Standing Alone

Summary: There is a traitor in Manhattan, or so Jack is led to believe. He doesn't know who it is, but there is one that may. Which will prove more important: loyalty to all or loyalty to one?

Notes: This is a friendship fic above all, so no romance. Centered on Blink, Race, Jack, Mush and Spot.

Violence and language warnings.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything newsie-ish (except the video, which I "permanently borrowed" so that's technically not mine either...but I digress.) If you recognize it, I fear it isn't mine. If you don't, then it's probably just a figment of my imagination.

Please enjoy!

"So, Spot, what's the story?"

Spot took his time before he responded. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it as he made himself comfortable. "You wanna close that?" he gestured to the door of the small side room, which stood slightly ajar.

Jack stepped sideways and pushed it closed with more force than was necessary, signaling his impatience that Spot wouldn't get on with whatever he had to say. Spot had a habit of speaking only when he wanted to, something Jack could normally overlook, but times had changed over the past few days. Box Greene had gained support and was on the move, taking over territory with a terrible speed. He was threat and one that was not being taken lightly.

Spot hesitated for a moment, deliberately looking away from Jack as he began to speak. Jack found that slightly odd, Spot was never one to appear uncomfortable. "I got some bad news."

"What? Did you lose some in the fight last night-"

"One of your boys has been talkin', Jack."

"What did you just say?" Jack returned sharply, narrowing his eyes in disbelief that Spot would even think such a thing.

"Look, I'm just letting you know what I know," Spot attempted to calm the situation, misinterpreting Jack's shock as offense. If anyone dared to tell him his business like that, Spot would have knocked him down in the time it took him to close his mouth.

"No, ya see, I could have sworn that you just told me one of my boys has been talkin'. Is that right, Spot? Are you telling me one of my own boys is a rat?"

There was no question in what Spot meant by his words. He believed there was a traitor among them, something Jack couldn't believe. Spot had, in one sentence, insulted everything and everyone that had set foot in that house. He had pointed out weakness, disloyalty. The thought was unimaginable to Jack, so much so that he looked at Spot as if determining whether or not he had lost his sanity.

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'," Spot responded evenly as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Then I hope to God you got somethin' to share that ain't just some rumor goin' around the bridge."

"'Course, you think I'd make something like this up?"

"I'm listenin'," Jack turned away abruptly. As far as he was concerned there was nothing Spot could say that would convince him.

"My boys was out last night. They broke up a bunch of Box's rats meetin' just outside your territory. Most of them ran east, but one of them headed into Manhattan, toward your house. They followed him most of the way."

Jack crossed his arms, not knowing what else to do with them. Spot must have be wrong, his boys must have been wrong. They had always been uneasy with Spot and him allying, maybe they were just trying to come up with a reason to make Spot mistrust what strength could come from Manhattan. But they wouldn't mess with something this big, no one would. It was something you just didn't touch. Accusing someone of being a traitor was a good way for that someone to end up dead.

"Jack." Spot pulled him out of his silent thought. He wanted a name.

"They see who it was?" Jack asked, trying to recall if anyone hadn't been back in a few days or was beat up more than usual.

Part of him knew that even if Spot had a name, he wouldn't take matters into his own hands. Even though they were fighting against the same enemy and he was at just as much risk as Jack was by a potential leak, he knew his boundaries.

"You don't know?" Spot narrowed his eyes slightly. Jack felt the silent accusation as Spot watched him carefully. He knew it wouldn't speak well for him if he hadn't picked up on something so dangerous.

"I got my ideas," Jack lied, "I'm just seein' if your information is worth anythin'."

"Yeah, alright," Spot relaxed, accepting the answer as truth. "They didn't see who it was, it was too dark. But they did say they got off a few swings, so maybe your kid has a few scrapes."

Jack nodded, at least that was something to go on.

Something to go on? He couldn't believe he was listening to this. He couldn't believe that he was even entertaining the thought. It was a rumor some drunk bums from Brooklyn were passing along as truth because they didn't know which side of the bridge they were on. Spot was wrong and that was the end of it.

But it couldn't be the end. Jack couldn't ignore it, even if he didn't want to believe it. As much as he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, he knew the possibility was there.

There wasn't anyone in the house he didn't trust. Well, at least enough not to go running to the one person that wasn't afraid of taking on both Manhattan and Brooklyn at once. Maybe that trust was misplaced. Maybe he had taken for granted that what he saw on the surface was the truth.

Whoever it was, they needed to be found quickly and dealt with. There could be no excuses. The act was inexcusable.

One of the faces that smiled so openly was stabbing him in the back, and probably with that same stupid grin. As he thought about it more, the pit in his stomach deepened and so did the anger. One that he had trusted, one that they all had trusted, had turned against them. And that is what made the situation all the more disappointing. It was one of their own, one that they knew.

Apparently, they didn't know one person among them as well as they thought.