Whoot whoot, we've made it 'til the end! Yes, this is the last chappie, folks! Enjoy, and I just want to thank everybody who reviewed a million times over!

Spot, like any other New York-savvy newsie, knew where Scarface Claw's domain was. It was kind of hard not to. However, unlike his fellow newsies, Spot knew exactly where Scarface Claw himself was most likely to be.

Down one of the darker alleys, in one of the more dirty parts of town with the dodgier characters and larger infestations of rats and roaches, there was a small dingy bar, known only to a select few, and usually not the best-behaved or the most charismatic. It was here that the great Claw lurked most nights, surrounded by his cronies, large mugs of liquor and more girls than he had time for.

Spot was no simpleton, either. He wasn't fool enough to go into battle without a strategy of some kind. That is, if there was even going to be a battle.

Around 10:30 that night, Spot was to be found sitting in the shadows of the bar, hat pulled low over his eyes, a mug of ale in front of him, dressed in dark clothes and just near enough that he could hear what went on at Scarface Claw's table.

"Everything is set, boys," Scarface smirked. "Da goil is ours, da trap is set, now all we gots ta do is wait for dat woithless Brooklynite ta try ta rescue her, and Brooklyn and Manhattan are ours for da takin'."

'Woithless Brooklynite,' huh? Well, dat 'woithless Brooklynite' just hoid all your plans, bucky, Spot thought bitterly.

One of Scarface's smaller thugs twitched nervously. "B-but boss, w-what if sh-she esc-c-capes?"

Scarface laughed softly. "Fenjy, dere is no possible way ta get outta dat room. 'specially if youse a girl who ain't supposed ta leave it."

"B-but what ab-b-bout da w-window?" Spot listened closely.

Scarface waved a dirty hand carelessly. "What window?"

"B-boss, dere's a w-window on da n-north s-side o' da r-room," Fenjy said, uncertain of his boss's intelligence.

"It's actually on da wes' side, idiot," Scarface said lazily. "Plus it's too high up foah da shrimp, and Queens police headquarters are right on da oddah side."

Shit, Spot thought. Needless to say, he was not on good terms with the Queens police. He was going to need very good backup for this operation.

Scrape…scrape…scr-IE-pe…

I winced at the shrillness of the sound of my penknife on the glass of the window. I'd been trying to cut through it now for a few hours, and had managed to make a hole big enough for my hand to fit through. Scarface Claw and his cronies had left at 8:00, leaving cold, dark silence to fill the building. By the light filtering from the street lamp through the window, I was able to climb up onto the mattress again and begin scraping away at the window. Deep down, I knew it wouldn't get me far, but it kept me occupied and slightly sane. With every squeal of metal against glass, I hoped, wished, prayed, that somebody – anybody – would realize that I was gone and try to find me. I also remembered the oddest things. How Mush's ears stuck out. How Race's mouth always looked like it had a cigar in it, even if it didn't. How Jack used to smile whenever he looked at me. How Spot's eyes could go from dazzling, sparkling mischievous blue to dark stormy grey in a matter of seconds. How his mouth turned up at the corners when he smirked at me. How his hair fell across his forehead. How –

Stop it, I told myself firmly, trying to squash Spot out of my mind. Dat's enough of dat.

But as I continued scraping away, I couldn't suppress the image of his face that came to mind, which was, for some reason, upside-down.

"Light!" it whispered, a look of urgency etched across it.

Wait a sec. This was no vision. It was the real thing. Spot Conlon was hanging upside-down outside the window.

"Spot," I breathed, hardly daring to believe it. "Spot, youse here!"

"O' course," he said, with a hint of a smirk. "Can't leave a damsel in distress in – er – distress, now can't I? What would dat make me?"

I smiled. Same old Spot. Only nicer.

He grinned back, then sobered. "We'se gots ta get ya outta dere, quick."

"Bu' how?" I said desperately. "Dere ain't no way I'se gonna fit through dat hole."

"Ah," Spot said, smirking again. "Youse forgot who I'se got wid me. Boys, say hello ta Light."

"Hey, Light!" came Mush and Race's voices. "Youse okay?"

"Jus' dandy!" I called back softly.

"Quick, hand me da crowbar," Spot whispered. Race obliged.

"Jus' keep it quiet, will ya?" I said, straining my ears for any sound of Scarface Claw returning.

"Yeah, yeah," Spot muttered. "Don't have kittens."

He cautiously popped out a small piece of glass out using the crowbar. "Careful," he said, handing it up to Race.

They continued in this fashion, Spot breaking off pieces of glass and passing them up to Race, while I hissed at them to keep quiet after particularly loud pops. Spot yanked off the bars unceremoniously, while I tried (unsuccessfully) to muffle the sound with a cough. I breathed a sigh of relief when the last chunk had been removed.

"'Kay, dat's da best we can do," Spot said to me. "Youse'll hafta be caiful ya don't scratch youself when ya climb through." He handed me a rope. "Ready?"

"Ready," I said, gripping the rope tightly.

A few seconds and a few moans and groans later I was perched precariously on the windowsill, ideally situated to climb out. Spot had pulled himself back up onto the roof, but leaned over again to help me up. Just as my feet left the windowsill, I heard the unmistakeable sound of Scarface Claw and his cronies in the hall outside the room.

"Smith, whadja do wid da key?"

There was an indistinct mumble. Race, Mush, and Spot gave one last pull, and I was on the roof at last.

"Ya don't know? Ya don't know?"

More mumbling. We waited with bated breath on the roof. Spot, I noticed, hadn't let go of me, and was holding me rather tightly against his chest. I could feel his heart racing.

"Will someone find da goddamn key!" came a bellow from below. Spot's arm around me tightened, if possible, even more.

"Spot! Spot!" Race hissed. "We hafta get outta heah!"

Spot and I crept after Mush and Race as quietly as we could and began to climb down the fire escape, pausing every few seconds to make sure we hadn't been spotted. Luckily, Scarface was still arguing with his thugs, and the fire escape was on the south wall.

We had barely made it down when disaster struck. One of Scarface's guys had seen us.

"She's escaped, boss! She's flown the coop! Dere she goes!"

Mush, Race, Spot and I darted into a dark alley between two large buildings. We could hear someone yelling behind us, and the sound of many footsteps against the pavement filled the air.

"We'se gonna hafta split up!" Spot panted. "Don' take da direct route back ta da lodging house, just take 'em on a wild goose chase all ovah da city if ya hafta, bu' whadevah ya do, don' let 'em catch ya!"

"Take care, guys!" Race said hurriedly as he slipped off into the shadows.

"Godspeed." Mush followed.

I made to pick up my pace, but Spot caught my arm and pulled me back. Without warning, he pressed his lips against mine. A jolt of electric shock went through my body, and I could only gape at him in astonishment as he whispered, "Be caiful out dere, Light," and was gone.

A sudden clatter jolted me back into reality. Looking up, I saw Scarface Claw heading toward me.

"Shit," I muttered, and high-tailed out of the alley onto a dingy street lined with sorry-looking houses.

I ran as fast as I could, taking as many shortcuts and back alleyways as I could, and found myself staring at the massive structure of the Brooklyn Bridge. I couldn't see or hear Scarface anywhere, so I stopped in the shadows and tried to catch my breath. It was hard though, when every little whisper of sound caused me to jerk my head up in fright.

"Knock it off," I told myself sternly. "There's nothing there."

"There is now," a voice rasped in my ear, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground, staring up into the jeering face of Scarface Claw.

'Thought ya could outsmart me, huh?" he sneered. "Thought ya could escape from me? Well, guess what, pretty face, it takes more den dat ta trick me. Youse nevah even stood a chance." He was walking towards me now, an ugly look on his face. I backed away, bile rising in my throat. Spot, please come…

"No one's heah ta save ya now, ya pathetic excuse foah a goil," he spat. I backed up right to the side of the bridge.

Where are ya, Spot?

"Come now, goil. Let's see what ya look like aftah a little swim." He grabbed my hair and yanked me up.

I will not scream…I will not beg…I will go down strong…

Spot, where da hell are ya!

Scarface pushed me up against the side of the bridge.

"Ah," he hissed. "If only dey could see da great Manhattan leadah now. Defenseless. Forgotten. Alone." He leered at me.

I faced him with all the courage I could muster. "But not yet beaten."

I spat in his face. He faltered, and I took the few precious seconds I had to bring my knee up, hard. He collapsed with a groan, and with a huge heave, I pushed him over the side of the bridge.

Trembling violently, I collapsed right there on the bridge. Dry sobs wracked my body. I felt numb. It was over. He was gone.

Strong arms wrapped around me, cradled me, held me close.

"Shhh," Spot whispered. "It's all ovah…"

I clung to him, feeling his erratic heartbeat and –

"Youse shakin'!" I said hoarsely.

"I thought ya were a gonah," he choked out. "Dunno what I'da done if he'da kilt ya."

"Ya woulda found somebody else ta pick a fight wid every two seconds," I mumbled against his shirt.

"Dat's jus' it!" he cried. "I don' wanna pick fights wid no one else. I only wanna fight wid you!"

With that, he closed the distance between us and buried my lips with his own.

And this time, I kissed him back like there was no tomorrow.

It looked like Spot and I were going to be 'fighting' a lot more often from now on…

FIN