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. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.
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A/N: Well this chapter is short, but at least it is here. I know, I know, bad me, but I felt that I would post it so that you all would know what happened to our poor little Spot. Now I will jut think of another way to put you guys on another cliffhanger, hmm…. . : * Goes into deep thought * : . Aren't I just the meanest person ever? Ha, ha, well this update is a whole day early so love me! Even if it is short, love me!
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Warning: This chapter is PG - 13 for violence and mild swearing, I almost kept it at a PG, but I don't think it is quite that mild….
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Chapter 7: Only so Obvious
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//Whoever said,
Violence isn't the answer,
Never lived,
On the streets of New York…//
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The fighting started with an unfair blow from behind, and Spot staggered under the weigh of Chester's fist. After the first dozen blows, Spot lost count as he fought valiantly against the three brothers, trading them blow for blow. Even though loss was more than likely, Spot wasn't going to go without a fight, it wasn't in him. Through the pain of six fists beating him, Spot somehow managed to remain standing, fending them off as well as he could. Soon all he was doing was blocking the punches when he could.
Everything was a blur from the pain. Spot couldn't focus on anything besides surviving. The food that he had just eaten was threatening to erupt as his stomach cramped from the blows. The next thing he remembered was someone grabbing him from behind, restricting his arms. Looking up, he saw the evil glint of brass knuckles flashing in the dark. The next thing he remembered was the sickening crunch of his ribs from a devastating blow. Then, one right across the face and he felt his skin split across the cheekbone.
Blow after mighty blow, Spot endured this torture without letting out a sound, but once when his attacker was close enough, he launched out his foot, aiming to simply hit him. His aim was dead on for that goal coming in firm contact with Caleb's groin. A loud moan let him know that he had been accurate, but in the next few moments he wondered it if was worth it. Charlie, angered at his brother's mishap, retrieved his own brass knuckles and released his fury on poor Spot.
He was dangerously close to passing out when there was the sound of several running feet raised his bobbing head. Then he was dropped on the cold ground, the Pullvines retreating into the night. The group that had been coming towards them wasn't the bulls like he suspected, but a group of his own comrades. Gasping, through the pain, Spot managed to sit up, then attempt to stand when someone was beside him lifting his arm over their shoulders and helping him stand. It was Frost.
Opening his eyes, he saw her. Though his vision was clouded and everything he heard sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel, he knew it was she. Just her presence seemed to make some of the pain recede and he was glad to have her there.
"Look at dis mess yous gotten youah self inta," she joked as they stood and Spot tried to smile, but his face hurt too much. "Gawd yous look awful," she pointed out, but Spot didn't have the energy to argue.
As some of his comrades chased after the Pullvines, some walked back with Frost and Spot to the lodging house. Helping the girl shoulder Spot and making their way through the cold of the winter. Spot knew that he had been sore before he had fought the Pullvines, because of Frost, but now he was beyond just sore, he was in extreme pain. By the time they reached the lodging house, Spot was barely able to walk, but he refused to be carried, no one carried Spot Conlon.
"Oh my goodness!" he heard someone exclaim. "What happened to him?" A girlish voice asked and he knew it had to be the lodging house owner's daughter, Emily.
"A fight," Frost informed. "Ya wanna make youah self useful an' find us some bandages?" She asked tersely and Spot watched with blurred vision as the raven-haired girl scurry off.
"Come on," Frost urged. "Dis way," she led him to the stairs and painfully, one step at a time, they ascended. It was a painstaking escapade, and every movement hurt, but Spot managed somehow. At the top, he had to pause and catch his breath, trying to stop the world from spinning so fast around him.
"Yous a'ight?" Frost asked, and he opened his eyes to see her face close to his, and even through his blurred sight, he could see her concern. Unable to make good use of his bruised, cracked, split lips, Spot just nodded. "A'ight you bums!" he heard Frost's voice ring out. "Get dis man on a bed now!" she slipped out from under his arm and Spot felt himself being led to a bed and he laid down.
It felt indescribably good to lay down and Spot sighed as deeply as his broken ribs would allow. This wasn't his first encounter with a fight like this one, but he had always been able to get away before. The last time he was beaten this badly was the night of the fire…. At that thought, he quickly changed subjects in his mind until he heard Frost's voice again.
"Heya Spot, ya in dere?" she asked and he opened his swelling eyes in response. "Good," she sounded all-business. "Now I'se goin' ta try a couple t'ings an' yous goin' ta tell me if dey hoyt," she pressed on his ribs and got a satisfying hiss from her patient. "Broken," she said without emotion. "A'ight all yous, help me gets dese clothes offa him, I'se gotta wrap his ribs," she announced and several pairs of strong hands lifted Spot into a sitting position and he tried to talk but Frost told him to be quiet. The idea of be stripped down wasn't too appealing, considering that he was freezing.
Following Frost's command, his coat was removed, then his suspenders and when he felt his shirt being unbuttoned, he struggled a little not wanting Frost to see his scars. The horrible disfiguring marks covered his arms, most of them weren't that large, but they were ugly. The struggle however was futile, as Frost's soft voice assured him that everything would be fine. If they didn't set his ribs now he would hurt a lot more. So he allowed himself to be comforted by Frost, allowing himself to believe that she wouldn't notice the scars.
The idea, as strange as it seems was very unsettling to Spot. He didn't want comfort, and he most certainly didn't want it from that girl! Clamping his mouth shut, he bit his tongue until he drew blood, fighting back the noises of pain he wished to make for the terrible jarring of his broken body. Every slight movement hurt now as they removed his shirt and began unbuttoning his long johns.
Opening his eyes, he made out Ghost, Fire and Outsider were the ones helping Frost as she sat on a stool beside his bed. Emily, the lodging house girl, was standing close in attendance with a wooden box in hand. On top of that wooden box was a pile of something white, if his vision would have been clearer he would have know they were strips of linen. Reaching up, Frost, took on of those strips and began wrapping it firmly around Spot's torso. He hadn't seen her reaction to his scars, but maybe she wasn't paying attention to them anyway.
"Gawd," he hissed in pain as she yanked it tighter. "I t'ink dat yous like ta hoyt me," he mumbled through his swollen lips and she pulled the cloth an extra time.
"Be quiet," she commanded and he said nothing more as she began to tie around him. When she was quiet done inflicting pain on her patient, she began to redress him. Slowly, ever so slowly, then Ghost lay him back down on his bed. "Do yous have any carbolic acid?" Frost asked, and Spot wondered what that was. Though his eyes were closed, he listened carefully, using his hearing to know what was happening.
The sound of something heavy being set on the floor was all he heard. Then a click of something opening and the sound of clinking glass bottles. If he had been able to see, he would have seen Emily kneeling and setting down the heavy wooden box she had been holding, opening it, and sorting through it.
"Here," Emily handed Frost a small bottle and Emily took another piece of linen. Popping open the bottle, a sour smell filled the room, but she doused the rag with the smelly substance, dying the cloth a sickening yellow. Then she swabbed it over the open cuts on Spot face. It stung like fire in his wounds and Spot grimaced, not expecting the treatment.
"Whot's dat do?" Outsider asked.
"It clean out da cuts so he won't get no infections," she clarified, tucking her gold cross necklace back into her shirt as it had slipped out.
"Do it always stain youah skin like dat?" Ghost asked in disgust and Spot's eyes flew open.
"Don' woahy," She said, noticing Spot's reaction to this. "Da colah goes away," she said calmly and Spot closed his eyes again. Even with just the rapid movement of his eyelids, his whole face ached. When he was better, he would get those Pullvines for what they had done.
"Doe's bruises ah goin' ta match his nose," her heard Outsider snicker and the other boys joined in his merriment. Outraged, he tried to sit up, but Frost's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Deys right ya know," she whispered. "But don' woahy, it'll go away jus' like da color," she brushed his hair back off of his forehead as she cleaned a few cuts up there.
The sensation of her small fingers brushing through his hair sent a strange tingling sensation all through Spot's body and he opened his eyes to watch her work. Even though he couldn't see that clearly, and even though it hurt to have them open, he watched her. Finally, she looked at his eyes and saw him watching her and a change came over her face. A softening I guess you could say, like part of the icy exterior had melted by simply looking into his eyes.
"T'anks," he mumbled and she gently placed her index finger onto his busted lips.
"Be quiet," she ordered and he was. "Now go ta sleep," she added and with one final look at her, he let his eyes drift shut. During this time, the boys had stopped laughing and were simply watching the tender exchange.
Then a revelation struck them. Their leader, the fearless Spot Conlon was in love with this girl, and she loved him too. It was painfully obviously and almost embarrassing for the trio of boys and the shy quiet girl to watch. So silently, the three exited, and Emily left the medical chest in the room behind her. Neither Spot nor Frost noticed them leave.
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The brawl between the two boys ended up with Brooklyn on top of Manhattan, beating in his face with his tiny fist until he begged for mercy. When he final did beg, and beg he did, Spot showed some mercy and stopped. The battered Manhattan and the bruised Brooklyn returned to the poker table without another word.
Something had happened in those moments of fighting, something that would last for as long as the relationship between Spot Conlon and Cowboy Sullivan lasted. The establishment of supremacy had been set in front of all of the leaders. Though small, this new leader was someone to be reckoned with, and not someone to cross. When they were both settled back at the table, the tiny Brooklyn leader looked around the table, picked up part of his hand, and asked the simple question:
"Now wheah weah we'se?"
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//So take me and break me,
And make me strong like you
I'll be forever grateful,
To this and you…//
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Two days past before Frost would even let Spot out of bed, not that Spot minded. Every movement he made, he body would yell in protest, but he was the leader of Brooklyn and leaders didn't take days off. Frost wasn't the only female that mothered him, Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter would feed him mush once a day unknown to anyone else. It was strange to think that she would do this for Spot had never really said more than fifty words to her. Maybe Frost was paying her.
By the day after the fight, his vision had cleared but his eyes were swollen. Reports of those that had gone after the Pullvines said that they had 'fixed them good'. Whatever that meant, it didn't matter how 'good' they had 'fixed' the, Spot was going to 'fix' them better. On the second day, he managed to stand and walk by himself, but Frost was sure to monitor the steps that he took.
The bandages that she had applied were changed and the ones around his ribs were tightened. Spot hated that part. It was nearly pure torture, the pressure on his cracked, broken, and bruised ribs was comforting while it was there, but when it was being initially applied it hurt like hell. He was sure Frost did it just to hurt him.
During the day when everyone was gone, he would sleep. The sleep did him good and helped to heal him faster, but he didn't want to take any more than two days off of working. That wasn't the reputation he had worked so hard to attain, but when he brought it up to Frost on the end of the second night she exploded.
"Yous t'ink dats yous goin' ta sell papes tamarra?" She exclaimed.
"I don' t'ink it, I knows it," he insisted through swollen lips.
"Yous can bahly talk, how's yous goin' ta sell papes?" She crossed her arms across her chest.
"Is'll talk bettah tamarra," he said matter-of-factly. "I'se talkin' bettah taday dan I'se did yestahday," he reminded.
"Dat don' mean dat yous goin' ta be ready ta sell papes by tamarra," she told him. "Yous stayin' heah," she ordered and he shook his head, as he lay back down on his bed.
"Ain't goin' ta happen," he said. "I needs dat money an' you ain't goin' ta stop me," he closed his swollen eyes, he had them open to long and now they felt like they were burning. "Sides, my bruises'll help sell me papes fastah," he tried to smirk, but it came across more as a grimace.
"Youah face right now ain't goin' ta do nuttin' but scahah away youah customahs," she grumbled and Spot chuckled throatily.
"I knows yous jealous o' me good looks, but dat ain't no reason ta be like dat," he joked and he smiled inwardly when he heard her growl.
"Fine, yous can sell tamarra, but I'se goin' ta sell wit'choo," she informed. "You ain't goin' ta cahahy all doe's papes an hoyt youah self moah," she clarified.
"Oh yeah, an' who's made yous a doctah?" Spot turned his head to look at her as she sat on the bed beside him, but she was now standing.
"Dat yous'll nevah know," she said firmly and walked away, leaving Spot with only more questions.
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//Fix me to a chain,
Around your neck,
And wear me,
Like a key…//
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True to his word, Spot got up the next day with the rest of the boys and girls and went down to the distribution office. There is nothing quite like the biting cold to bring out the intense pain of your body. Every last nerve screamed in agony with every step he took, but Spot bit back the complaints and headed onward.
True to her word, Frost stayed with Spot all day. Carrying their papes around, barely letting him carry more than two at a time. Every time he would try to do something, she would do it for him, not allowing him to bend over or even turn from side to side.
"Look, I'se fine," Spot finally complained, annoyed.
"Has you looked in a mirrah lately?" She retorted. "You ain't fine," she stood with arms akimbo.
"Jus' cause da mirrah don' show me noymal lovely self don' mean dat I ain't fine," Spot shot back and Frost looked at him skeptically. Taking a stack of about twenty papers, she threw them at him and he tried to catch them.
As they slammed against the front of his rib cage, he let out a nasty hiss of air and nearly doubled over. Though he managed to keep a hold on the papers, it was clear that she had made her point. Casting her as evil a glare as he could through the smears of blue, black, and purple around his strange eyes, Spot tried to straighten with as much dignity as one about to collapse could.
"Yous goin' ta pay foah dat," he threatened.
"Oh I'se can't wait," she feigned fear, then her act seemed to change into something very real. "Shit," she muttered and ducked her head, looking around at her feet.
"Whot?" Spot asked, confused at her behavior.
"Um, just a second," she took the stack of papers in her arms and handed them to him. "Is'll be right back," with that she ran off, melting into the crowd and Spot was completely confused.
"Whot in da hell…" he muttered and turned away from the place she disappeared and was about to start yelling out the headline when a boy dressed in ragged clothes and an eye-patch came up to him.
"That girl that was just with you, do you know who that was?" the boy asked, and Spot shrugged, sensing that this was probably someone that Frost didn't want to deal with. The eye patch wasn't too odd, but the fact that Spot had never seen this boy in this area before was. The non-New York accent was a dead give away that this boy wasn't native.
"Nope," Spot lied glibly. "Buy a pape?" He asked and the boy looked back at him blankly, blinking his one uncovered eye that was as dark as night.
"So you don't know that girl" he asked and Spot shook his head again, offering him a pape. "I already have a paper," The boy informed and looked around the crowd again. "But if you see that girl again, tell her than she won't get away from me that easily next time," Spot was confused by his words, but didn't say anything else as the boy melted into the crowd.
Spot expected Frost to return, but she didn't, and he was left alone for the remainder of the selling day. When he was too tired and too sore to continue, he dropped the papers into the snow and started back towards the lodging house. He had some questions that needed to be answered and Frost was the only one that could answer them.
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//I am here,
For you to use,
Broken and bruised,
Do you understand…?//
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The poker game was followed by another, and then another until the leader from the Lower East Side of Manhattan bowed out, saying that he had other business to attend to. It was the Bronx that folded next, then Queens, soon it was down to just Manhattan and Brooklyn. In the end it was Brooklyn who ended the last game triumphant. The victory re-instated the example of supremacy that had been set in the fight, but the Cowboy didn't seem to mind.
An easy-going fellow this Cowboy was. Much different than the cold leader of Brooklyn, but there was an understanding that passed between the two that day. Even though the relationship started off on the rocks, a strange respect, or even friendship started that day. Though neither would ever admit to being the best of friends, both would form a strong allegiance that would stand the test of time.
So these good relations between Brooklyn and Manhattan began with a fight. Ironic as it seems, it is the truth. The feud ended in peace and so it would stand for the rest of the leadership of Cowboy Sullivan and Spot Conlon.
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Back at the lodging house, Spot didn't find Frost, but he was too tired and sore to do anything about it now. His ribs ached more than anything else did. The cold had seeped in through his thin coat and made them hurt more than before. Lying down on his bunk for the time being, Spot closed his sore eyes. Since his fight, he had taken a lower bunk, finding it too hard to climb to the top for now. By tomorrow night, he promised to himself, he would have the upper bed back.
Sighing, he listened to the noises swirling around him. A throbbing headache from the constant pain had developed in his temples and the relaxing was helping. As the voices and sounds of the room lulled him to sleep, the warmth loosened the tightened muscles of the day. Even though he was feeling better, something was missing. He wasn't sure what and he didn't want to know, because something in his deepest thoughts told him that he didn't want to know.
Sighing, he knew that he could sleep now. It wasn't time to sleep, but the short rest had done him good even though his body protested when he forced it up into a sitting position. Outsider was the first of the group to notice that their leader was awake and moving. Heading over in that direction, Outsider marched over with purpose and Spot turned his battered face in the direction of a greeting.
"Heya Spot," Outsider moved to sit across from him on the bunks. "Can I'se talk ta yous foah a lil'?" He asked and Spot shrugged his shoulder, wincing at the movement. "I can?" Outsider asked, a little more skittish than normal.
"Yeah," Spot mumbled through his swollen lips, annoyed at his friend's unusual attitude.
"It's 'bout Frost," Outsider started tentatively, and even though the bruises and swelling, Outsider could see the immediate attention spring into his friend's eyes. "I'se not shuah I'se trust her," he said heavily and Spot calculated him coolly, but Outsider was used to this treatment. When addressed in such a fashion, Spot Conlon always weighed his words before he spoke.
"Whot's not ta trust?" Spot inquired, testing if his friend had information that he didn't.
"I'se not shuah Spot, dere's jus' somet'ing 'bout her an' her eyes," Outsider paused as if to ponder his own words. "Has yous evah looked at her eyes?" He asked suddenly. "De's blackah dan Boots'!" He exclaimed, referring to the Negro newsie in Manhattan.
"An' her eyes makes it so yous can't trust her?" Spot prompted, trying to keep on subject.
"No… it ain't dat…" Outsider drifted.
"Den whot?" Spot asked, annoyed.
"I'se got reasons ta believe dat dis is da goil is da Spectah o' Queens," Outsider dropped his voice to a stage whisper and Spot nearly erupted laughing, but through years of controlling his emotions, he didn't.
"Is dat so," Spot paused, pretending to think. "An' whot's yous got dat says dat?" Spot asked, genuinely curious.
"Last night, when dat goil walked away an' yous talked ta Frost, I'se had one o' da boys follow dat goil," Outsider admitted. "An' she went straight ta Queens an' when da boy caught her, she said dat she wos jus' talkin' ta Spectah," Outsider stressed the different name.
"Do ya see Frost any wheah 'round heah?" Spot asked, motioned with his hand to the room around him, careful not to move it too far.
"No," Outsider said.
"Den when yous do see her, tell her dat I needs ta talk ta her," Spot said calmly and Outsider looked at him skeptically.
"Whot ah yous goin' ta talk wit' her 'bout?" The co-leader asked.
"Is'll talk ta her 'bout whot I want," Spot shot back as forcefully as he could with his sore mouth.
"Fine," Grumbled Outsider.
What did his friend think? That he hadn't seen what had gone on between him and Frost that first night after the Pullvines attacked? Of course he had, so had Fire and Ghost. They all knew that there were sparks flying between the two, and there was no denying it. At least on their part, but Spot could deny it all he wanted, so could this Frost girl, if that was even her name. Everyone knew that there was something going on between the two, three of the boys knew for sure, everyone seemed to know except the two it involved. Sighing deeply, he stood and left his friend alone on his temporary bunk.
Doe's two ah so stubbahn dat dey pro'ly wouldn't know dey weah in love if it hit dem in da face, he thought cynically as he walked away.
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Frost hadn't gone back to the lodging house, she figured that was where he would go next. If that had been who she thought it was, she was in deeper trouble than she could imagine. How had he managed to find her after all of this time? There was no way that he had found her, she was someone completely different now than she had been three years ago. Maybe he had just wanted to buy a paper, maybe it wasn't who she had thought it was at all, and maybe she was seeing things. Clutching the gold cross at her throat, breathed deeply.
No she hadn't been seeing things, it was he. The same brown hair, the same dark eyes, nearly black just like she had. How could it possibly be him? The eye patch, was that how he covered the accident now? She hadn't meant for the knife to hit his eye, she had just been trying to get him away from her. Surely he knew that, but no, probably not. She hadn't stuck around to see if he did. Was he looking for her, why was he looking for her? She was here in New York now, she didn't have any connections back there anymore, how could he have possibly known.
There had been no evidence, no witnesses, she hadn't even bought the ticket, so how could he have managed to come up here and find her. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe he wasn't looking for her, and maybe she was safe. No it had to have been him, he was taller than she remembered, but she had grown too, not that much taller, but in other ways. No it couldn't be him, if it was he, it would ruin everything. It couldn't be him, it wasn't him… but what if it was?
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//Loyalty coated honesty,
Half the time she lied to me
You want the truth?
Could you have slept if you'd have known it…?//
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The long hours creeped past and Frost still didn't come back. This was highly disturbing to Spot and try as he might he could not find sleep. Sure he would doze off every once in awhile, be with every creak of the old building, he would start awake, hoping it was Emily. Finally, it was she. The time was unknown but at last he was she. Sitting up, he moved to meet her before she reached the bed that she called own.
"We needs ta talk, now," he ordered, and she knew it was pointless to avoid him now.
Defeated, she let her shoulders slump and they shuffled out into the hall with a lamp Spot had grasped. It was cold in the hallway, but it wasn't heated so of course it was. Kneeling, Spot dug in his pocket, but couldn't find a match, Frost knelt beside him and pulled out her own lifting the chimney off of the lamp and lighting it. When a good steady flame was burning, she returned it and stood and looked at Spot waiting for him to rise. As he sat there, seeming to contemplate his next move, she remembered his injuries and bent over to help him. When they reached the spare bedroom, she took this turn to pick the lock and did it in half the time Spot had. Smirking to herself, she pushed open the door and they entered.
The moon shone through the single dirty window and they shut the door behind them, sitting on the same sheet that had used last time.
The cold was all around them in the unheated room. One of the installments to be made was a heat-producing stove, but since the room was far from finished. The bunks weren't even constructed, and Spot wondered what was taking them so long to finish such an easy job. Perhaps they were getting paid more for the longer they worked, because he honestly didn't see a difference in the room now than he had when he and Frost had first broken into the room. If he were getting paid more the longer he worked; he would milk it for all it was worth.
Now wasn't the time to dwell on such things though, now was the time for some answers. Even in the lamplight, and through his swollen eyes, Spot could clearly make out that Frost was tired. She looked more than just tired; she looked exhausted, completely and thoroughly exhausted. The weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders and if he hadn't known better he could have sworn he saw tears glistening in her eyes.
"I'se got some questions foah yous," he said roughly, disturbed by the fact that he actually cared that this girl was upset.
"I knew yous would," she sounded bitter, but Spot ignored the obvious pain in her voice.
"Wheah'd yous go dis aftahnoon?" he asked first.
"Lots o' places," she shrugged. "Wheah evah I'se could get wahm for a few moments," she rambled. "Wheah evah I'se t'ought dat I'se could find meself a friendly face oah a kind woahd…" she drifted and her eyes got a far away look. "Wheah evah I t'ought dat he wouldn't be," she added breathlessly.
"He who?" Spot prompted and she snapped back to earth.
"Whot do ya mean?" She went defensive, the pain gone and the cold front back.
"Da one dat came up ta me tanight an' wanted me ta tell yous somet'ing," Spot tempted.
"Whot did he say?" she asked, her interest piqued.
"Yous tell me who he is, an' Is'll tell yous whot he said," Spot bargained and her face faltered slightly.
"He's wos…" She started, searching for the right word. "He wos a boy dat I used ta know," she answered cryptically, but for the information that Spot had, it was a fair trade, but he wouldn't let her know that.
"Where'd yous know him from?" Spot questioned.
"From da place I'se from afore New Yawk," she glared at him. "Look, I'se told yous whot yous wanted ta know, now tell me whot he said," She sounded very cross and Spot didn't feel up to arguing with her tonight, so he caved.
"He said ta tell yous dat yous ain't gettin' away from him next time," Spot clarified and she didn't even blink at those words, she didn't respond at all in fact. Spot expected her to do something, anything, but she didn't, she just stared at him.
"Is dat all?" She asked woodenly.
"Yeah," Spot answered and something inside of him made him wish he had something more to offer.
"Oh," she turned her head and stared blankly into the flickering darkness. "Wos dere anyt'ing else?" she inquired, she looked weary again.
"Yous a'ight?" Spot asked, not being entirely heartless.
"Whot?" Frost seemed caught off guard by the moment of unguarded concern from the boy beside her.
"Ah yous a'ight?" he repeated and she blinked as she looked at him.
"Yeah, I'se fine," she answered a little too quickly.
"A'ight," they sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, when Spot turned away and spoke into the darkness, uncomfortable with the way that this girl could make him feel. "So weah wos dat boy from?" Spot asked, still trying to pry into her past.
"Ain't none o' youah business," Frost snapped but quickly retracted her word with her next phrase. "But if yous ansah one o' my questions Is'll tell yous wheah he's from," she bargained and Spot looked back at her.
"Promise?" Spot asked, almost in a juvenile fashion.
"Promise," she spat in her palm and extended it towards him, he shook it gently. His hands were still sore from the punches he had delivered.
"So wheah's he from?" Spot asked but Frost shook her head.
"I'se goin' foist," she told him plainly and seemed to gather her wits about her before looking deeply into his eyes. The power of her gaze was startling, but Spot found that he couldn't look away.
"A'ight," Spot consented and waited.
"Why," she started then paused, thinking how to word her question. "Why weah yous goin' ta jump?"
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Outsider was quickly marked as Spot's second in command, even though Spot had never announced it. The thought had really never entered his mind, but it made sense. Ever since they were little they were labeled a pair, thick as thieves they were, and thick as thieves they would stay. The sweet truth of it was that they were friends of the best sort. Nothing could stop that, and nothing would stop that.
Leadership, as Spot soon found, was a very different sort of game though. Even as he had grown up playing 'games' such as these, he had never realized the full weight of the situation. It was a sad truth that one so young had to be exposed to all of the rigmarole of the position of control. Though if anyone could do it, it was Spot Conlon. One other was there that could approach Spot Conlon as Outsider did, and that was the one called Cowboy Sullivan.
Perhaps this was the reason that Spot was so concerned when he heard that this leader had been put in The House of Refuge. This was one spirit that didn't belong in such a place, and Spot knew it. It was a runner from Manhattan that carried the message of distress to the newsies in Brooklyn. Without their leader and without a second in command, there was absolute chaos.
So with as much confidence and pomp as a nearly twelve year old boy can have, Spot Conlon looked down at the desperate boy with his cool gaze. Taking his gold-tipped cane, he slipped it into one of the loopholes on the side of his pants and pushed his slingshot into the waistband of his pants and adjusted his cap on his head. Looking at Outsider, he gave him the following instructions.
"Take cahah oh' da boys 'round heah," he ordered. "I'se gotta go help me friend," it was the first time anyone had heard Spot reference the Manhattan leader as a friend and something like that was worth taking note.
So with those noted words, Spot left Brooklyn, crossing the large bridge, and ventured into Manhattan with his small guide. This boy was may have been small, but it was of build, not of height for he was at least six inches taller than Spot. He was lean though, looking more as a pole when he walked than a boy. It was then that Spot met Swifty. The boy was the runner of Manhattan and seemed to store extra energy somewhere in those long legs that he walked upon. Even in his normal stride, Spot found trouble in keeping up with him.
When they reached the lodging house, it was quiet downstairs but upstairs in the bunkroom there was a heated debate underway. It was so heated in fact, no one noticed the duo arrive. In hidden mirth, Spot watched the groups fight over that would take leadership and what they should do about Jack. The one in center of it all seemed to be one who was just as short as Spot was. The difference was he was Italian, and Spot wasn't. For a few moments, Spot let this chaos continued before raising his fingers to his mouth and whistling loudly. The room came to a dead silence, every eye coming to the invaders.
"A'ight all, listen here!" Spot called out and the whole room just stared. "I'se heah ta help yous out while Cowboy's in dat hell hole," he informed and the boys all looked back and forth between each other then back at Spot. They had heard stories about how Spot lead and the idea was a little different than they were used to, also they didn't like the idea of someone just coming in a taking over. Especially a leader from another territory, it was the short Italian boy that protested.
A cigarette hung loosely from his lips which in a few years would be replaced by a cigar, but not yet, he stepped forwards and walked up to Brooklyn. For a few moments the boys sized off, as if they were trying to see who would back down first. When neither backed down, Race spoke.
"Now look heah," He took out his cigarette and waved his hands as he spoke. "We ain't lookin' foah no leadah," he said firmly and poked Spot in the chest. "We'se got it all undah control," he took a drag from his cigarette. "So why don'cha put an egg in youah shoe, an," Race opened his mouth and blew the smoke into Spot's face, Brooklyn didn't flinch. "Beat it," Race added with his perfected timing that he had developed for delivering insults.
For a moment, no one moved, then there was a glint of gold and Race was on the floor rubbing his head and Spot was tucking his cane back into the crook of his arm. If the room had been quiet before, it was absolutely dead silent now. No one dared to move, afraid to be the next to succumb to the wrath of Spot Conlon.
"My name's Spot Conlon," Brooklyn announced proudly. "I'se heah ta help yous out while Cowboy's in da Refuge," he repeated. "But dat ain't goin' ta be foah long," Spot informed and the whole room seemed to perk up. "We'se goin' ta break 'im out."
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A/N: Yeah, well I told you it would be a short chapter, don't hate me forever! At least I updated quickly so you would know what happened to our dear little Spotty. ^_^ I like writing this better than Blind Spot right now, because this doesn't depress me, but then again, I am writing this story… it is going to get depressing. Oh the agony of having angst-ridden muses! . : * Grumbles incoherently under her breath * : . Well I found out that I now have FOUR whole readers for this story. . : * Does a happy dance * : . Golly this is great. I never thought people would actually read this story when I started writing this, but I have 27 reviews baby! 27! Okay, now before I make any more of a fool of myself, I am going to stop rambling and write the shout outs.
Ireland O'Reily: Agh! Here is the update! Please don't harass me, I don't think I would like it! I can't remember the last day I posted on this story, . : * Counts back on her fingers * : . I think it was Tuesday, so this is a pretty fast update! Praise me. -_^ Ha, ha, well I guess they really are "Skittish" about their relationship, but I think they are just stupid. Nah, Spot isn't stupid, neither is Frost, their writer is just really bad at writing those sappy lovey-dovey scenes. . : * Whispers: But don't tell anyone, that's a secret! * : . They always come out tacky, must be because of my own lacking love life… hmm…. Well I posted some more of Blind Spot last night I think, so you should be pretty darn happy right about now! You aren't the only one desperate to hear the finish, I am too, I have no idea where these are going, but we are going to find out aren't we?
Kaylee: Wow, I think that is the longest review I have ever gotten from you. Normally you are all just like WRITE MORE! But you actually stopped and wrote a longer review, I was like… dude… is this the same person? Ha, ha, just caught me kind of off guard there. -_^ I thought it was hilarious how you left a review on chapter one for chapter seven, that made me laugh so hard! Yeah, Frost is kind of temperamental and she likes to call Spot a bastard too much. (Spot!Muse: You've got that right) But anyway, Spot deserves it the little man-whore! Yeah, hooray for people loopy in love! I can kind of feel for Spot too, I am over 5' but I am still short! The poor guy! Well, girls grow till they are around 16-18, but guys grow till they are like 25! How unfair is that? Oh well, thanks for the review. Take care. ^_^
Silent Breeze: Now I am not sure if this review was longer than the first one you gave me, but it made me laugh just as hard! Yes, I am very weird, but that is okay. . : * Thumbs up * : . Ha, ha, don't worry about when you review, just as long as you review! I am not at the computer with Internet a lot, so I don't get to check my reviews that often, like once a day, so it doesn't matter that much. ^_^ I'm glad that my stories update brought you so much happiness, but don't you think fireworks are a little over the top? -_^ Wow, you had the whole split personality thing going on with your hands, one hand wanted to read, the other didn't! That is okay though, I understand how that is, we girls need our beauty sleep. You survived school and Monday and still managed to write such a hilarious review, you are my hero! I am glad that it was worth your wait. . : * Glows * : . Ha, ha, Spot and Frost's fighting was romantic? Well it was supposed to show that yes there is chemistry between the two no matter what else is happening! So you're a love child of those two character too? Me three! I am such a coward, but you just have to swallow it and go for it! If you get around to posting some of your stuff, tell me, and I'll come R/R. ^_^ . : * Sings: You've got a friend in me… * : . Public school makes you write badder? Ha, ha, maybe, but my umm… 'talent' isn't a secret. I just don't tell anyone, in fact, no one in my family actually knows I write. Yeah, so your review wasn't well rounded, but it was all over the place and took me a heck of a long time to respond to! Ha, ha, well thanks anyway and take care!
Skittles: It's okay that you didn't review right away, you reviewed now and that is what matters. I have had that same problem with Fan Fiction before. Well you can read Blind Spot now, because I wrote them so that you can read one without the other, they just mean more together, but if you haven't started reading it yet, I would wait until this one is done and then go read that one. It would make more sense, and well, it isn't done so you would have to be waiting on two different stories to be done! Awe, well falling down in front of hot guys isn't the end of the world. Most of the time, the really hot popular guys are the ones that are total bastards. Just look at Spot! Ha, ha, never mind, bad example. I hope you're okay now, though. You think my story is good! . : * Glows * : . Yeah! Someone likes me! Well they didn't kiss in this chapter either. Spot's too beat up to kiss anyone for awhile I think… Those darn Pullvines! Well, I say start posting your story now and you can always go back and fix, they have chapter replacement things where you can put the edited chapter in over the old one. I like that feature. ^_^ Well, if you keep giving me reviews I will keep giving you shout outs! I love my little reviewers! Take care!
Fallen Phoenix: Hey and welcome to the reviewer's committee. You're madly in love with this story? Well, it could just be me, but that might seem a little weird to other people to. Most of the time people don't fall in love with things on the computer screen…. Ha, ha, no I am just kidding. I am madly in love with this story too! My story line is amazing? . : * Blushes bright red * : . Well, I am glad you approve and thank you for saying that my characters fit in persona, that is such a huge pet peeve of mine. Sometimes I will delete whole chapters because the characters aren't just the way I want them. This makes my reviews mad because it delays the story, but it makes it worth the wait… most of the time. Well this one didn't stop after the second chapter, or the third, heck this is the 7th chapter! 8th if you count the prologue! Hopefully this will continue to the bitter end because I have restricted myself to writing this story and Blind Spot only until I am done with them. No one-shot, no other series, just these two and man it is killing me! I want to get them done so badly because I have so many other ideas in my head! My grammar is perfect? Well I hope so! I do it enough in school. . : * Grumbles about how she hates diagramming sentences * : . Tough love indeed, 'those bumbling idiots' is right! When will the muses let me let them know they are in love? It looks like you will have to write a spin-off to destroy those nasty little Pullvine brothers because they messed with Spot and I can guarantee this is not the last you will see of them in this fiction. Thanks for the review. Take care! ^_^