The Tibby's Restaurant sign was not too far off in the distance as Spot strode along the streets of Manhattan in the afternoon. The sky was grey with clouds and the breeze that morning had picked up to a brisk wind. Goose bumps dotted Spot's arms as he fastened his hat atop his head. The hustle of the New Yorkers did not seem to faze him as they did not interrupt his quick pace to get to the restaurant.

The small ding of the doorbell jingled as Spot stepped through the entrance. Two o'clock wasn't a busy hour and it made it easy to find Jack. He sat in the back in a brown booth, sipping some water and drumming his fingers on the table. Spot made his way toward him.

"Kelly," he greeted and shook Jack's hand.

"Hey Spot." Jack's tone was not one of particular excitement or enthusiasm.

Spot sat down across from him, taking his hat off and pushing back his hair. He let out a much-needed breath. The waiter came around and took Spot's order, just a drink.

"How's Manhattan treatin' ya these days?" Spot asked in a flat tone.

"Not bad. What about Brooklyn?"

Hesitating, Spot finally replied, "fine."

Jack squinted at him and took a big gulp of his water. Questions burned inside him and they itched to be asked. From his perspective, Spot didn't look well: his eyes looked heavier than usual, his face was paler, and he seemed miserable in general. The color of his eyes was shallow and flat as opposed to their piercing verve.

"So, somethin' sorta interesting happened last night," Jack started.

"What's that?"

"Well, we was just standin' around, me and the boys, and we started talkin' about the Bronx."

He stopped for a moment. Spot's face fell.

"This guy we didn't know came up and started askin' some questions. About you."

Spot stared at him without saying anything.

"What's goin' on, Conlon? He asked what's goin' on in Brooklyn and what you was up to. Said you're losin' yer touch."

The waiter brought around Spot's drink and he took a big gulp immediately. Still, he said nothing.

Jack sat up straighter. "It seemed like he knew who ya were, ya know, personally. Said his name was Johns."

Spot choked on his drink and set the glass down on the table with a slight force. "I was afraid of that," he responded barely audibly and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"You know him?"

Spot put his elbows on the table and held his forehead in his hands. "Did he say anything else?"

"Got a little rough, but that's about it. Spot, I was talkin' to some other guys and they said he's been askin' about you all over the place."

Lifting his head, Spot looked out the window. "Never really thought he'd come back, to tell ya the truth."

Jack was confused. "Who is he?"

Spot tore his eyes away from the outside and looked at Jack. He took another sip and got out his money.

"All right, ya don't need ta give me details. But just ta make it clear, Manhattan's got your back. You guys helped us during the strike, we'll help ya now."

Spot swallowed and looked utterly grateful but didn't want to say anything. He held out his hand and Jack shook it. Without a word, he put on his hat and left the restaurant.

Stars that weren't being masked by the wispy clouds of the night glittered in the black sky. Spot kicked a pebble in front of him, something he had been doing for practically the entire night. It must have been very late, but he didn't have the slightest idea of the time. He took a seat on a nearby bench and laid on his back, gazing up into the sky. He reached into his pockets and felt the absence of cigarettes. Damn.

The corner he was at looked familiar, not because he had lived in Brooklyn his whole life, but because he had passed it not too long ago.

Should I?

No, it's too late.

It's never too late.

True. Very true.

Go.

But-

If you don't do it now, you never will.

Spot sat up quickly and got off the bench, sprinting down the street. The sidewalks were empty in the dead of the night, making it easier for him to run. It had only taken him ten seconds to arrive at his desired destination.

He knocked on the door, out of breath and winded since he had gotten up so quickly. Almost a minute passed and Spot began to have regrets. The hall was dead silent, with the exception of his short breaths.

Is this the right one?

Way to go, Conlon.

Finally the door opened and a breath of hope caught up with him.

"Hey," Autumn greeted tiredly and very surprised.

"Hey." The sight of her made him smile.

"What are ya doin' here?" She tried her best not to sound rude.

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood," he said quickly in between breaths.

"Oh, okay." She was pleasantly surprised.

"And I wanted to see how you were doin'."

Autumn touched the cut along her cheekbone. "I'm good."

Spot began to breath normally again. "That's good. It's not too late, is it?"

"Oh, no, don't worry 'bout it. It's only, like, two," she told him, laughing quietly.

A soft smile spread across his lips as they fixed their gaze upon each other. Autumn opened the door widely and Spot stepped inside. He stood behind her in the tiny sitting area as she re-locked the door, just in case any more, crazy, infatuated newsboys decided to show up at her home.

"So, how are-"

Autumn was cut off completely with words, from the contact of Spot's lips against hers. He kissed her passionately with his hands at the nape of her neck. Autumn, taken aback, kissed him back with the same amount of passion. A knee-wobbling kind of kiss it was. She was definitely awake now.