I know, I know, another one-shot? I swear, all the multi-chaptered fics will be coming in shortly. I just HAD to write this. Anyways, this is written for Fighter. Aren't you glad I'm FINALLY done with it? After the endless reminders, I finally stalled being lazy and finished it. Anyways, I really hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies or Spot. Fighter owns herself. I own the barmaid. :)

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Conversations with a Barmaid

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Night enveloped the empty streets of Brooklyn with its darkness and mysterious atmosphere that only came when the sun was away. A light breeze blew by as people from different walks of life, strangers from near and far, thieves and gypsies roamed the twisty and shady alleyways, never knowing exactly where their destination would be. It wasn't exactly a place you would call that was meant for children, and if it was, their eyes have seen more than anyone could ever know.

Although one thing was for sure. Nobody looked at Spot Conlon as a child. He was the leader of Brooklyn, Brooklyn itself. His electrifying blue eyes that stared deep within anyone's could just easily read the victim's soul from the palm of his hand. Not one person criticized him about his stature for an air of confidence clung to him wherever he went, his head held high. People could sense his power, the power that he held in Brooklyn and the way he enforced his rule.

So on that night, that one dim night when Spot Conlon walked the streets of Brooklyn without any companion, nobody gave him a second glance. They knew he fit with the streets. He was Brooklyn, after all.

Turning into a narrow alleyway, he lowered the tip of his dark blue hat farther down, in an attempt to hide his own blue eyes and identity from the peering looks and stares of strangers and passersby. Stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continued to walk down the alleyway, he gave a troubled sigh.

Never had he gone to the French Quarter for such a long time, only when his mind was deeply confused and in need of distractions. Pushing open the door to the French Quarter, a local bar hidden within the depths of Brooklyn, Spot stepped inside not exactly knowing his reason or what to do. The smell of whiskey, smoke, and cheap perfume burst into his senses, giving him the rare want of sitting over to the bar, and talking over to the misty eyed girl, her dark burgundy hair framing her face.

And he did so.

He noticed the sly smile creeping beneath the corners of the girl's mouth as he perched on the stool and leaned on the bar, giving her a smile of his own. She was pretty, he could tell, but she wasn't exactly a looker. Dark smudges of eyeliner and heavy coats of lipstick outlined her face, making her seem unnatural as ever instead of being a beauty. Her eyes were dull gray, but glittered as she looked at him. Something, he thought, that she had perfected throughout the years.

"Care for a drink?" said the girl, eyeing Spot. "Or did you just come here for the excitement?"

Spot cringed inwardly, hating the feeling that was creeping up and down his spine. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here and he willed himself not to, but he was here all the same. The damage was done.

"Just give me a bottle of whiskey," muttered Spot, nodding towards her.

"What, no glass?" pouted the girl.

Spot shrugged carelessly, not giving a thought of all. "Sure, one of those too."

Once the barmaid occupied herself with getting his whiskey and glass, Spot shifted his eyes about the room. Circular tables scattered throughout the room, with little or dim light given here and there. Smoke rose up in the air, giving the room a much crowded and smaller look although it only seemed that half of the place was occupied.

"Here you go," said the girl, pushing the bottle of whiskey towards him as she gently put the glass in front of him.

"Thanks," mumbled Spot almost too immediately as he reached over for the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink. He kept his eyes on the drink, the sound that it made when it hit the glass, and the smell that rose from the bottle. He had planned on getting drunk.

"Rough day, huh?" muttered the girl, leaning over the bar and resting her chin on the tip of her palm, edging closer towards Spot.

Spot nodded at the girl then turned his attention towards his drink, which he drank in one gulp. He turned his attention back towards her, not exactly wanting to carry on a conversation but nevertheless answered, "I guess you could say that…"

"So, what's a newsie like you doing around here?" asked the girl, narrowing her eyes. "Or have I seen you somewhere before?"

Spot carelessly shrugged as he poured another drink for himself. "I've been here before… in and out… but that was a while ago… a long while ago…"

"Hmmm… I can see…"

He gave a heavy sigh, as he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. All he had wanted to do was be alone and have a drink. Maybe even get drunk just to numb the feeling and make it go away, but he wasn't in any state of going through a whole night with a conversation with a barmaid. But he stayed there, staring deep into her misty gray eyes and smiling mischievously.

"I've seen you drink half of the bottle already," said the girl, holding up the bottle to the dim light of the bar as Spot reached over for it, scared by the fact that he won't give it back to her. "I know this is bad for business, but…"

Without any warning at all or any thought to mind, the girl leaned over the bar and pressed her lips with Spot's, the taste of whiskey distinct throughout the whole time. Spot was caught off guard, his mind reeling off into a different direction, but he gave in. A sudden pain in his heart electrified his body, a familiar face, a familiar smile and a familiar kiss. It sure wasn't this kiss.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with fury and confusion both at himself and at the barmaid.

"Sorry, I can't --."

"You love her, don't you?" muttered the barmaid, looking deep within his confused eyes.

"I, um… love… no, maybe…" mumbled Spot incoherently as he unsteadily stood up from his seat. He had to admit, he was feeling differently these days, seeming as if the one person that he cared the most had changed him. But it never struck him that he was in love. It was a whole new prospect, a whole new feeling and idea.

His brow furrowed in confusion and shock as he quickly snatched his hat from nearby and placed it on top of his sandy brown hair.

"You haven't uttered a word the whole time and the only thing that you couldn't stop staring at was that little ring… if you can even call it a ring considering that it's made up from string… placed around your finger…"

Spot gulped as he turned his eyes towards his hand, and there indeed was a string tightly tied around his finger, not willing to ever fall off. A symbol of something that he had made long ago, something that he had promised…

"Besides, your kiss didn't have heart."

Spot nodded, wiped the beady sweat the formed at the top of his forehead not too long ago and gave a sincere smile back to the girl. "That's 'cause it belongs to somebody else."

With a click the closing of the door, Spot was gone from the French Quarter.

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Darkness enveloped the hallways of the Brooklyn Lodging House as Spot trudged up the stairs towards his very own room. He looked about him through the corner of his eye, still hearing hushed whispers and shuffled footsteps about the lodging house. There was never a time when silence ruled overall, not even at night under the cloak of the darkness. It was true that Brooklyn was a tough place and you certainly had to keep a lookout for yourself, even though it meant constantly looking behind your shoulder. With that, the lodging house was the one place they could go back to, no matter how beat up you were.

Spot sighed, finding himself leaning on the doorway of the newsies' bunkroom, his hat still placed on his head and his hands stuffed in his pockets as he peered out onto the rows of bunk beds. He had no idea in particular on why he had come here, the one time when his newsies actually looked peaceful. As his eyes traveled about the room, he couldn't help but stop at one certain bunk bed he knew so well. But what surprised him even more was that it was empty. The blankets were thrown here and there, the mattress full of creases probably from tossing and turning, and a small pillow thrown on the bed.

He burrowed his forehead, looking about the room once more, wondering where that certain newsie ran off to. He usually let his newsies run around at night, but Mr. Castillo, the owner of the lodger house, wanted to make sure that everyone was still following their curfew and was back unless they wanted to camp outside. If they couldn't have enough of being outside, then they should just stay there, he always said.

Normally, he wouldn't have paid any attention or even cared, but he couldn't help but find himself wondering what had happened; where that person was, what that person was doing, and if they were all right. Turning the knob to his room, he slowly pushed the door open and found all his questions answered. He gave a sigh of relief, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he sat down on the edge of his bunk bed, looking at the one thing that meant most to him these days.

The moonlight shown through the small window, illuminating her face and beauty. Though her eyes were closed, he could picture her in his head, her electric blue eyes staring back at him right after an argument. It was unexplainable. There was something about her that pulled him towards her, something that not most girls could do. It was always the other way around, him doing the pulling. She was sleeping sideways, her head rested on the crook of her arm with a lock of honey blonde hair covering at least half of her face. He smiled to himself, gently pushing the strands of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. It was odd how he was being so gentle, letting her sleep peacefully on his own bed. She seemed almost immaculate, something which most people didn't have time to see.

She stirred momentarily, her eyes trying to break open as she felt his touch. He took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair and gave a small smile as she rubbed her eyes and looked back at him. He didn't know what to tell her, what to say, but one thing was for sure; he knew how he felt about her.

"I couldn't sleep," she muttered. "So I came here."

"You sure it wasn't 'cause you in an argument with Boxer again?" replied Spot, smirking as he raised his eyebrow. She was known around Brooklyn for her short temper and stubborn attitude. But that didn't stop Spot from keeping her by his side. They were both equally stubborn, sometimes more than the other, but in the end, they were able to figure out a way.

"Shut up, Conlon," she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a pointed a look but instead, ended up smiling back at him. "Well, maybe it was just a little bit of both, okay? He's just… so annoying!"

"Not more annoying than me, I hope?"

"You?" she answered, smirking. "Well, that's a whole different story."

It was true, and it took them two whole weeks to admit to themselves and each other about how they really felt about each other. The Brooklyn newsies at the Distribution Center looked forward to every morning not because of selling papes or seeing who they could potentially soak one day, but the daily brawl that the two gave freely in public. It soon became a habit as the two of them argued, teased, and annoyed each other at the beginning of the day, the argument properly fixed in their heads for the rest of the day.

"So where did you run off to, hmm?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. "Playing poker with the boys again, or what? Smells like you stopped by to get some drinks without me."

He had to admit, the girl never missed anything.

"I didn't stay for long," he said, shrugging his shoulders. Well, it was true. Besides, she didn't need to know about the barmaid. "I just needed to get out and do some thinking…"

"What did you think 'bout?" she mumbled, her eyes already drooping, wanting to go back to sleep.

"Nothing much," he answered, untying his shoelaces as he kicked off his shoes and carefully laid down beside her. "Just territory things, y'know, leader stuff…"

"Everythin' alright with Brooklyn?" she said softly, her eyes already closed as she moved closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Nothing to worry about," he said, glancing at her to give her a reassuring smile, but was instead returned by her soft snoring.

He smiled to himself, stroking her hair gently, unable to keep his eyes off of her. It was funny how he knew her so well, both her looks and personality. Every curve of her face, the spark in her eyes, and the way that she talked. He knew how impatient she could grow until the point when she wanted to hit somebody in the face, but at the same time she still held her femininity about her. She was a confusing, that was for sure, and the arguments they had were proof of that.

But he couldn't deny the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach at the beginning of that night. He couldn't believe that he didn't realize what it was until that barmaid had kissed him. Of course, it did take a while for him to realize that he was attracted to her, as well. The fact is, it was nothing. The kiss was nothing and he felt nothing in return. Normally, he would've went on, savoring the kiss as it went on, but this was different, knowing that other kisses he would receive other than hers, would also be nothing.

It was a good smack in the head, he figured. Maybe stopping by at the French Quarter was a good thing after all, even though he didn't even get horribly drunk, which was what he was planning on.

He gave her one last look as she continued sleeping, his arms wrapped around her and his the same, before softly kissing the tip of her nose and saying the one thing he never thought he could say.

"I love you, Fighter."

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Ta-dah! It's a nice change writing in narrative... I've been writing in first person POV in a while, so it's something different. Anyways, I hope you guys like it!

Did I tell you? I love reviews.