Jack was grateful to hear a pair of footsteps behind him as he crossed the large room. For the most part, Spot's bark was worse than his bite, though few needed any more than a warning from him.

There was a small side room on the far end of the downstairs that had probably been intended for storage, but with a lack of possessions to store, they had left it empty for the most part. He opened the door and waited for Spot to pass him before closing it behind them. It was really the only place in the house that you could pretend you were alone, though the thin walls could never block out the sounds of the street and the ever-present conversations of whoever was nearby.

Jack waited for Spot to sit down first. There were only two chairs in the room, but still gave him the opportunity of first choice. He left the door slightly open before he moved to sit, allowing what little air there was to circulate between the rooms.

"I hear you been doin' good over the past few weeks," Jack said, taking the other chair.

"We got deals with the papers, you know that," Spot said as he pulled his hat off and dropped it to the floor on top of his cane. "You should look into gettin' some of your own," he added.

His words were relaxed, lacking the aloof confidence he had displayed only moments ago. Instead of staring through Jack indifferently, he was meeting his eyes without the element of confrontation. Jack wouldn't exactly call it friendly, there was always a distant quality to Spot's personality, but it was as close to friendly as Spot got. He had seen this side of Spot in very few places, usually when no one else was around. Over the years, Jack had become accustomed to the shifts in his behavior and took them in stride, knowing Spot's reputation was more important to him than any friendship.

"Nah, it gets complicated," Jack dismissed the idea with a frown.

"Money ain't complicated, Jacky," Spot returned as he leaned forward momentarily to fish a cigarette from his back pocket.

"You got another one of those?" Jack nodded to the cigarette as Spot struck a match against the armrest.

"Things been that bad?" he asked with faint curiosity as he lit the end.

"Nah, I just know you're good for it, Spotty," Jack changed the subject with calculated ease.

"Don't call me that," Spot responded automatically as he found another cigarette, forgetting about Jack's money problems for the moment, which was no doubt the point.

Nobody called him that anymore, except for Jack. But he put up with a lot from him that he would soak anyone else for. Spot said it was "the privilege of being in his good graces," whatever the hell that meant. Jack hadn't called him that name in a good year. Being shoved off the pier the last time he tried was as good a deterrent as any. Of course, he had been rather drunk at the time and had decided to inform all of Brooklyn to Spot's least favorite nickname at the top of his lungs. Spot hadn't talked to Jack for weeks after that, or, more specifically, Jack hadn't dared to go near him.

"You call me whatever the hell you want," Jack pointed out.

"That's different." Spot lit the cigarette with the burning end of his own and handed it to Jack.

"Yeah? How's that, Spotty?" Jack stressed the last word with exaggerated innocence as soon as the cigarette was safely in his fingers. He liked to keep Spot on his toes and he got the feeling that was why Spot kept him around.

"You really don't fear dyin' do ya?" Spot raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'm feelin' lucky today," Jack said with a half-smile, seeing Spot wasn't annoyed and feeling all the luckier for it.

"No matter how lucky you may be, Jack, you call me that again and you'll end up in the bottom of the East River."

Jack didn't hide his smile. Spot had been threatening him with that for the past three years and so far he had only come partially close to fulfilling it.

"So what brings you outta Brooklyn, Spot? Haven't seen ya in a couple a months," Jack kept his tone light, almost conversational. He knew exactly why Spot was there, and it wasn't to chat. It was Spot's deal that was on the table and he would have to bring it up, Jack was just informing him that he was ready to listen.

"You know what I want," Spot returned with the same casualness as he picked a stray piece of ash from his shirt.

"You already got it."

"I know I do, Jacky." He exhaled the smoke into the air above him and let it drift down. "I know I do."

"Then why'd you come?"

"I wanted to make sure yous know what you're getting' into."

"I got ears," Jack reminded him. Spot wasn't the only one that valued keeping informants on the streets, though Jack's were far less organized that his. With something as big a Box Greene returning to town, it wasn't easy to miss.

"What do they tell ya?"

"Greene's lookin' to settle a few scores, put himself back on top." Jack shrugged.

Any kid with half a brain knew that. They also knew that Greene had fixed his attention on Brooklyn, a situation that forced Spot to find allies quickly. Many had refused, including Queens surprisingly enough, saying they didn't believe it was really Greene. They claimed it was a rumor Spot was spreading to consolidate power, which was actually a pretty smart plan if it was true. But they all had the same response, which seemed to say that if they weren't talking to Spot, they were talking to each other…or someone willing to feed them an excuse for staying out of it. He preferred not to imagine that. He knew if it was anyone, it would be Greene himself. It would mean they were in deeper than he thought and on very shaky ground.

"Any idea who he's goin' after?" Spot asked.

"Pulitzer," Jack responded quickly, paying little attention to his sarcastic tone. He knew Spot had some kind of information and he didn't feel like jumping through hoops to get it.

"Wrong, Jack," Spot cut through Jack's sarcasm sharply. "He's goin' after you."

"What?" Jack sat up, taken off guard. "I never even met this guy." He had expected to be a peripheral part of the equation, supporting Brooklyn when the bigger fights came. He had no desire to go up against Greene directly.

"It don't matter, Jack. By standin' with me, you're putting yourself in his way. He will come after you and any kid that even looks at you twice. Understand?" Spot was warning him and that alone unnerved him. "He don't just fight, he thinks and he'll think of any way he can to knock you down. Once you're down, you'll never get up."

Spot let his words sink into Jack's skin before he continued.

"Knowin' that, I'm gonna ask yous again. If you say no, it'll stay in this room, you got my word on it."

Spot had never given him an out before. This wasn't going to be a simple territory dispute. However, he wasn't about to back down because the fire was getting hotter.

"I'm with you, Spot," Jack reaffirmed without hesitation.

A certain weight lifted from his Spot's expression as he nodded and held out his hand. Jack leaned forward and shook it once before sitting back again. With that simple gesture, Manhattan and Brooklyn had united. It had been an unspoken alliance before, but on a matter of this importance it had to be declared. They would stand together, with their fates now resting in each other's hands.

"So why don't we just take'im out?" Jack offered the simplest solution to their common problem. In times past, that had been the easiest way to make a thorn go away. It avoided the bloodshed of a street brawl and took care of the situation quietly. He had always thought that the fight that Greene supposedly died in was just an attempt gone wrong. If they were going to try one of their own, they would have to do it soon before he got any more support or territory.

"He don't let people that close," Spot said, giving off the impression he had already exhausted that avenue.

"How do you know, maybe he ain't as careful as you think."

"Trust me on it. I used to run with him awhile back," Spot answered, putting an end to any question of his authority in the matter.

Jack shook his head slowly with only the smallest trace of disbelief. Spot never ceased to surprise him. He was somehow connected to most of what went on in the city and Jack should have at least guessed he was involved in this as well.

"Don't tell me, you were the one that made 'im disappear," Jack said half-jokingly. He wouldn't have put it past him, from what he could tell Spot had been considerably more violent when he was younger.

"Would you believe me if I said I was?" Spot tilted his head to the side and regarded Jack thoughtfully.

Jack often got the impression that Spot was testing him in some way, seeing if he could figure out what was truth and what was lie about him. Of course, Spot had never offered much information about himself. He seemed to like watching Jack slowly put the pieces together, however incorrectly he managed to arrange them.

Jack studied Spot for a brief moment, his expression was blank, not offering any hint to the answer. It would go a long way to explain why Greene had been fixed on Brooklyn. But, he knew if Spot was involved, Greene wouldn't have survived.

"Nah," Jack answered finally.

"Good." He nodded in approval, a smile curling around the smoke he exhaled. "I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

"I don't believe that, you always got something to do with everythin'," Jack said. Spot's widening smile told him that he indeed had something to do with it, however small. The fact that Spot claimed Brooklyn so soon after Greene fell couldn't be coincidence.

"Why are you so high up on his list anyhow?" Jack asked more directly than he intended. What he really wanted to know was if Greene had it out for him for business reasons or if it was personal. Taking on Brooklyn because it was the biggest and wealthiest territory was far different than taking on Brooklyn because it represented Spot Conlon.

"You know how it is," Spot replied vaguely.

"No, I don't," Jack countered, his curiosity rising. "You sleep with his sister?"

"He ain't got one."

"What, his dog?"

"He ain't got one of them neither," Spot smirked before putting his cigarette to his lips again.

"Seriously." Jack laughed, more amused to find Spot in a joking mood than anything else. It was an uncharacteristic lightness, one that would probably disappear as fast as it came. His moods turned on a dime. He could be indifferent one moment and full of rage the next, though over the years Jack had come to realize that it was mostly for the benefit of others. There was much to Spot that was an act, a calculated one, but an act all the same.

"He didn't, I swear to God."

"Spot, " Jack prompted him. Spot knew what he wanted to know, he was just being an ass about it.

"Jack," Spot imitated his expectant tone, clearly not intending to answer.

"Fine, don't tell me. I don't wanna know," Jack sighed. It wasn't important. He didn't know why he even expected Spot to give a reliable answer.

"So what are we doin' about him?" Jack asked, knowing he would get an answer to that question at least.

"I'm workin' on something', but it'll take time. Right now we just gotta wait," Spot said as he ground out the stub on the armrest of his chair. Spot usually put out his cigarette when he was done talking or wanted to close a subject. It was another one of his signals that Jack had learned to read over time. He never just did something, it always had some sort of meaning or was intended to be seen a certain way.

"Yeah, okay," Jack said as he stood, grounding out the last of his cigarette as well. "There's a card game goin' on out back."

"We ain't done, Jack," Spot said as he made no move to follow. There was no trace of his former humor, his voice was back to business, though it betrayed a measure of reservation.

"What else we gotta talk about?" He stopped short of the door, the tone of Spot's voice stopping him rather than the words. It wasn't the sudden seriousness that bothered him, he had expected that to come back, but it was hint of uncertainty.

"Why don't ya sit down," Spot nodded to now-empty chair.

"Nah," Jack refused with a questioning expression, "Say what you gotta say."

The silence that followed only put him more on edge.

"So, Spot, what's the story?" he tried again more insistently, as his mind tried to figure out what Spot was holding back.

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

Jack stepped sideways and pushed it closed with more force than was necessary, signaling his impatience that Spot just 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, except when it so clearly involved him.

Spot hesitated for a moment, deliberately looking away from him 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, his voice a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"Look, I'm just letting you know what I know." Spot attempted to calm the situation, misinterpreting Jack's shock as offense. If anyone ever dare tell him his business like that, he 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 me 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 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 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 wasn't 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? God, 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. He 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 theirs, one that they knew.

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

As his thoughts boiled inside of him, Jack became increasingly aware of the silence surrounding him. He could hear the rhythm of Spot's breathing and the creaking of the wood underneath his feet, but that was it. There was no noise coming from the other side of the door. No talking, no laughing, no yelling . . . nothing to indicate the presence of a few dozen boys just in the next room. He looked toward the door with suspicion. Something wasn't right.

"What?" Spot went on guard instantly, following Jack's quick movement.

Jack didn't answer, but kept listening. All at once the odd calm erupted into a fevered pitch, but it wasn't the normal jumble. The voices were all yelling. He heard the scuffing of wood across the floor, chairs were being pushed out of the way for some reason. The yelling rose all at once, seeming to be affected by a common interest. A fight.

You heard one, you heard them all. Why was he not surprised.

"I swear to God, Spot." Jack flashed him an irritated look, not even bothering to finish the thought as he reached for the door. Damn Brooklyn. They couldn't go for five minutes without getting into it with someone. They were more trouble than they were worth.

"It ain't mine fightin', I guarantee that." Spot took in a last drag off his cigarette before throwing it to the floor as he stood.

Maybe it was the assurance in Spot's voice that set him off, or maybe it was the fact that he sounded like nothing had just happened, that accusing Jack's of being traitors was just another paper sold.

"Why, cause you told 'em not to?" Jack's tone became hard, as he turned sharply to Spot. "Maybe you shouldn't trust them bein' honest with you. Maybe you don't got what you think you got."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that, Kelly," Spot replied coolly as he met Jack's glare evenly.

In no uncertain terms Jack was referring to the power Spot held and the respect that his boys attributed to him. It was a dangerous thing to say, but he didn't care. Spot believed so much in the control he had, nothing short of a knife in his chest could faze him. Spot thought Brooklyn was infallible, that he was infallible. Jack saw the flaws. They didn't follow Spot as blindly as most thought. He knew it and Spot knew it. He didn't trust them and couldn't figure out for the life of him why Spot did.

But Spot was smart; he didn't jump down Jack's throat for a cheap shot. He knew it was more important to preserve the alliance that was just made than to defend himself to Jack.

Jack had a trust in his boys that Spot never had with his. If he accused one of Spot's of talking, Spot would have gotten rid of the kid without a second thought. Jack couldn't do that, if he believed Spot he would have to accept that he had been putting his trust in something false. Friendship complicated things that were otherwise very simple.

Jack looked back to the door and turned the handle. He had spoken too fast, letting his anger at the situation take over.

"I wouldn't have brung it up if I didn't know for sure," Spot said, picking up on the slight regret. "This ain't about my boys and it ain't about me. You got a problem on your hands, and you gotta fix it."

"I'll fix it," Jack said quickly, not waiting for a response as he flung the door open.

A/n: All caught up! I originally wrote this story around that one piece of dialogue between Spot and Jack, so I thought it would be fitting to post it first and then place it within the story. I hope it wasn't repetitious and that it flowed all right.

Thank you to all who reviewed! The reviews are so greatly appreciated!