It took everything Spot had not to shoot Tyce as soon as he shut the door. But he couldn't—man-to-man, it meant a standoff. Even as his pistol was gripped tightly within his hand dangling near his leg and there was a war being fought beneath him, he still could not believe what had happened. Gabby was working for Tyce all along. It hit him like a ton of bricks being dropped particularly hard upon his chest. It meant that what they had was not real. She was not real. About the only thing real was this feeling of complete betrayal. He could hear Gabby smacking the door from the other side; he blocked it from his hearing.

"So here we are, Brooklyn." Tyce spun the silver revolver around his index finger several times while pacing around the room. "Pretty much the same place we were a couple 'a months ago, ain't it? Oh, wait…no, that was me standing over you, wasn't it? Yeah, I thought so."

Brooklyn's muscles tightened and he cracked his knuckles within his sweaty palm and fingers. Upon hearing this, Tyce raised his eyebrows.

"Got under ya skin a lil' bit, didn't I? It's okay, I do that with most people. Except for Gabby; I just got under her skirt instead."

Spot's arm instinctively flew up to perfect aim of his gun. His blood was boiling by now and his hatred for Tyce had grown so much that he felt as though he would throw up. Tyce held up his hands mockingly and a snicker danced from his mouth.

"I knew she'd get to ya."

Gabby sat up from the floor in a heap of large clothing and dust. She banged at the door to the room uncontrollably, on her knees and sobbing restlessly. The door was not budging as much as she tried, and the lock was not giving in at all. For as old as the building was, it seemed the one place she needed to get to was stronger than ever. She flattened her hand and pounded at the wood three times, surely resulting in splinters.

"Tyce!" Gabby shouted once able to keep down her sob. "Don't do this, take me instead!" A few more hits. A choking weep. "Tyce, please! You can't do this!"

Tyce rolled his eyes and bent down, picking up a piece of random wood and chucking it at the door. "Shut up, whore!" He rolled his eyes and turned back to Spot. "Not sure why ya'd wanna keep 'er. She doesn't keep quiet for two seconds; no wonder her name's gabby."

"Who said I wanted to keep 'er? This is you an' me. How many times do I gotta say that?" Spot sighed, aggravated.

"Right, right, right." Tyce tossed Gabby's gun into the air and watched it spin, catching it again in his palms. "You sure you wanna do this here, Conlon? I mean, if I was you I'd wanna do it so everyone'd see it. Although I ain't sure we share that opinion."

Spot cocked his trigger, unable to respond without letting his emotions take over and go on a sick, twisted rampage.

Tyce, while speaking, fit his gun into his grasp. "I mean, what honor is this? A secluded place upstairs with nobody to see? No honor or glory at all. And I woulda thought the Brooklyn leader was the most respectable of 'em all."

Gabby banged against the door once more, this time it sounded as if she had flung her entire body against the barrier. Tyce grunted and stomped over to the entrance. "Gabby, don't you make another goddamn noise er else I'm gonna come out there and give you somethin'—"

Before Tyce could finish, Spot had come up behind him and punched the upper part of his back, the area opposite the lungs. Tyce let out a painful groan. His knees weakened and just as though they were going to give out, Spot switched his hold on his pistol so that he held the long barrel, and shoved the handle deep into Tyce's rib cage.

"How 'bout talkin' to a girl like that, where's the honor, Tyce?" Queens fought hard to keep his balance despite the terrific blows. "Or maybe makin' people yer fuckin' slaves just to get back at someone, huh? Sound noble?"

Tyce finally straightened his legs and stood up, his gun held weakly in his hand. He blinked a couple of times to maintain focus, and charged at Spot, going for his abdomen to tackle him to the ground. Spot balled up his fist and sent a punch reeling into Tyce's stomach, the same place where he previously hit him with his gun. If it weren't for his anger taking over, Spot would have felt Tyce's ribs cracking beneath his knuckles. Tyce cowered over, holding his stomach in agony and struggling to stay up.

"What about shootin' someone in the back, Nichols! Remember Blink?"

Spot grabbed a handful of Tyce's greasy hair at the roots, held his head in front of him, and punched him in the nose, the mouth, and the eye. He stepped back for a breath and watched blood pour from his opponent's nose and lips, dripping slowly to the floor and creating a small pool of what Spot liked to call liquid defeat.

"Yeah, I can see where ya're comin' from when ya talk about honor, Tyce."

Queens lifted his head quickly and, without warning, shoved Spot to the ground so that he crouched over his midsection. Spot's pistol fell from his hand and slid across the floor a foot away. A maniacal look shined in Tyce's eyes even through the dark, and he punched Spot in the face with all he had left. His energy was dropping at a fast rate, but he did not want to be known as a loser. He punched Conlon once more, leaving a painful red mark on his cheekbone and blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck yer honor," Tyce insulted through a fat mouth. He forced Spot's arms above him so that he was unable to use them, and held them down with one arm. With his other hand, he cocked the trigger of his gun. Spot squirmed wildly beneath him, doing his best to try to break free. Tyce situated his pistol quickly so that the bullet would penetrate the skin directly into Spot's heart.

"I ain't got no more honor than you do, Brooklyn." And he pulled the trigger.

After all the blows Gabby had delivered to the door, she had luckily succeeded partially in creating a modest crack in the wood, in which she could make out what was going on. While she watched Spot kick the shit out of Tyce, she wanted to stand up and cheer, but she couldn't tear her eyes away for one second, and she didn't want to look either. It was double-sided; if Tyce died, she wanted to watch him suffer slowly. But if Spot were to be killed…

A sharp pain of panic surged through her being. After Spot had hit Tyce in the face several times, Queens was now over top of him, doing the exact same thing to him. She felt her throat choking with terror now as Spot had his arms trapped above him, defenseless as his gun had been thrown to the side. Gabby was now taken to her feet instinctively, planting a firm hold on the doorknob. She moved it around, up and down, in circles. She shoved her shoulder against the door. Gabby felt a budge. She continued throwing herself against the entrance harder than ever until she finally broke through.

Just as she had penetrated the entryway, not half a second passed and Tyce had pulled the trigger of her gun. She screamed out in horror as she held her mouth and stumbled backward to the ground.

Spot squinted his eyes shut and his chest moved in and out in frequent motions. It was quiet and disturbingly serene. His chest was in pain. He couldn't hear anything. Then he opened his eyes.

"What the fuck?" Tyce shouted.

Spot opened his eyes fully and looked around. He wasn't dead.

Tyce looked at the revolver in his hands with an angrily perplexed expression.

Gabby opened her eyes as soon as she heard Tyce speak. She uncurled herself from the ball she had put herself in on the floor, and it took but a second for it to be brought to her attention: Hurriedly, Gabby took out her gun and blindly ran her quaking hands over it, remembering how these things worked…She moved her fingers over the smooth ridges and twisted it around, getting familiar with it. She wanted out of this place immediately, she thought as she moved the revolver about in her hands. Owning it, possessing it. She knew what she wanted to do with this gun. She didn't want to be here at all. She could hear the gunshots and smack of metal objects against the walls and she could hear boys dying and she could hear them screaming in pain. She didn't want to fight anything anymore. She just wanted to be happy. She didn't want this life, this job, this anxiety; drop, drop, drop. It all came tumbling down.

She had emptied her revolver during the short amount of time in the closet. Drop, drop, drop. The bullets had tumbled down. A quick breath of relief escaped from her mouth and she sat up.

The hold Tyce had on Spot's arms had weakened upon the realization of emptiness in his revolver. He had shot a blank at Brooklyn's chest.

Spot pulled his arms out of Tyce's hands and brought them together to collide with his chest. Queens' torso fell backwards and Brooklyn crept out quickly from underneath him. While still crouched down from the shock of the hit, Tyce then fell with his back to the floor again when Spot kicked his boot deeply into his stomach.

Conlon paused and retrieved his pistol from the floor. The balance of power had shifted to Brooklyn, the odds were in his favor. He stretched out his arm so that the gun pointed directly at Tyce, who laid helplessly on the floor with his hands up in defeat.

"Get up," Brooklyn ordered.

Tyce hardened what was left of his jaw and stared head-on into Conlon's now fiery eyes. Spot cocked the trigger.

"I said, get up."

Like a puppy about to endure a severe punishment from its master, Tyce placed his hands on the floor and pushed himself up. With sheer hate running through him, he stood himself up in front of Spot with the deadly instrument staring him in the face, the most shameful position he had ever been.

"Ya're right, Tyce, I ain't go no more honor than you, either." Spot stepped back and brought his foot up to Tyce's stomach, kicking him backward so that he stumbled to the wall. "My boys did."

Not hesitating a moment later, Brooklyn fired the gun and Queens fell down dead to the floor, blood seeping from his chest. Defeat.

Conlon breathed again once he knew he had won. He lowered his sore arm and the weapon fell to the ground. His knees buckled and quaked, and eventually he fell to the floor in exhaustion. The left side of his face throbbed in pain, as that was the location of a bone-cracking knock. He could taste the familiar tang of blood from his mouth and he wiped the small track of fluid from his lip. It tasted like victory to him.

"Spot," came a trembling, terror-stricken voice from the other side of the room.

He strained his eyes in the dark and noticed that it was Gabby. He tiredly got to his feet and took again the gun in his hand.

"Please," she whimpered, "just let me explain—"

"Don't talk." Spot held up his hand and advanced slowly toward her. A look of pain shined over his eyes; not the physical pain that could be cleared up with medicine, but the incurable agony one goes through when experiencing emotional pain.

Gabby gulped and wrung her hands around in front of her, a habit she now noticed. She licked her lips and tasted the salt from her tears. There was nothing for her to say. She was at a complete loss for words. Spot stopped two feet away from her and hesitated before speaking for several moments. A lifetime plus eternity passed around her, it felt like.

"Spot…" she cried into her hands.

"Don't even try." He took a couple steps forward so that he was close enough to hold either side of her jaw painfully tight in his hand. "I don't ever wanna see your fucking face in my town again, is that clear?" His other hand gripped her arm with an even tighter hold, the gun beside it. "Don't you even dare come near me ever again, Gabby, I'm serious. I never want to see you as long as I live."

He held her there for a brief moment and let go, the betrayal burning from him more than ever. Gabby looked into his blue, pulsating eyes and they killed her. She watched him exit the room, and she fell to the ground.

Spot breathed fresh air once on the balcony. He stood at the railing and placed both hands on the pistol. He raised them both over his head and fired. All attention snapped to the Brooklyn leader above them. Boys let go of their victims, kicked the dead ones aside and looked up at Spot.

"Let's go, boys." The famous Conlon smirk spread across his face as he looked down at his triumph. The Brooklyn newsies immediately understood and erupted in cheering success. "Our job here is done."

A/N: Hooray for Brooklyn! The final chapter is in the works, so in the meantime...share your thoughts about what will become of Gabby and Spot's relationship. Review!