eyes, even in the dim light, and knew that he had better run. For as proud and stubborn as he was, he wasn't stupid. The whole point of this had been to distract the brutes long enough to let Frost get away and he taunted them further by backing away slightly.
The two who had been so interested in the now bleeding girl were too enraged with the pestilence to let Spot go unpunished, so they started after them. Charlie, the smallest of the brothers grabbed Frost, going unnoticed by Spot. Turning, Spot began to sprint, convinced that Frost had gotten away, and convinced that it was no he that was in danger. Fast and agile as Chester and Caleb were slow and stupid worked as an advantage for Spot and soon he had put enough distance and human obstacles between himself and his pursuers that he was able to assess the situation. Cane in hand, he began to analyze.
Only two of the Pullvines had followed him that meant that one of them was somewhere else. A glance behind at the lumbering figures told him that Charlie was the one of the trio that was missing. Though not as large as his brothers, Charlie could have easily overpowered Frost and Spot began stringing together curses under his breath and made a sharp turn, almost running into a woman and child behind him.
Looping out, forming an arc through the people, he dodged the brothers who were too slow to make moves to stop the spry little street rat. What alleyway had it been? The change of direction and the movement of the people had confused him. Spot's breath was coming in deep pants as he strove to pull oxygen into his starved lungs to feed his burning muscles. Striving towards his goal, he made it back to the alley where he thought he had found them. Ducking inside, he started searching for some sort of sign of Frost.
The coming darkness made the footprints pressed in the snow and sludge more confusing Spot as he searched for some sign of where Frost might have gone. The groups of prints were everywhere, jumbled together in a confusing mess. His heart pounding in his chest as he gulped down air echoed along with the pounding of approaching feet. Looking for a place to hide, Spot started down the alleyway, not having any idea on how to track the missing girl.
Exhausted, he searched for a place that he could catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Spot saw a small branch off of the larger alley into a less used area where a door was ajar. Darting inside, Spot shut the barrier behind him, Searching for some sort of lock before collapsing against the wood, he collected his thoughts and gained his breath.
Where could that girl be? If Charlie had gotten her, she was somewhere alone with him now most likely, and Charlie was having his wicked way with her. The very thought sent a shiver down Spot's spine. If that was so, Spot's mission had failed and it was his entire fault. If he hadn't teased her, she wouldn't have walked ahead, and if she hadn't walked ahead, she might not have been put in this situation.
Self-accusations flew through his mind, all he could think about were his failures in this situation. Pounding the back of his head against the door, he heard some noise coming from somewhere inside this dark building. The thought that he might have just walked into an occupied or hostile building hadn't even occurred to him until that moment. The darkness around him was suddenly his best friend as it shielded him from detection.
Calming his labored breathing, Spot listened. Again the sound came it was muffled but distinct. There was more than one person in here, and it sounded almost like two people fighting. The idea intrigued Spot and he pushed away from his place at the door and edged forward in the blackness. A few times he stumbled as he tried to find another opening, a way to get to the noises that were becoming louder and louder as time progressed. Finally, by pure chance, he found a knob and slowly opened the door. The muffled noises became clearer and the strange sounds became sounds of struggling.
"Hold still ya bitch," Spot heard someone growl and heard the sounds of cloth being torn. "I said hold still!" The voice grew louder as Spot approached a doorframe with the faint glow of lamplight flickering around the edges. A loud thud, the sound of someone being struck, was heard and the struggling noises faded almost instantly. Biting his lip, Spot thought quickly. Something bad was obviously happening behind that door, but if he waited much longer, all hopes of finding Frost would be gone.
As he turned to go his heart stopped as he heard the other voice. "Damn ya bastard!" It was weak, it was tremulous, but it was Frost's voice.
Damn, Spot was at the door in an instant, tearing it open to find Charlie towering over Frost. There was blood on both of their clothes and the evidence of fighting was seen in the surroundings. Frost's coat was on the ground, her shirt was torn down the front and she was doing her best to keep it modestly covering. Black anger pumped in Spot's veins and he used the element of surprise to launch himself at Charlie and tackle him to the ground.
It wasn't before Spot had two good punches delivered to Charlie's face that the boy had processed what had happened and was fighting back. Soon it was Spot who was numbly attempting to block the blows that Charlie was dealing. This is when he remembered why he hated fighting on the ground. There was little chance for maneuvering and it was practically a pure battle of strength, a battle of strength in which he clearly had the downside of the bargain.
A few minutes into the fight, Spot was blindly striking out, trying to get that one lucky blow that would give him enough time to get to his feet. The lucky blow came with a flash of gold from above them as Spot was pummeled by Charlie's fist. A satisfactory crack was heard and Charlie froze for a few seconds as if trying to comprehend what was happening when another thwack was heard. This one was louder and more distinct sound of something very hard hitting something else very hard. Scrambling out from underneath Charlie, Spot stood to see Frost standing with his cane delivering another blow to the Pullvine brother's head.
Signaling her to stop, Spot raised his foot and soundly kicked Charlie's face, causing the boy to topple over onto the floor, unconscious. For a long time, the only sound was the duo's hard breathing and annoying tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. After a time, Spot looked at Frost and she looked back at him, handing him his cane. Her lips were swollen, her knuckles were cracked and bleeding, and the dark bruises bubbling up under her face marred the once even complexion of her skin. The lovely hair was loose from it's braid and tangled from being grabbed and matted with blood.
Spot was a little worse for wear himself. His coat was torn, and his hat was lying on the ground where he had tackled the larger boy. Rings were developing around each of his eyes, and when he spat on the floor, his spit mixed with blood. Broken and bloody, the pair stared at each other.
"We'se bettah get back ta da lodgin' house," Spot said and noted the way that Frost clung her coat to her body, and Spot wondered if her shirt was beyond repair.
"Yeah," she muttered through bruised lips, and the duo shuffled towards the door, and as for Spot, the kiss was the last thing on his mind.
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//I wish I didn't feel,
The things that I do,
It makes things complicated,
And complications are trouble…//
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Three days past before Frost's lips returned too normal, but she went the distribution office anyway, picking ups her papers and lisping out the headlines. She maintained her normal façade, but Spot knew there was something different. Behind those dark eyes reflected the pain of the days past. The girl had almost been raped, but she said nothing of it, in fact, she acted as though it never happened.
Speaking was painful for her with her swollen lips, so Spot didn't press the matter, but felt that she was burying everything deep inside of her like he had done so many times. If something like that happened, you forgot about it, or at least tried to. Trying was usually all that came from that.
His late night walks had been spent alone he was strangely saddened by this. Then he would reprimand himself, taking out a cigarette and try to smoke away his problems. The bridge was cold and lonely and the frigid weather did little to ease the ache of his beaten body. The circles of bruises around his eyes had become darker as the days past. Lack of sleep had aided the dark rings, but he had lost track of the nights he had stayed up till dawn. If he weren't careful, he'd get sick at this rate.
The thought of being sick brought a hacking cough through his lean body, smoke exhaling from his young lungs. Taking a deep rasping breath, he threw the cigarette over the side of the bridge, the cold air, late nights, and yelling of the headlines was causing him to lose his voice entirely. Smoking might have been added to the equation, but the thought didn't even enter Spot's mind as he walked back towards the lodging house.
The urge to jump hadn't been as pressing in the last few weeks. It was still there, but it wasn't a constant overwhelming want like it had been. Sighing deeply, he felt the cold cut in through the new holes in his coat, damn those Pullvine brothers. Frowning, he thought back to that evening. How close had the Charlie been to his goal?
It was all a blur, but if he had been a few minutes longer, there might not have been any innocence to save. Who said that he had to be the savior of this girl anyway? It wasn't his fault that she was stubborn to a fault, mean as hell, cold as ice, and closed as a bank on Sunday. It wasn't his fault that he had enjoyed the faithless kisses, the teasing, the snubs, and the jibes.
Spot was addicted to pain and he knew it. Just like he had to have his nicotine fix, he had to be hurt somehow. The idea was unreasonable, sick, and pervert, but he was a lost cause, and she was too. Those months in the refuge had hardened him, killing all of the softness inside of him. He had to hone in on his anger and animal instincts to survive those months with minimal human contact. A boy with less control would have killed himself or have gone insane long before the release date. In a way, Spot had been insane.
The strange fascination with death, and the self-masochism he had practiced in the dark cell had seeped into his free life as well. How many times had he seen the scars on his abdomen and arms? Some were from scabs that he had picked off several times, never letting the wound heal, others were from the sharp stones he had dragged across himself in the long boring hours alone.
Bitterness and hate had been the only things that he had felt in that cell, besides hunger. The little food he had gotten was wormy and sometimes had maggots crawling over it. Closing his eyes, he could still remember the feeling of the tiny parasites crawling in his mouth, but he had choked down the food, too hungry to care. Maybe he was the only one in that whole section of the Refuge and they probably forgot about him at times.
At night, he would lay on the cot and stare into the night. Sometimes, it would feel like his eyes were bleeding as he forced them to stay open as long as possible. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see all of the things he wanted to forget, he could feel all of the pain that he wanted to block. He would see his capture again and again. Every night he would relive the feelings of fear and outrage that came with ones freedom being revoked. Every night he would imagine a thousand different ways he could have been a little faster, a little smarter, a little better, a little anything that would make it so he would have escaped.
Now on the outside, he no longer dreamed about those things. Now he dreamed about what had happened in the Refuge, all of the pain and anger inside of those walls. The tears that went unshed as he forced himself to be steeled against all emotions. Anger had been the only thing that held him to his sanity and to his hope of release, but the anger that had kept him alive in the Refuge was slowly killing him now in the free world.
Pushing open the door to the Lodging House, he silently ascended the stairs and went into the bunkroom. Treading on soundless feet, he avoided each creaking board and squeaking plank, having long ago learned their various places. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, he scanned the bunks to find everyone in their place except for one, and Frost's bunk was empty. Scratching his head, he put his cane down by the bunk where he had claimed his residence, and thought. Where could she have gone?
The Brooklyn Lodging House had only one place that one could escape, and that was the second story roof. Getting there was the problem, ever since the fire escape had literally rusted till it fell apart, getting up there was a challenge unless you had the key. A single hatch at the top of a ladder down the hall was the only way to the roof now. Or a direct access from the Owner's quarters.
If she wasn't there, she could be anywhere, but why did Spot care? He just did, and no one else needed to know, but caring meant trouble and Spot didn't like it. Stripping off his outerwear, Spot climbed into bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he finally gave up. There was no way that he was going to rest easily without knowing for sure that Frost wasn't on the roof, because if she was, he wanted to know how she had gotten the key.
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Two weeks had passed since the fire and little Patrick was sitting in an old crate he had found and claimed as home. The snow had seeped into his shoes and his feet were frozen, the coat that had kept him warm before was now worth less than the shirt on his back. Rarely he would sneak into kitchens of diners and steal food right from under their noses. It was there that he found warmth. At least his tiny size was good for something.
He hadn't returned to the factory the next day, he had slept the whole day inside an empty cabinet that he had discovered in a diner. No one found him till the next morning when Spot crawled out and stole some breakfast. In his mind, it was still just one big game. How much could he get away with? How fast could he run and steal something? How much money could he steal? It never occurred to him that he could spend the money that he stole. He thought that the money was simply the prize for winning the game.
Luck had been bad lately though. The usual places where he had stolen food had come to discover this little thief and were much more careful whenever they opened the door to fetch something outside or take out the trash. It was near impossible to find anything to eat anywhere, and his growing bounty of stolen money was getting heavy in his pockets.
All over, his body still hurt from all of the blows his father had delivered. The coat he wore was still stained with blood, everything he wore was what he had worn that night. The few article of clothing that he had brought with him were in his crate, safe and hidden, but there had never been a time to change. Already frozen, he couldn't make sense of taking off his semi-warm clothes for freezing garments that he probably wouldn't have enough heat to warm them.
It wasn't until he tried to pick the pocket of the wrong boy that his luck changed.
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"Whot ah yous doin' up heah?" Spot asked as he climbed onto the roof. The hatch had been unlocked and he had stumbled up onto the hard surface of the two storied building.
"Leave me alone," Frost growled, her back turned to him as she sat curled into a ball in the very center of the roof.
"Nah, I'se havin' some trouble sleepin' so I'se t'ink Is'll just stay up heah foah awhile," Spot yanked at his threadbare coat, walking towards the girl.
"I ain't goin' ta talk ta yous," She said bluntly.
"Nevah asked ya to," Spot quipped, and she was silent as he took his seat next to her.
The small wall around the edge of the roof kept the wind from touching them as they sat. It was still bitterly cold, but the lacking biting wind made it endurable. It didn't take long for Spot to find out that she was serious about not talking to him. Aimlessly, he twiddled his thumbs, trying to think of some way to start a conversation without looking like he was starting the conversation.
"Yous okay?" He started lamely.
"Yeah," Frost nipped it in the bud, and Spot looked at her stony profile.
The girl wasn't any better looking from the side. The clarity of her broken nose showed in a much finer light as the silver glow of the moon outlined it against the black backdrop of some Brooklyn building's wall. Her heart shaped mouth was set in a thin line as though she was in deep thought. Her tiny frame curled into it self with her knees pressed to her chest and her arms holding them secure. The strangely dark eyes held no spark, no fire, and no distinguishable emotion as they stared into nothing. Frost was definitely frosty that night.
"About da oder night…" He started and she turned sharply to look at him.
"I'se fine," She hissed. "An' I don' wanna talk 'bout it," she turned back away, her long braid whipping along with the turn of her head. Spot had hit a nerve, and he knew it.
"I ain't askin' ya ta talk 'bout it, a'ight?" Spot's voice went defensive. "I'se heah ta tell ya dat if yous wanna get back at da Pullvines, I gots a way," He offered.
"I don' cahah," she answered blandly.
"Whot do ya mean ya don' cahah?" Spot's eyebrows shot skywards.
"I - don' - cahah," Frost repeated very slowly and deliberately, looking him in the eyes. "Ya shoulda left me dere," She continued and Spot did nothing to stop her. "I ain't got not'in ta live foah," She said bitterly, looking up at the sky.
"Whot do ya mean?" Spot pressed.
"Ya knows who I means just as well as I'se do," Frost closed her eyes as she kept her head tilted back. "Ya ain't got not'in ta live foah just like me," She lowered her head back down and opened her eyes. "None a da newsies got anyt'ing ta live foah," she sounded rather saddened by this fact. "I'se only met one newsie dat evah t'ought differ'nt," she looked back at Spot and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yous knows 'im too," She watched his expressions carefully. "Most people calls 'im Cowboy," She looked away and stood up, not waiting for his reaction.
"Jackie-boy?" Spot struggled to his feet.
"Yous hoyd o' 'im too?" her voice dripped sarcasm as she moved towards the hatch. "I t'ought I'se were da only one."
"Wait," Spot scrambled after her, blocking the hatch. "We'se need ta talk," He stated frankly.
"We'se can talk latah," she shoved past him. "I'se gotta sleep," she opened the hatch with no resistance from Spot.
"Ansah me one t'ing," Spot said as she descended and as he waited for his turn.
"Whot?" she asked.
"'Ow did ya get up heah on da roof?" He lowered his voice as too started down the ladder into the quiet Lodging House.
"I picked da lock," she answered smugly and sauntered into the bunkroom with Spot close behind.
Yous a cool one Frost, Spot thought as watched her get read for bed. But goils always tell, he smirked as he climbed onto the top bunk, careful not to disrupt his bunkmate, Outsider. Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply, content with that bit of knowledge. Goils always tell, he thought again as he slid into a deep and dreamless sleep.
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//It's so strange,
To look back now,
On things that reflect so dim,
Like shadows on a wall…//
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A tall boy felt the pressure of another's hand in his right pocket and his hand flew to the place, catching the offender before they could escape. Whirling around, he found himself looking into the wild eyes of a little boy no older than eight. He could have been older, but his slight frame denied it. The little wretch was filthy, his clothes tattered, his face smeared, but it was the look in his eyes that moved the older boy.
Those strange turquoise eyes that seemed to be swirled with smoke were purely instinctive. The obvious fear was quite clear in the widening of the already large, wide set eyes. The pure primal expression of instinct overwhelmed the taller boy almost to the point of amusement. He at one point surely had that same look.
"Whot ah you doin' boy?" The older one demanded.
"Playin' a game," The small one responded. "But I'se just lost," he clarified. "Cause ya caught me."
"An' whot game would dat be?" The older asked, not taking his hand off of the small boy's wrist.
"Da one wheah I'se takin' t'ings outta people's pockets," the complete honesty with an odd twist tickled the older boy.
"Ya got a name, boy?" he asked.
"Patrick," he offered and the older frowned.
"Dat won' do," he shook his head.
"Me ol' friends at da fact'ry used ta call me Spot," he proposed, unsure of the reasoning behind the boy's questions.
"Dat's bettah," the elder's eyes narrowed. "Why did dey call ya Spot?"
"Cause I'se no biggah dan a spot," he admitted shamelessly.
"How olds yous?"
"Seven," Spot tugged at his arm. "Whot's youah name?"
"Dey call me Pike," the older introduced himself. "An' I'se a newsie."
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"Police chief found wit' mayor's daughtah!" Spot cried out above the noise of the crowds. "Family scandalized!" He mentally noted that mainly females bought when he cried headlines like these, men normally bought if he fabricated something about the business world. As soon as all of his transactions were complete, he melted into the crowd, not wanting the group of girls to find that his headline had been slightly enhanced.
It was near two o'clock and Spot was starving. He had enough money for lunch, but he didn't want to stop until he had sold his last ten papers. Chuckling to himself, he remembered how some businessman had offered to buy his cane today. It had happened before, but it had been awhile, and the state of his cane was quite lacking. The sludge and snow had dirtied it, and some of Charlie Pullvine's blood still stained it.
At the thought of the Pullvine brothers, his mind went to Frost. Everyday, he had been going to her after he was done selling, but he never let her know he was there. Secretly, he would follow her, knowing that if he knew the Pullvine brothers at all, they would want revenge on the girl. They already had it out for Spot.
"Boy, Is'll buy a papah," a soft, lusty alto came from behind him.
"Dat'll a penny," Spot instructed, as he turned to see what looked like a streetwalker. The girl didn't have a coat on, and her dress was revealing, the only thing that covered her bare shoulders was a ratty lace shawl. She was shivering almost uncontrollably. The girl held out the coin and Spot handed her the paper.
There was nothing he could do for her. He was barely warm enough himself, and it was her fault that she had picked such a disreputable profession. Why wasn't she in a bar? That was where most of the harlots stayed during the day, working as maids, but maybe this girl wasn't as fortunate. Shivering, he pulled his own coat closer.
Nine moah papes, he reminded himself. Just nine moah papes, he repeated mentally and began to call out some headline.
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Lemme go, Lice, The words played over in her head. I ain't goin' ta be youah goil! Her own exclamation seemed so futile as she heard it in her own mind now. I nevah asked ya if yous would be, she could still remember the terrible sneer that had come to his mouth. I'se makin' you, the statement had brought a scream to her mouth, but he quickly silenced her.
The scenes of her past played in Frost's head as she walked back to the Lodging House after her day of selling. Shivering both from the cold and from the loathing of the memory, she looked around the streets. Ever since that run in with Charlie, Frost had been careful to take the main streets back to the Lodging House, no exceptions. She was a tough girl, but she wasn't stupid, and she walked among the people, all of them going different places.
Three days had passed since the rooftop encounter with Spot, it had been almost a week since the run in with the Pullvines. The swelling on her face was almost completely gone and the bruises were starting to fade ever so slightly. Ever since she had talked to Spot that night on the roof, he hadn't been as open with her. She could sense the distance whenever she talked to him, but didn't point it out.
Good, She thought. I don't need him, I don't want him! She coached herself. I ain't goin' ta have anoddah leadah, an' I ain't goin' ta let 'em in, She tried to convince herself. On and on the verbal list of all the reasons it was better that Spot was leaving her alone went. Too many broken hearts along the way had taught Frost that it was best not to care and not to have anyone care, but she couldn't deny the pull towards Spot. Why is it always a leadah? She lamented, and pushed open the door of the Lodging House. It was time for another performance.
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"Whot's a newsie?" Spot asked Pike as they walked down the busy street together.
"Whot's a newsie?" Pike exclaimed. "Whot's a newsie?" his voice held extreme disbelief. "A newsies da one dat sell da papes on da street! We'se carryin' da bannah foah all yous ta read!" He sobered suddenly. "Ya can read can't ya boy?"
"I'se can read some," he answered proudly, not many boys his age and status could claim that. "Me sistah taught me," He smiled broadly.
"Yous got a sistah?" Pike's eyebrows raised in interest.
"Not no more," Spot looked down at his feet.
"I'se see," Pike knew what that meant, just another orphan on the streets of New York. "I likes ya boy," Pike quickly changed the subject, he was a jovial sort and didn't like the mood to be down too long. "I'se goin' ta make yous me own sellin' pahtnah," he said this like it held great importance.
"Is dat good," Spot asked warily.
"Is dat good?" Pike echoed laughingly. "Is dat good!" He repeated and Spot quickly picked up that this was a habit of Pike's to repeat things as such. "O' course it's good," he slapped Spot on the back. "You boy ah 'bout ta be trained by da best!"
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"Wheah's Pips?" Spot called into the busy bunkroom.
"Right heah suah!" The small boy ran up to the front of the room, in front of Spot.
"Whot's da news from Queens?" Spot asked, lowering his tone.
"Dere's been some grumblin' 'bout Brink," Pips informed. "Since Brink's dame left 'im, 'e ain't been da same," The news continued. "'E ain't da same kinda leadah since she's been gone, an' da boys ah talkin' 'bout getting' someone new," Pips paused for a breath.
"A powah struggle?" Spot thought out loud.
"Yes suah," Pips nodded vigorously. "Not'in's happened yet, but ya nevah know wit' Queens. Not'in might evah happen," he shrugged and Spot waved him off. Instantly the 'Spot's lil' boydy' had flown away back to whatever it had been doing before.
"Flash, get ovah heah!" Spot called and the quick boy hurried over. It was clear why his name was flash, the boy was quick as lightning with a shock of bright red hair that stood on all ends if not under his cap.
"Yes suah?" He responded much like Pips.
"Tell me 'bout Manhattan," Spot prompted, not really paying attention, but listening absently.
"Dere's a goil dere now," Flash spoke confidently. "Dey calls 'er Whispah, she don't talk evah," he stressed the fact. "Specs took a beatin' an' didn't get outta bed foah a week," He continued his report. "But dis Whispah goil took cahah o' 'im an' he's bettah now," Flash took a deep breath. "Jack says dat de DeLancey bruddahs 'ave been actin' strange, but dats noymal," he ended his report with a deep sigh, looking pleased with himself for remembering everything so efficiently.
"Fine," Spot waved him off, not caring to hear any more news from anywhere else.
Something in the back of his mind was tugging at him from the Queens report. Frost had been in Queens, a fairly closed community, and had obviously been close to Brink. Looking around the room, he spotted her across the room in an overly friendly conversation with one of his boys, Ghost. This irritated Spot and her stormed over to her and grabbed her arm forcefully.
"We'se gotta talk," he looked at Ghost. "Now," he excused Frost from whatever conversation she had been engaged in with one look, then yanked on her arm.
"Whot da hell was dat?" She fumed. "You ain't got no right ta do dat to me!" She pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Whot is it dat can't wait?" she planted her feet firmly in the middle of the bunkroom for all of the newsies to observe.
"I'se not tellin' heah, come wit' me," Spot growled menacingly and Frost knew better than to fight him. She remembered the first night she had come here and the harsh words of him being her superior. Following, but not weakly, she glared at his back, proclaiming to all of those around her that she might obey but in no way did she submit. "We'se goin' ta dinnah," Spot told her as they walked out in the hall.
"But I ain't got my coat," she objected as he yanked her down the stairs.
"It don' mattah, it ain't fah away an' youah coat's got so many holes it ain't no good," Spot pointed out tactlessly and Frost shut her mouth. It was true that her coat did little good to fend off the cold, but she wasn't going to admit it.
The trek to the diner wasn't long, but they were both shivering violently by the time they made it inside. It wasn't the same place they had come before, but Spot seemed to be equally friendly with the staff of this establishment. When a giggling, blushing girl seated them, Frost cast Spot a questioning glance. When the girl had left Frost raised one eyebrow and asked Spot about her.
"She's a sweet goil," was all Spot would say, and the small talk progressed until their food arrived. Frost puzzled at Spot's odd behavior. He had torn her away from a conversation and dragged her out into the bitter cold saying that there was something he had to urgently speak with her about. When they arrived at a place where they could talk 'safely', he seemed to completely forget that there was anything important about which to speak. Exasperated beyond all reason, she put up her defense.
"A'ight Conlon, if yous just wanna talk we coulda done dat at da lodgin' house," she complained. "But I'se had ta freeze my ass off ta come heah ta pay foah me own dinnah ta talk ta ya 'bout not'in," she slammed her fist on the table, jarring their plates and drawing attention. "Dere sure as hell had bettah be a reason foah dis," she threatened under her breath.
"Dere is," he answered calmly.
"Whot is it?" She asked, and Spot knew he had her where he wanted her.
"Not'in, yous won't ansah me anyways," he shrugged and bit into the sandwich that was in front of him.
"Who said I'se ain't goin' ta ansah?" Frost sounded incredulous. "Since when did yous get ta tell me whot I'se t'inkin'?" She tapped her fingers on the table as he methodically over-chewed the bite and swallowed with much show.
"I just knows," he answered simply and took another bite.
"If yous just knows, how come yous had ta bring me heah ta tell me dat?" She accused.
"I wanted ta eat," he told her frankly. "Ya didn' have ta ohdah not'in."
"Fine," Frost slammed her hands palm flat on the table. "I'se seein' how dis is," she wagged a finger at him. "Yous ain't goin' ta ask me da question till I tell ya dat I'se goin' ta ansah," She smiled slightly and Spot nodded. "Fine," she took a bite of her sandwich. "Is'll ansah one question," She chewed as she spoke.
"Any question?" Spot tested and she nodded.
The possibilities of all the questions he could ask her were endless. How did she have connections to Queens? How did she have connections to Manhattan? Did she have any other connections around the New York area? How many places had she sold? She had given him just enough information about herself to make the all of the options overwhelming. Staring at her with the custom all knowing look in place, Spot came up with the question he wanted to ask.
"Tells me," he paused, thinking how to word the question. "Will yous tell me 'bout youah entire time heah in New Yawk?" He asked, finding it harder to voice it in a question than in a command.
Nothing would have prepared Spot for the reaction he was about to receive. First, her face went completely slack, the something resembling anger crossed her features, then something that looked like complete fear. She had been trapped in her own game and she knew it. In one smooth action, she wiped all feeling from her face and looked him dead in the eye.
"I said Is'll ansah yous question," she started coolly. "An' I will," she promised. "I just nevah said when."
. : ^_^ : .
It was the first time Spot had ever seen the lodging house. Going inside, he saw an assortment of boys sitting around, all ages and sizes, doing whatever they could with their free time. The first sensation he remembered feeling was the warmth flooding his long numb limbs. The way he saw this place for the first time would be much different from the one he would live in later. New ownership would change that , but for now it was a warm inviting place where boys like him were gathered.
"whose da kid, boss?" A spry young boy called from over a game of cards.
"Lis'en up all yous," Pike called out for attention. "I'se goin' ta ansah dat question, an I'se only ansah it once," he looked around and every eye was on him. Spot stood petrified in awe, this boy was powerful. "Dis heah is Spot," Pike put a hand on Spot's shoulder, claiming him. "Spot Conlon," It was the first time the name was used to label him, and Spot wasn't sure what the Conlon meant, but later he would find just how much power that name could hold.
. : ^_^ : .
A/N: Many apologies for the delay of chapter, but fanfiction.net hasn't been letting me access the sight for the past few days. -growls- But I am back with vengeance and a new chapter! Woo hoo! I really would like some reviews on this, be cruel, pick me apart, PLEASE! I want to know where I can improve, and what needs to be fixed. Please, it is all I ask of you! Take care everyone, and I hope you enjoyed this installment.
Skittles: I left you on a cliffhanger, eh? Then I have done my job! Thanks for the review and I am glad you liked the story so far. Maybe you still like me…?
Ali: I'm glad that you like my story! That is one of the best compliments an author can get. The only better kind is an objectively critical review telling me how I can improve… but oh well. I can only dream about those. I liked the part about counting snow too… it made it all connect somehow. This chapter isn't nearly as good, but who knows? Somebody just might like it better than anything else I have ever written! Thanks for the reviews take care!
Kaylee: Well I think you are going to have to wait a little longer to see where this goes. Hehe, I am mean like that. I love to make my readers hang. Muhahahaha! Oh well, I will try to be a little more faithful with my updates, but for some reason, FanFiction.net has been having some problems with my computer and such. It wasn't letting me log on or anything. Phooey! Take care dear!