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. I am not making money with this story, I am dirt poor, so don't sue me.
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A/N: I am depressed because I just finished writing chapter seven in Blind Spot, (which you should all read after this one) and my gosh it was sad. So if I am not around for awhile it is because my mom has committed me somewhere for extreme bipolar behavior. -_^ The question of the day is, will Frost give up more of her history?
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG - 13 for violence, swearing, and all that jazz, you know the stuff that was in all my other chapters. ^_^
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Chapter 6: Opposites
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//It is strange to think about loving someone,
Love is a concept no one understands,
For the ones who think they understand it,
Know the least of us all…//
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Frost was especially guarded in the days that followed her late night confessional. It was awkward for Spot as well, because he wanted to know the rest, but he didn't want to seem that he was paying too much attention to this new girl. The borough was already talking about how he spent far too much of his free minutes with the strange newsie. For this time away from each other meant less time having to truly confront the emotions that roiled inside of them.
The past she had told Spot let him know that she most likely wasn't very welcome in Harlem and most definitely wasn't welcome in the Bronx. He knew that Coin and Tips were still the leaders there, and if he had any idea from her other known identities, she wasn't going to be too warmly welcomed in the other territories either. Brooklyn was her last resort.
This gave Spot a sick kind of pleasure, while also a strange twinge of sadness. If she had been the Cowgirl of Manhattan, the one that had broken Jack's heart, she wasn't going to be allowed in any of the Manhattan territories. It was then that Spot made the connection, Frost had been with Jack. That made things more complicated. Manhattan and Brooklyn had a fairly good bond, but any bond could be broken very quickly, especially with someone so influential on the leadership around New York.
Why had she run here? Why hadn't she run to the train station and gotten out of here instead of bringing her problems to Brooklyn? Being a leader, Spot knew that he couldn't jump to conclusions, but he also knew that he couldn't trust anyone, especially strange new girls with strange, complicated pasts. The only problem was what was he going to do about it?
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Running had been on Frost's mind. She had been particularly diligent when it came to playing pickpocket and she had managed to scrounge up enough money to buy a ticket away from here. Maybe she even had enough to make it to Chicago, but she didn't have anything for the other things, like food. The idea of having Spot teach her how to sell was so she could sell her papers and then have more time to pick. It had helped a little, but some of the concepts just weren't sticking.
She was glad for the lodging house owner for he had saved her enough time that she might be able to escape from here before she had to tell Spot all of her past. Even if she was an underhanded, sneaky, thieving, street rat, she did keep her word. At this point she had enough enemies in New York without wounding the great Spot Conlon. Though if she weren't around to tell her story, she wouldn't have to.
A fresh start was what she needed; her game of pressing the limits was quickly catching up with her. There were people out there that would be willing to kill her if they found out where she was located, but she didn't think that would happen. As far as she knew, no one else besides Spot had any clue to her origins, which was a good thing. Some of them knew that she had been in New York for awhile, but that was harmless enough, they had all been in New York for awhile or there whole lives.
It was critical the information that she gave out, it must be done discreetly, and only the things that she wanted them to know. This game was long, tiring, and it never ended. For once she wished that she would be able to find a place where she wouldn't have to contently be running, but this wasn't an easy feat. Just as a play can only last so long, a charade such as this was doomed to end.
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The lodging house was still buzzing at the new arrival of this small boy. Spot wasn't sure why he was such a topic of interest, but he assumed it to be good. No one ever got this much attention if they were bad, did they? The conversations were mainly started around the fact that Pike had given Spot his last name, almost claiming him as a brother. This was never heard of in any of the newsie rings, what did it mean?
Those that asked Pike got no real answer. He would just smile in his strange way and mutter things twice that didn't really make sense, but no one bothered to question their leader's strange ways. Outsider and Spot could almost always be seen together playing marbles or jacks on the floor of the bunkroom. The two had become an inseparable pair, holding each other in the highest esteem.
If Spot didn't understand something about the happenings around the bunkroom, Outsider was always willing to explain it for him. Even then, the idea of superiority was established in this young relationship, as Spot was the one in command. Outsider never objected, he was much better at following than leading, and he enjoyed his new playmate.
Though the young newsies didn't sell together, one could have sworn they were partners. The truth was that Pike had claimed Spot and another older boy hold over Outsider. This never bothered them much, it was much more fun to play in the warmth of the inside than the cold of the outside.
So it came to pass, as boys tend to do, Spot and Outsider grew, as did their older selling companions. Spot stayed smaller than his counterpart, but he still was in control. Their boyish looks changed as they aged, and soon the day came that Pike decided it was time to leave, and it was time to appoint his successor.
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//Images are not always what they seem,
More often they are different,
More often still,
they are nothing like what we see…//
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The day came that Spot wanted to hear the end of the story, but it seemed the Frost had sensed this and was avoiding him. Always she would return late from selling and become engaged quickly with some game of cards or a deep conversation with whoever was around. Knowing that the whole room would watch his actions, he didn't want to make his pursuit of this girl too obvious. His nose was still swollen from the accidental assault, and he had gotten one slightly black eye from the incident. Though she had apologized, Spot was still sore over the matter.
Of course he knew himself a handsome lad, no thanks to her, and found himself rather vain of his appearance. The egotism of the lad was nearly unbearable for some, but many girls were willing to look past this for a few minutes alone with him. The revulsion that this brought upon many of the more chaste girls was strangely amusing to Spot, especially when he ended up with them at the end of the night.
Though the frequency of his outings had been reduced by what he claimed the harsh weather, many others suspected his holding of a steady mistress. None could prove this rumor, but Spot was not dumb to it and the last image he wanted to put forth was that he was pursuing this strange girl with a complicated past.
Being powerful held many benefits, but with each a drawback. As a recognized figure, any tidbit of information that could be garnish was taken and elaborated for the make of a fantastic story. Though it was true he hadn't tried to stop any of these tales, in fact he had furnished the information for some, he wasn't quite sure of his feelings towards them. They had helped secure his position as the infamous leader of Brooklyn, but they had also achieved him a reputation that wasn't entirely true.
The great leader, the renowned skirt chaser. The man known for his many mistresses and extensive knowledge of the bedroom passions. The boy who was seen shamelessly kissing girls he barely knew, stealing their heart as well as their breath. Spot Conlon was a virgin. Though he would die before admitting the fact. No one knew it, and no one ever would.
"Hey Spot!" Outsider's call from across the room brought him to attention. "Come ovah heah!"
"Whot do ya wont?" Spot growled as he came over, not enjoying the idea of being called like a dog.
"Dere's somet'ing out dere dat I t'ink yous'll wanna see," he pointed to the window that looked out over the street right outside of the lodging house.
The lamps were lit outside as darkness fell all too soon over the Brooklyn streets. Shadows moved shiftily against the walls and the dirty sludge and mud that were the streets shone as they froze in the rapidly dropping temperatures. Roaming the area with his eyes, he didn't see anything at first and Outsider simply pointed to a shadowed area. There stood Frost, but she wasn't alone, there was another girl with her, one that Spot had never seen before. This piqued Spot's interest intensely, if he could only hear the conversation.
"Stay heah," Spot ordered his second and went to fetch his coat. Moving quickly, but with the same carefully aloof air that he was known for, he was dressed with his outside wear and down the stairs in less than a minute. Casually, he strolled back into the kitchen area that he knew had a back door, if he could sneak out of the lodging house he might be able to eves drop on this strange conversation, pulling some blackmail over Frost. Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter, was in the kitchen, and she looked at him curiously.
"Gotta use da back doah," he explained. "I hope dat ain't a problem miss," he doffed his hat in respect for a lady.
"No," she smiled warmly. "Got right ahead," she motioned with a floured hand, she was cooking something and it smelled wonderful.
"T'anks," Spot replaced his hat and headed out the door, not wanting to be reminded of his hunger.
The light, warmth, and sweet smell were erased with the silent closing of the door. It was dark, cold, and foul smelling in the dank alleyway. To his dismay, the hardened snow crunched loudly under his feet, so much for moving stealthily. With every step his winced, trying to pick out the hardest or least covered areas. At this rate he was never going to get there in time. When he made it to the end of the alleyway, he was careful to stay in the shadows as he watched the girls across from him, trying his hardest to catch any single word.
"…Ah yous shuah?" He heard Frost ask rather loudly.
"Yeah, I'se shuah," the other girl responded. "I'se sahry," she put a hand on Frost's shoulder with an uncomfortable familiarity.
The next words were lost to Spot as they were spoken too softly, and Frost pulled something out of her pocket and gave it to the other girl. She seemed grateful, spoke a few more words, then retreated into the night. When she was well down the street, Frost started back to the building looking deep in thought, and Spot emerged from the shadows.
"Found yous self a friend?" He asked sarcastically and she jumped.
"Conlon," she hissed, not relaxing at all with her identification. "How long yous been dere?" she asked and Spot swaggered over towards her.
"Long enough," he smiled that same overly confident, disgustingly attractive smile that sent chills down Frost's spine. If there was anyone she would give anything to kill, it was he, and if there was anyone she would kill to sleep with, Spot was he too. The thought gave her little comfort.
"It ain't polite ta eves drop," she reprimanded.
"It ain't polite ta keep secrets," he quipped.
"Den I'se say dat we'se bot' ain't got no manners," she spat on the frozen ground and Spot laughed.
"Touché," he chuckled, having learned that word from a newsie that had once stayed here, he hadn't been there long, but he was book learned and managed to teach Spot a word or two. "But yous pro'ly don' knows whot dat means," he gloated.
"I knows," she shot back. "I ain't stupid like some people," she sneered.
"Ah ya now?" Spot moved closer to her still. "Den yous'll know dat it'd be good foah yous health ta tell me whot dat lil' meetin' wos all 'bout," he threatened smoothly.
"I ain't gotta tell yous nuttin'," she scowled and backed away.
"Course ya don't," he kept approaching. "No ones gotta tell nuttin'," he smiled, but it wasn't friendly in the least. "Mosta da time, it's bettah foah yous ta tell," he paused then added. "Less painful."
"Yous t'reatenin' me Conlon?" She arched an eyebrow.
"I'se getting' whot I wont," he stated simply.
"An' da way yous do dat is by t'reatenin' a goil?" she backed into a wall and began scooting towards the side, Spot still in lazy pursuit.
"I gots oder ways o' getting' infoahmation," he said suggestively and Frost's eyes widened momentarily.
"I sweah if yous touch me I'se goin' ta make yous coyse da day yous weah boyn," she warned.
"I a'eady coyse dat," he chuckled. "But who's makin' da t'reats now?" For this she had no response, but changed subjects.
"Has anybody evah told ya dat yous a bastahd?" she asked.
"Not often," he admitted. "Most evahy one dat has don' live ta tell 'bout it," he boasted with an edge that made it difficult to weigh this truth of his statement.
"Look, I don' havta tell yous nuttin'," she ducked into an alley, running down the passage, and he followed quickly.
"Yous havta tell me whot I wants ta heah," he growled as he caught up to her, grabbing her arm.
"Foah shoyt guy you shuah do runs fast," she taunted, trying to tear out of his grip.
"Watch it," he warned menacingly.
"Watch whot?" She asked innocently. "Yous embahessed by youah size, Conlon?"
"If yous woynt a goil, I'se soak yous," he let go of her arm, expecting her to run again, but she didn't.
Instead she took a fighting stance and challenged, "Why don'cha Spot? Yous afraid a goil could beat'cha?"
That was all it took. In an instant they were fighting madly. Frost blocked Spot's frenzied punches, and he quickly slowed and reevaluated the situation. So the girl could fight, he never would have known by watching her try to fend off the Pullvine brothers, but then again that was different. One on one this girl was a worthy opponent.
They circled each other, daring the other to make a move, their blood pumping too quickly for either of them to realize that they were cold. Spot was the first to lunge at Frost, but she quickly dodged his blows and delivered one of her own. A spy little creature she was, but Spot was too and he regained quickly. Grabbing her in a strong headlock, he punched her in the face twice before he released her as her bony elbow jabbed into his thigh. This girl was strong.
The effect from the blow to his leg was stunning. A shot of pain ran through his whole body and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Frost was recovering from the two strong blows she had received, but she reveled in the effect her hit had taken. Then they were circling again, Spot slightly limping, Frost wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.
This time Frost took to offensive, leaving Spot no option but to defend himself. Blow after skillful blow was blocked with a speed and agility that many would have envied, but Frost finally planted a fist in his gut, causing him to exhale sharply. This gave her the moment of weakness she had been looking for. Launching her fist forward she caught him swiftly across the jaw, and sickly enjoyed the solid crack that was heard. Blood began to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Without a pause, she struck him again and again until he caught her wrist just as she was about to strike him in the gut.
Swiftly, he twisted her arm behind her back, making it so she was facing him, one of his arms wrapped around her. Quickly, he switched what hands were holding her restricted arm so that the mirror of her held arm was gripping her wrist, making it very painful for her if she struggled. This however left them both in a very compromising situation.
Clouds of white swirled upwards from their mouths as they breathed heavily from the adrenaline of the fight. Frost was pressed up against Spot as he held her arm painfully behind her, his warm breath brushing against her cheek with every exhale. Instinctively, her free arm moved to push him away, but one yank on her held arm and she yelped in pain. It hurt like hell and worse, if he pulled hard enough he could easily dislocate her shoulder.
"Lemme go," she struggled as much as he would allow, trying to find a way to twist out of the position.
'Why?" he taunted. "Yous afraid I'se going ta soak ya?" his full lips tilted upwards in a smile.
"I ain't afraid o' nuttin', 'specially not yous!" she turn her face and spat on the ground, resisting the temptation to spit directly in his face.
"Den why's yous shakin'?" he asked cockily, noting that she turned to spit.
"I always shake aftah a fight," she explained, knowing that there was no use denying her trembling.
"Yous goin' ta tell me whot I wants ta know oah am I'se goin' ta havta make yous?" he was suddenly all business.
"I ain't got nuttin' ta tell," she looked up at him defiantly, only to find that his face was only a few inches away. Yanking her closer still, he put more pressure on her arm and she winced. "Damn ya Spot Conlon, she gasped, trying not to enjoy this closeness of his lean body.
"Who was dat goil?" he growled, doing his best to ignore that his nose was nearly touching hers.
"Whot goil?" she played the fool.
"Da goil dat yous weah talkin' wit'," he clarified. "Who wos she?" he swallowed hard.
"A friend," Frost found it very hard to look away from those eyes as he continued to hold her close. "Can't a goil have friends?" the things that she was feeling made her feel vulnerable, so she used her anger to hide it.
"Not a goil like yous, yous nevah had a friend heah in Brooklyn," he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Yous act like it, but you ain't nevah had one," he studied her astutely. "Whot did yous give her at da end o' youah talk?" he remembered.
"Gawd, it's none o' youah business," she groaned. "Lemme go oah Is'll scream," she threatened, not really wanting him to let her go, even if the way he was holding her caused her pain.
"Yous t'ink dat anyone'll cahah even if anyone's out on dis damn awful weathah?" he posed the question, and she knew he was right.
"I hate yous," she hissed venomously.
"Da feelin' is mutual," he lied giving her arm a yank just to accentuate his point, but his heart twisted when he saw the light of pain flash in her eyes.
"She a goil I knows from Queens," she confessed. "She's da only one dat knows I'se heah in Brooklyn," she admitted when Spot twisted her arm a little more.
"An' whot did yous give her?" he prompted, using all of the years of hate inside of him to fuel the rough treatment he delivered.
"Dat ain't none o' youah -" she drew in a sharp breath when he pulled her arm again. "Yous such a bastahd," she growled, blinking back the tears that surfaced.
"So I'se hoyd, but dat ain't whot I wanna know," he informed. "Whot did yous give her?"
"Can't a goil have a private life 'round heah?" she muttered and Spot's eyes narrowed.
"Not goils like yous," he said bluntly.
"Goils like me?" Frost asked. "Whot's so differ'nt 'bout me?"
"I don' trust yous," he told her.
"Nevah asked ya to," she was strangely saddened that he didn't trust her, but she didn't want to care. "I'se jus' heah ta make some money, den leave," She told him. "I don' cahah whot oder people t'ink."
"Leave? Yous can't go no wheah else in New Yawk," he laughed. "Yous ain't got no wheah else ta go," he said confidently.
"New Yawk ain't da only town dat needs newsies," she answered cryptically.
"Yous t'inkin' 'bout leavin' New Yawk?" He was stunned, but tried not to show it.
"Why da hell not?" She challenged, looking him in the eyes. "I ain't got no reason to stay 'round heah," she informed, then softened her voice on the next question. "Do I?"
Spot swallowed hard as he looked at her, she was practically begging him to give her a reason to stay. For all he cared, she could go off to Santa Fe with Jack, but that wasn't true. He did care, he cared too much, and he sure wasn't going to tell her that. The closeness of her was wrecking havoc on his senses and he released her arm, stepping back and wiping the frozen blood at the corner of his mouth.
"No I can't t'ink of any reasons foah yous ta stay," he said coldly and she took a step back of her own, fighting him not even on her mind now.
"I can't eider," she whispered and turned to walk away.
"But yous can't leave till yous tell me da rest 'bout youah past," he reminded as she started to walk off.
"You want my stoahy?" she turned, but kept walking backwards. "Buy me dinnah an' I might tell yous da rest," she bargained.
"But yous said dat yous'll tell me a'eady," he complained.
"But I'se tell a helluva good stoahy when I'se got good food in my belly," she turned and started to walked away. "But if yous don' want a good stoahy, Is'll just tell it to ya on an empty gut," she dropped the bait and he took her.
"Fine, Is'll buy yous dinnah, but yous going ta tell me evahy t'ing," he caught up to her as they reached the end of the alley.
"I ain't got no cash on me so yous really goin' ta havta pay foah me," she turned and looked at him.
"I'se payin' but only if yous ansah da t'ings I wont ansahed," he bargained.
"Is'll tell yous da rest o' my story an' nuttin' else," she said firmly.
"Fine," Spot agreed. "But it bettah be a helluva stoahy, cuz if it ain't yous goin' ta be findin' anodda way ta pay does people," he pointed out and she held out her gloved hand.
"Deal," she said and they shook firmly, then walked together to the nearest and cheapest diner. Spot grumbled the whole way.
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It was in his eleventh year that Spot Conlon was proclaimed the leader of Brooklyn, but he already had been developing quite a reputation. A ruthless bargainer, a cool-eye at the poker table, a fierce fighter, a dead shot with a slingshot, and he had quite a way with the ladies. No doubt that Spot Conlon was ready to take on the world.
There was a small ceremony, in which all of the newsboys and girls from the various Brooklyn boroughs came and watched the passing of power. It was a strange event with odd solemnity and great reverence as the old leader passed on the rule of the land to the next. The air was hushed on this one spring day as Pike announced his departure from the ranks of the newsies and his intent to transfer the duty of leader to the younger boy.
With the greatest care, Pike handed Spot the symbol of Brooklyn leaders from years past. Pike had not carried it with him for he had found it a bother, but he had possessed it and cared for it with the highest respect. No one moved as Pike handed off the object of power to the small boy who didn't look a day over eight years old.
This was the first time Spot had beheld the article that had been talked about in Bunkroom. No matter how many times he had asked Pike to show it to him, he hadn't, and now his wondering was fulfilled. In his hands, Spot now held this legend, and he turned it lovingly in his small fingers.
In his hands, Spot held the gold tipped cane.
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//Hate and love are so often confused,
Though they seem complete opposites,
No other two emotions,
Are so completely identical…//
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The two entered the first diner they had gone to when Frost had allowed Spot his original question. The same flirty waitress was there and Spot indulged her, testing Frost's reaction. Much to his chagrin, she didn't seem fazed in the least, except for the pure disgust towards his lewd actions. He had been hoping for something more along the lines of jealousy, but he would take what he could get. He let her fawn over him, act motherly about his still swollen nose, and moan about the 'terrible' person who had done that to him. Frost rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers on the table to prove the point of her boredom.
Food ordered, Spot gripped the glass of water that his waitress friend had given him in both hands and set his gaze firmly on Frost. The game of intimidation was one he was well known for. Though he never professed his ability, he used it a great deal. Eyes slightly narrowed, gaze hard, posture speaking of his power and control, he engaged Frost in his game.
"So yous goin' ta ansah my question now?" he prompted, running the tip of his finger around the edge of his glass.
"I might," she smiled bitterly. "If yous t'ink dat yous can pull youah t'oughts away from dat goil," she jerked her head towards the waitress and Spot smirked in victory. She was jealous.
"Who?" he teased. "Oh her, she ain't nuttin' but a broad dat got a lil' bit o' me an' can't help but want more," his egotism was almost as appalling as his use of woman.
"T'ank goodness dat dere ah goils out dere dat have bettah sense," Frost muttered, taking a drink of her water.
"I'se yet ta meet one," Spot smiled cockily. "Even da good goils end up wit' me by da end o' da night, sometimes dey stick 'round till moahnin'," he watched with satisfaction as her face blanched slightly before returning to the cool mask he was used to.
"So da rumahs ah true," she said sarcastically. "Yous really ah a man whore," her dark eyes sparkled with a dark mirth and Spot knew that these insult wars and exchanges of wit were something she enjoyed thoroughly.
"I likes ta t'ink o' myself moah as an oppoahtunist," he leaned back against the booth wall, stretching like a big cat. "It ain't my fault dat does goils can't resist me," he added and Frost snorted.
"How much do ya chahge foah a night?" she quipped.
"Why, you wants ta know how much yous'll need ta pay me?" he shot back.
"Nah, just wanted ta see if yous weah ovah chargin'," she said flippantly. "Yous can't get moah dan five bucks a night, right?" she asked.
"Why'd ya say dat?" Spot asked, curious at the low price.
"Yous pro'ly shoytah dan all da ladies," she looked at him slyly and his face turned a little red.
"You ain't no giant youah self," he retorted lamely.
"But I'se a goil, I don' havta be tall," she pointed out. "You'se a boy, you'se s'posed ta be tallah," she smiled inwardly at his barely contained rage, the veins were popping out on the sides of his neck and his jaw was firmly set. He didn't have a smart remark for this and Frost was almost stunned, she always enjoyed a good war of insults, but it wouldn't be any good if your opponent didn't fight back. "Boy you shuah get riled up 'bout dumb t'ings," she informed, rather put off by his lack of opposition. "Yous really get youah dander up when anyone calls ya shoyt, don'cha?" Frost pointed out.
"I ain't shoyt," he denied.
"You ain't shoyt, an' I'se can fly," she laughed.
"Shaddup oah Is'll soak yous," he grumbled.
"Yous a'eady tried dat," she reminded with a smile and enjoyed the scowl that crept onto his face.
"I'se was feelin' nice," he frowned. "I had yous caught," he smirked.
"I coulda got out, I'se was woykin' on a plan," she informed her in a very self-assured manner.
"Shuah," he nodded, and touched the place on his leg where she had elbowed him, it still hurt. "But I ain't heah ta fight 'bout dat," he noted that she had been trying to change the subject. "I'se heah ta get da ansah ta my question," he took a drink of water.
"Yous asked me lotsa questions afore," she said somewhat nervously, and she cleared her throat. "Which one do yous mean?" She stalled.
"Da one bout youah time in New Yawk," he clarified.
"Oh dat," she searched frantically for an answer, but was relieved when the waitress came over to say their food would be out soon, but she really was just wanting to flirt with Spot. Sliding into the booth next to the object of her affection, the girl giggled rapidly and Frost rolled her eyes. It was pathetic, but inwardly she was wondering what it would be like to so openly express her emotions. It had been a long time since she had allowed that.
Spot smiled and flirted right back with the attractive waitress. It was true that she was a pretty girl with nice curves and bouncy red ringlets that glinted like fire in the light. Her features were in good proportion, but for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to find any interest in her. In fact, he couldn't even remember her name. When she leaned in to kiss him, he turned his head away in a playful fashion, rejecting the overt physical gesture.
"Rose Mary!" A voice came from the kitchen and the girl sprang out of the booth. "Get to work!" it was an older man, probably her father, guessing by his equally red curly hair. With one last wink and a blown kiss, the waitress, now label Rose Mary, skipped off to do her duty.
With a fully satisfied grin on his full lips, Spot returned his attention to Frost. Hoping that she would seem irritated, jealous, or show any kind of emotion to show that she was annoyed with the attentions he had paid the other girl. He won no such reward, her expression was as cold as ever. Possibly, that was a good sign since she had reverted into her previously cool mood, not the teasing kind she had been in just a little while ago. Even though it wasn't anything obvious, it was enough to give Spot the slightest twinge of hope.
"Now wheah weah we?" Spot folded his hands and set them on the table, smiling expectantly.
"You knows just wheah we'se weah," she said coldly, setting her jaw and refusing to meet his eyes.
"Oh yeah, yous weah jus' 'bout ta tell me how much ya likes me," he tempted arrogantly, and he could have sworn that her jaw had dropped, at least just a little.
"In youah dreams Conlon," she set her face in a steely pose and glared defiantly at him.
"Whot 'bout youah dreams?" he prodded, playing off of her phrase. "I'se whot yous dream 'bout ain't I?" he smiled boyishly, tilting his head to one side, coming dangerously close to flirting with her.
"I don' know whot yous talkin' 'bout," she denied smoothly, forcing down the heat that she felt rising to her cheeks.
"It's 'kay dat yous dream 'bout me," he leaned back in his seat, and put his hands behind his head. "Most goils do," he winked at her rakishly and she pursed her lips firmly.
"I - ain't - most - goils," she ground out through clenched teeth, aggravated by the sudden turn of conversation.
"No, no you ain't most goils ah yous?" Spot unclasped his hands and lowered them to his sides. Raising one hand to his chin, he studied her with great care and Frost had to use all of her control not to squirm or spill her glass of water all over him. "Yous made it cleah dat yous ain't like most goils," he repeated continuing to study her. "I s'pose dat yous pro'ly don' just dream 'bout me," as smile played on the corners of his mouth. "Yous pro'ly t'inkin' 'bout me durin' da day too."
"I don't know whot yous talkin' 'bout," she said coolly, her hands firmly clasped in tight fists on her lap. "When I'se t'ink 'bout da opposite sex, I likes ta t'ink 'bout ones dat ah tallah dan da countah at da distribution office," she took a sip of her water as she put on the airs of a social lady, but remained in her street accent.
"I'se can see ovah da countah," he defended his wounded pride. One moah joke 'bout my height an' dis goil will be findin' a differ'nt way ta pay foah her dinnah, he thought bitterly.
"I guess yous can," she shrugged and set down her glass. "My mistake."
Thus started the staring, or rather, glaring of the two. It was intense as Spot used his intimidation to try to get Frost to back down, but she didn't waver. The noises of the busy diner were lost on the two as they confronted each other on a completely different plane than words. Tension ran thick, but it wasn't just the anger that coursed through their veins. The zeal of their rage translated into passion as it filled their cool bodies with heat even though neither was touching each other. If they hadn't been sitting opposite of each other at a table, there was no telling what conclusion could have been reached. Either they would have beaten the other to a bloody pulp, or ended up in each other's arms. Which it would have been, neither one would ever find out because Rose Mary came out with their food.
The bubbly red-headed waitress was completely oblivious to the intense encounter the two were sharing and she set the bowl of steaming soup in front of Frost, giving her a cold glare before turning to Spot. He had ordered a large sandwich and she smiled sweetly as he looked up at her, startled by the suddenness of her appearance. Taking full advantage of his upturned face, Rose Mary leaned over and placed a hard but short kiss to his mouth before turning and nearly skipping back to the kitchen.
Stunned wouldn't have been the best word to express Spot's reaction, because Rose Mary had kissed him before and most likely would do it again, but the fact that she did it in front of Frost disturbed him. Though he wasn't one to let things like this bother him, so playing to situation to his advantage, he created his well-known smirk and turned back to Frost.
"Told ya," he smiled knowingly. "Da ladies jus' can't get enough o' me," he found secret pleasure in the groaning noise she made.
"Youah disgustin'," she stirred her soup with the spoon she had been provided.
"An' dats why yous kissed me," he reminded her and she glared at him.
"We'se been ovah dis," she raised the spoon out of the soup and shook it at him slightly. "I kissed ya ta get away," she smirked slightly. "An' it woyked."
"Dat ain't da kiss I'se talkin' 'bout," he told her taking a large bit of his sandwich as she ate a hearty spoon-full of her piping hot soup. "I'se talkin' 'bout da one aftah dat," he spoke as he chewed, then swallowed heavily. "I'se talkin' 'bout da one on da bridge, yous kissed me."
"No yous kissed me," she shook her head, correcting him.
"But yous lemme kiss yous," he reminded. "An' den yous kissed me back," he watched her roll her eyes. "An' I wanna knows why," he took another bite and waited.
"I don' havta tell yous nuttin'," she kept her air aloof.
"So dere is somet'ing ta tell?" he caught her slip and she nearly choked on her soup.
"No," she coughed, hitting a fist to her chest to clear out the poorly swallowed soup.
"So dere ain't nuttin' ta tell, but dere is somet'ing ta tell, oah else yous wouldn't say dat yous didn' have ta tell me nuttin' cause dere ain't anyt'ing ta tell, but dere's gotta be somet'ing cause you don' havta tell it ta me," he took a deep breath and Frost gave him a curious look.
"Whot in da hell?" she asked, her face contorted in confusion and disbelief.
"Dere is somet'ing oah else ya wouldn't have ta say ya didn' havta tell me nuttin'," Spot spoke slowly, trying himself to make sense of his previous run-on sentence.
"Why does it mattah so much to yous?" She spouted, aggravated at her confusion. "It ain't like we'se cahah 'bout each oder," she continued. "Hell, we don' even likes each oder," she pointed out the absurdity of the situation.
"Yeah," Spot echoed. "We'se hate each oder," he affirmed and she nodded her head. "I don' know why I'se even said any t'ing," he took another bite of his sandwich and she turned her attention to her soup. They finished the rest of the meal in silence, neither one really having much of an appetite as the words they had spoken left a foul taste in there mouth, and a cold feeling in their stomachs.
. : ^_^ : .
//It has been found,
That the best friend,
Makes the worst enemy,
But what makes a best friend…?//
. : ^_^ : .
No one challenged the new authority of their newly risen leader. No on had the courage to. Standing less than five foot, Spot Conlon already had mastered the art of intimidation. The tiny boy sold more papers a day than anyone in Brooklyn did, and for that matter, he sold more than anyone in all of New York did. It wasn't until he went to his first territory meeting in Manhattan that he met with his first opposition.
He had heard of the cocky selling boy, named Jack Kelly, the one that boasted he was better than he was. The fact that he boasted didn't bother Spot as much as the fact that he made fun of his size. It could be said that Spot Conlon was afflicted with the Napoleon complex. It was about time that he set the record straight with this Cowboy, there was only room enough for one pompous, over-confident, newsie, and that was he.
Brandishing his cane and his slingshot, Brooklyn's trademarks, he strutted to the upper-east side Manhattan lodging house. When he arrived, an older man who he would later find to be Kloppman waved him upstairs, muttering a few words. Swaggering up the stairs with all of his well-mustered confidence, eleven-year-old Spot Conlon came face to face with a taller boy with piercing gray eyes. A red bandana was tied loosely around his thin neck and a dusty black cowboy hat hung on his back.
"Cowboy," he spit in his hand and extended it, sizing up the boy even as they spoke, and the boy smiled amiably, returning the favor.
"Spot," he shook his hand firmly, then withdrew, stepping back and opening to the side to show a circle of boys all seated around a wooden crate. "Dis heah is Jestah from Harlem, Hook from da Bronx, Brink from Queens, an' Pipah from da lowah East Side," he finished introductions with his fellow Manhattan leader. "Boys, dis heah is da new leadah from Brooklyn," he slapped Spot's chest with the back of his hand. "Spot," he laughed after he said the name and Spot didn't like the sound of it, but he took a seat around the circle and waited.
"Yous all play pokah?" Spot asked, eyeing the cards on the crate.
"O' coyse," Brink snorted. "Dats all we evah do at dese meetin's," he grumbled and Jack reached for the stack. Seven-card stud was the game of choice and Spot didn't have any complaints until the middle of the game. Jack was the dealer and Spot watched him closely as he passed out cards to each of those around the table.
"Yous took dat cahd from da bottom o' da pile!" Spot exclaimed as Jack gave himself a card.
"No I'se didn'," Jack acted offended.
"Yes yous did," Spot insisted. "I'se saw yous," they were both standing now.
"Yous callin' me a liah?" Jack straightened to his full height of five foot five and sized off with the smaller leader.
"I'se callin' you dat an' a doity cheat," Spot retorted.
"Yous take dat back oah I'se goin' ta soak yous," Jack growled and all the other leaders started to take bets on who would win, no one betted in Spot's favor. Thinking for a moment, but not able to think of a better retort than his primary instinct to fight, Spot balled his fist and before Jack could react, the tiny Brooklyn leader had punched him.
. : ^_^ : .
"Look heah Spot, I'se not goin' ta tell ya nuttin' tanight, I'se too tiahd. Can't dis wait till anodda night?" Frost complained as he held her by the arm, dragging her back to the lodging house.
"No, I'se gettin' whot I wont an I'se wont my ansah!" he exclaimed.
"But I'se gotta sell papes tamarra an I really don' feel like sneakin' 'round tanight," she tried to sway him to see her side. "Tanight we'se can jus' go ta bed, be full an' wahm an' Is'll tell yous a bed time stoahy anodda time," she was practically begging, she didn't want to tell him about Manhattan, or Queens, or even Stanton for that matter.
"I'se bought yous dinnah an' yous goin' ta tell me whot I wants ta know," he insisted, almost as repetitive as a broken record.
"Gawd you are frustratin'," She moaned.
"I'se hoyd dat afore," he looked at her and smiled in his irritating fashion.
"Ya know yous don' havta hold my ahm, I ain't goin' no wheah," she jerked her arm and he let her go, true to her word, she didn't run, but kept on towards the lodging house.
"Yous can staht tellin' me youah stoahy as we'se walk," Spot prompted, and Frost shot his a venomous glance.
"An' whot if I'se don' feel like it?" She asked.
"I nevah asked if yous felt like it," he smiled sourly. "I told ya ta do somet'ing an' yous goin' ta do it," he saw the defiance flash in her dark eyes and a wave of victory crashed over him.
"Has I evah told yous dat yous a bastahd?" she asked for about the fifteenth time that night, and Spot now almost found it comical.
"Only yous," he replied and she started muttering under her breath. "Whot yous sayin'?" he asked, bending to peer at her lowered head as they walked.
"I wos damnin' yous ta hell, do ya mind? Yous interruptin'," she looked up at him and his and her fore heads bumps.
"Ow!" they said simultaneously.
"Why'd ya do dat Conlon?" Frost protested, her gloved hand rubbing the sore place on her head.
"Me? I didn' do nuttin'!" he retorted, then muttered, "Yous da one wit' a hahd head."
"I ain't got a hahd head!" She stopped walking and faced him. "Yous da one dat jus' hadta know whot I'se doin'," he stopped turned toward her.
"An' it's my fault dat yous jus' happen ta look up when I'se tryin' ta look down at yous?" Spot pointed out.
"Damn right it is," she cursed.
"Whot?" Spot couldn't believe her reasoning.
"Yous such a bastahd," she muttered and started walking but Spot grabbed her by both shoulders and kept her from moving.
"Wait, I ain't done," he commanded and she jerked back from him.
"Don' tell me whot ta do," she hissed. "I'se goin' back ta da lodgin' house befoah I freeze my ass off," she blew hot air into her fists and turned to move again, but Spot caught her.
"Don't yous walk away from me," he growled menacingly.
"Why not, I'se can go to da lodging house if I'se want ta," she looked down at her arm where he held her, his hand wrapped all the way around her arm, coat and all. For being so small, he had big hands.
"Yous can when I'se done wit' yous," Spot told her.
"Yous can't jus' ohdah me 'round like I'se youah slave," she spat.
"I'se Spot Conlon, I'se can do whot evah I'se wanna do, an' I wants yous ta stay heah till I'se done wit'choo," he commanded and her eyes flashed dark fire.
"I don' cahah if yous da president o' da damn United States!" she yelled. "I ain't stayin' heah an you can't make me stay," she tried to yank her arm out of his hold but found it firm.
"Is dat a challenge?" he growled.
"If yous want it ta be it is," she said haughtily.
"Den I'se accept," he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly.
"Shit!" he heard her mutter as she pressed against his chest, struggling as hard as she could before she looked up at his face and realized just how close she really was to him.
Their noses were almost touching, their breath heading up in clouds towards the heavens. Time seemed to freeze around them as the frigid air suddenly was as cold anymore. The soul intention of taking her in his arms had been to restrain her, but now Spot was cursing his plan as he stared down into her midnight black eyes. He was aware that she had stopped trying to get away and was simply looking back up at him, the whole world reflecting in her expression. It was then that he realized that he was holding his breath, unsure of what to do, he simply stood there.
"Frost," Spot breathed. "I…" he drifted off, not sure what he wanted to say.
"Yes?" She looked up expectantly.
"Frost I -" he started again, but a foul voice infiltrated their perfect world.
"Well, well, well, looky whot we'se got heah, boys," Spot heard and jerked his head away without kissing Frost. "A couple o' love boyds," Spot identified the voice as that of Charlie Pullvine and he swore vilely.
Letting go of the girl, he saw that Chester and Caleb were both closing in, forming a triangle of sorts around the pair. It wasn't looking good for them.
"Get outta here," Spot hissed to her.
"Whot? Spot, no!" she watched with horror as the three approached and Spot readied himself to fight. "Yous can't take dem alone, dey'll kill you," she spoke rapidly, time for escape was limited.
"Yeah, well I ain't got nuttin' ta life foah, now get outta heah!" he replied, his back now facing her as he squared off with one of the Pullvines.
"But-" she started.
"Just go!" he yelled, turning his head slightly to see if she left, and he was strangely saddened to see her making moves towards escape. Carefully and quickly she calculated her route of escape and the flew through the gap between Chester and Caleb. The slow goons didn't have the reaction time to catch her, and Charlie waved them off of her.
"We'se can get her latah, when she ain't got no bodyguard," he motioned to the boy they were now circling.
"Yous want dat goil?" Spot asked, not letting his fear show. "Whot foah? She can't cook, an' lemme tell you whot, she is bad in bed," he added suggestively.
"Well ya know it ain't like dat no moah, Dot," Charlie mislabeled the boy purposefully. "Now it's poysonal," he motioned to Caleb and Chester to move in.
"An' it's poysonal against me?" Spot asked, trying to figure the best way to fend off his attackers.
"Nah, not so much," Charlie watched with glee as his brothers approached. "We'se jus' don' like yous."
That was the end of the conversation, because the first blows began to be delivered. Strangely though, through the fighting, all Spot could think of was how he hoped that Frost had gotten back to the lodging house safely.
. : ^_^ : .
The cold air burned her lungs as her feet pounded the frozen earth. It was much like the first night she had arrived at the lodging house, except this time she didn't run for herself, she ran for someone else. An idea that she had hoped wouldn't come true for her days in Brooklyn. Pushing through the door, she starting yelling at the top of her lungs before she even got inside.
"Get down heah!" She cried. "Spot needs help!"
. : ^_^ : .
A/N: Sorry for the major delay of this chapter. I apologize but some circumstances beyond my control kept me from updating even though I had it written. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! Don't hate me forever! But you wanna know something that I found out about people on Fanfiction.net? Sometimes, they don't review something when they read it! I didn't even think about ever doing that. I am that annoying person that reviews everything I read. I figure, if I bother to read the story, and if they bother to post it, why the heck not? Anyway, maybe I am just stupid. But guess what! My reader count is up! I think I actually have... . : * Pauses and counts each person on her fingers * : . 5 people reading this story! . : * Cries * : . This is the happiest moment in my life! Er… maybe not quite, but I do have 21 whole freaking reviews which is big for me. . : * glows * : . But I am going to shut up now and do shout outs.
Ali: Ha, ha, so you like my story? Thank you so very much! . : * Glows * : . Well I like your leadership story… so you need to update it since I undated this one, okay? Okay, now that we have an understanding, I definitely agree with you that Spot is gorgeous. He is very gorgeous. . : * drools * : . The strange thing is that Gabriel Damon really isn't that cute in any other movie, but in Newsies he is smoldering. Thanks for the review, take care. ^_^
Kaylee: Yep, this goes right along with Blind Spot. This actually goes before it, but I am writing them at the same time and I am also writing it so that it can be read separately, but you get a lot more out one if you read the other. Well, you didn't find out what happened to Jack in this part, but you might find out soon….
Silent Breeze: Congratulations, you have given me the longest review I have ever gotten up till this point in time. ^_^ It made me laugh so hard as I sat there in my little computer chair and read it. I am like the A + essays? Okay, I will have to take your word for it because I am home schooled. ^_^ You started falling for Coin? Well, gosh, that is different. I didn't ever really think about anyone falling for him, I mean with Spot being so fine… but he is non-existent too! Well in the sense that we know him, Spot Conlon was real, but not how we know him. Aw… don't burn your writing, keep it so when you get better you will be able to see how far you've come. ^_^ Go ahead and tell your friends about this story, ha, ha I can always use another critical reviewer… oh wait… I don't have any critical reviewer darn it! I want one! I'll take the flowers, but the chocolate I will do without, I need to keep my 'girlish figure' you know. ^_^ Well, thanks for your review and possibly you will be kind and review this chapter as well?
Ireland O'Reily: Have I ever told you that I love you? Well I do and I love your faithful reviews and I am just completely thankful for you. ^_^ I think the reliving of the story makes it more real and I can be more detailed and make it more interesting for the reader. I personally like how I made it so she had to tell Spot and she didn't just tell him on her own free will, but that is just me. Anyway, I will have to see about the prequel to the prequel, mainly because I just need to finish Blind Spot and this story before I even think about tackling another series. I don't know if it would ruin the whole character of Frost or what, but hey… right now I just have to focus on these two babies. Take care. ^_^
Fearless: Wow, I have someone who likes me! . : * Glows * : . I am so happy. Well, there was your little update, take care.
All right, that is it for shout outs. Take care, and have a great week!