The following weeks were uneventful yet filled with anxiety amongst the newsies. Tension was particularly high with Spot and other territories' leaders. On a daily basis a couple of area rulers met at Tibby's in Manhattan to discuss what they heard around their district. They sat in the secluded booth in the back; Spot, Jack, and Buckles from Coney Island. But it seemed that with each passing day the meetings became shorter and shorter. There had been no news of Tyce's whereabouts. Spot and Jack grew more nervous; they had sent out a total of twelve spies throughout the city and when they checked back in, they had no information.

Every day Spot sold in the morning, watched his boys until the afternoon, ate dinner, and went back to the lodging house. He lay awake in bed for nearly ages, staring up at the ceiling in deep thought. Often times when a man is kicked while he is already down, heavy pondering and contemplation become a priority. Spot's mind was a torrential sea of swarming thoughts. As the outside world faded away, he drifted off into his own state of apprehension and gloom. Mostly he recalled the past and his mistakes, and usually they came in statements beginning with "what if" or "if only." What if he had called for a truce with Queens before the war? If only he had been less proud, things would be better. Brooklyn wouldn't be on high alert and Tyce would not be such a threat. Thoughts such as these consumed his being while he was up on his humble mattress at night and hardly any good came out of them. The past was in the past and there was nothing he could do about it now. The logical thing to do was to move on. Unfortunately Spot was so overwhelmed with such misery, he could barely think clearly.

On occasion, however, Spot got together with Gabby for a stroll around the city or for dinner. For him, Gabby was a pleasant break from the drama drowning his life. They simply enjoyed each other's company and there didn't seem to be any conditions to go along with it. When they were together, Spot escaped and lost himself in his fondness for his new found friend. In his mind, Gabby was the person that was supposed to come along when times were rough and just her presence was needed. Her warm, comfortable, presence. He liked who he was around Gabby; calm, content, and grateful. During their time with one another, things didn't seem quite as big. Issues were not as large and events were not as monumental.

For Gabby, Spot was an enjoyable getaway as well. She didn't have to worry about other things in her life when she was with him. Not only was she attracted to him physically, she was pleasantly surprised when she got to know him. Underneath his façade of pride and arrogance was simply another sixteen-year-old that made her swoon as thoughts of him clouded her mind.

"Now what's this?" Gabby inquired curiously, fiddling with the string to his necklace one evening while walking around the city. She let her finger place with the twine as her other fingers subtly copped a feel at his smooth, bronzed chest. "What's the story behind this thingy?"

Spot pulled out his necklace from underneath his checkered shirt and held the key in the palm of his hand. "Well, I'd hardly call it a thingy."

"Sorry," she laughed under her breath as she traced her fingertips along the smooth edges of the small bronze trinket. Her touch glided away at moments and ran along the inside of his hands.

"When I was little my pop gave this to me. He said it was their key to the house in Ireland before they came ovah here."

"So Conlon's got some Irish in him, does he?" Gabby smiled as she still looked down and ran her fingers over the key once more.

"Let's keep that between you and me," he replied. He let her play with his most cherished possession until her hand fell to her side and he tucked it back safely to his chest. "But there's a little more to it than that."

"Yeah?" She linked her arm with his as she walked leisurely beside him, preparing to hear another one of Spot's stories.

"Tyce actually ripped this from my neck after Queens…that day." He swallowed hard and continued with slight difficulty. "Just stood ovah me and yanked it clear off."

"Wait, Tyce Tyce?" Gabby made a motion with her free arm to symbolize chaos.

Spot laughed. "That's the one."

"How'd you get it back then?"

"This is horrible…" he muttered and rubbed his eyes. "He was walkin' away while I was still on the ground and he turned, laughed, and chucked it back at me." His voice decreased to a weak level.

"But that's good that he gave it back to you—"

"No, it ain't," he interrupted abruptly and defensively. "He was mockin' me, reveling in his victory."

Gabby looked in front of her, afraid to say anything else.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be…sorry," he apologized weakly.

"No, it's fine. It's a sore subject."

"Yeah."

They rounded the corner at which Gabby's apartment was.

"But I swear, right here, Tyce'll get what's comin' to him. No one goes afta my boys and gets away so easily. If I hafta kill him, so be it."

Gabby looked up at his profile, which spoke volumes of vengeance, with widened eyes and intimidation. She bit her lip for a loss of words.

"Sorry," he said, softening a bit more. He twirled Gabby around so that she stood on the bottom step of her apartment steps.

"Don't apologize." She placed her hands on his shoulders while he held loosely onto her hips. "You're cute when you're angry," she joked with a wink as if they were together already

Spot smiled and laughed, a twinge of heat sparking his cheeks.

Gabby gasped. "Did I just make Spot blush!" she teased.

"What? What're ya talkin' about?" Spot beamed against his will more than ever and looked around him.

"Aw, I did!" She brought her hands up to hold his heated cheeks. "Say it! 'Gabby, you made me, Spot Conlon, blush'!"

"Ya're crazy," he said through his smushed cheeks. "Ya don't know what ya're talkin' about, goil."

"Say it!" Gabby smiled at her blatant control over Brooklyn's emotions.

"Nope," he mumbled while shaking his head. Gabby squinted and turned to her head to the side as if trying to hear him say it.

"I don't hear you, Spot!"

"Fine!" he said in defeat. "Gabby, ya made me…Spot Conlon, blush."

Gabby loosened her hold on his face in satisfaction. "There ya go."

"Damn, woman." He rubbed his smiling, sore cheeks.

"Poor baby," she said sarcastically and smoothed her delicate fingertips against his gorgeous face as if tracing every line of it. "But seriously…you want to avenge your boys. I think that's sweet."

"Oh, 'sweet', right? First ya make me blush, then ya tellin' me I'm sweet!"

"Yep." Gabby smiled proudly with her lips. They looked at each other for moments and gazed longingly. Gabby sure as hell didn't want to leave, but she feared she might lose the moment's perfection if she went any further. "Well, I should go on up." She slid her arms around his neck into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her waist firmly as he lifted her from the steps and twirled her around. Gabby let out a small squeal of delight as Spot spun her around and got her back to Earth.

"Have a good night," he said and pulled away.

"Bye sweetie," she teased as she started up the steps once more.

A grin made its way to Spot's face and he shook his head. "Goodbye, Gabby."

"Sweet dreams!" she called while opening the old wooden door.

"Very funny!" Spot called back with a wave, and he set off down the street back to the lodging house.

While leisurely making his way back home, things were not quite as bad. Sure, things were shitty. But they were bound to get better, right? Spot liked to think so at the moment. A euphoric state seemed to be the result of spending time with Gabby and he liked it. He liked being this happy. He liked Gabby.

A few of Spot's boys congregated around the entrance door of the lodging house. Awaiting him was finally news about Tyce.