Autumn tapped her foot against the leg of the bench as she waited for Spot. It was around noon and she would have to be getting back to work in a little bit. It had only been a day since she last saw him and she couldn't stop smiling. She wasn't expecting Spot to show up in the middle of the night and everything else to happen, but she couldn't complain. He wasn't the self-centered, power-hungry jerk she had misjudged; he was sweet, caring, and damn good in bed.

She looked up and saw him sauntering toward her. She smiled widely and butterflies fluttered around in her stomach. He was wearing his navy blue shirt, the one he was wearing the night they met at the theater. That was when she was an idiot in thinking so badly about him. Oh, how wrong she was. And, oh, how dashing he looked in that shirt. It brought out the color in his eyes and the golden glints in his hair. She was completely in love and she knew it was mutual.

Spot smiled at Autumn as she stood up. He wrapped his arms around her little waist tightly in a hug, lifting her off her feet. Setting her back down again, he planted an affectionate kiss on her lips. Autumn closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder for a few moments as Spot rubbed her back lovingly.

"I missed you," he told her.

"I missed you too."

At last, they let go of each other and sat down on the bench. Spot interlaced his fingers with Autumn's and looked deeply into her golden brown eyes.

"I can't stay long. Gotta go to the Bronx in a little bit," he informed.

"The Bronx?" Autumn repeated disappointedly. "But it's so far..."

"Yeah, we'se gotta settle something over there." The tone in his voice was apprehensive.

Autumn could read this. "Are ya gonna be okay? It's nothin' bad, is it?"

He hesitated.

"Spot, I don't want you ta get hurt," she worried and positioned herself to face him. "Aren't the Bronx newsies really bad?"

"Y-yeah, but it'll be okay. I swear," he reassured her uneasily.

Autumn's heartbeat quickened. "Do you promise?"

Spot curled a piece of her brown locks behind her ear tenderly and kissed her. "I promise."

"All right boys, let's start walkin'," Spot announced to the group of four newsboys that was going with him and Bolt to the feared territory that was troubling them so. It would be a long journey, but it had to be done.

Rain sprinkled the ground and the already dirty clothes of the boys heading for the bridge. Silence had swept through the travelers and the only sounds being heard were those of the city. It was a good silence, though; they were concentrating on what was lying ahead of them. Spot had picked the toughest newsboys in Brooklyn and he knew they wouldn't let him down.

With their famous slingshots securely in their pockets, they started the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot took a deep breath and hesitated at first. Bolt gave him a little push and didn't look at him. It was clear he was ashamed of him. It hurt Spot like hell, worse than any wound he had ever gotten. Spot skipped a few steps ahead of everyone and walked uneasily. His pulse accelerated. His palms were sweaty. His calves burned with the speed of his pace. His mind spiraled.

Thompson placed his hand on Spot's shoulder, bringing him back to reality. "You okay?"

Spot looked back at him and straight forward again. His chest moved up and down rapidly and he gulped for fresh air.

"Come on, Conlon," Thompson urged.

The middle of the bridge was near. Breathing was a difficult task and his legs quivered with every step. A few more steps and he would be exactly where he was a few years ago. That fateful day that changed his life.

Thunder rumbled suddenly, making Spot jump. It started to rain harder. He looked around at his companions. The rain didn't seem to affect them. They just kept walking as if the rain wasn't even there at all. Spot slowed down.

"Maybe we should go back," he suggested meekly.

Bolt looked at him. "We ain't goin' anywhere but the Bronx, Conlon," he replied firmly.

Spot picked up his pace again. They reached the middle and flashbacks replayed in his mind.

...We crossin' the bridge...

Drunk and stumbling all over the place.

...Isn't it a little late for yous guys ta be out...

A scar in the shape of B.

...We just wanted ta have a lil' chat with ya...

Saw the blade glisten in the moonlight for a split second.

...Let's go! We gotta get outta heah...

Pinned his arms behind his back and dragged him away.

...Get up! Spot...

Stick with him for as long as he lived.

Everything went hazy. Dizziness set in. Energy escaped from Spot's entire body. His head was heavy. Raindrops formed to one grey sheet. His legs gave way.

Spot's life halted for the few seconds he was on the ground. Bolt smacked at his face. He blinked back into reality, closing his grey eyes again once they came in contact with the rain. He sat up slowly and looked around at the unhappy faces around him. Bolt was the strongest of the expression.

"Are ya comin'?" he asked.

Spot stood up gradually and began to trudge on.

Lay helplessly and already bruising on the ground...took the blade and scraped along his shoulder in a fast motion, leaving a long and thin laceration.

Spot let out a bellow of agony, reliving the memory. He tore his shirt sleeve at his shoulder, baring the scar from the blade. He fell to his knees in a puddle of water. Bolt stomped over and yanked him to his feet, looking at him face-to-face.

"Look here, Spot..." he began angrily, "do ya understand what we gotta do? Suck it up. You have ta do this. We have ta do this. We have ta do this for Autumn, for Roller, and the others this guy's gotten to. Spot, it ain't just about you anymore!"

Spot's jaw locked and no words escaped.

Bolt grimaced. "You don't deserve to be leadah of Brooklyn." He turned to the others as they started for the end of the bridge.

And then, Spot Conlon did the most dishonorable and shameful thing a Brooklyn boy could ever do: he turned his back and ran.