10

Slips found Fiver standing on the dock watching the younger boys splash each other.

"Where's Spot?" he panted, having run all the way from Manhattan.

The older boy let him catch his breath, then pointed in the direction of the lodging house. Without a word, the little boy dashed off, leaving Fiver to wonder what had happened.

Spot sat up at the sound of his name, waking Pocket when she fell of his shoulder. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, blinking up at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked groggily.

"Slips is here," he told her.

"Manhattan?" she asked, eyes widening. Jumping up, she hurried to the stairs, Spot right behind her.

Slips was waiting in the bunkroom.

"What's wrong," Pocket blurted, still shoving her hair up under her cap.

The little spy hesitated, looking at Spot. Usually he gave his reports in private, and he wasn't sure about talking in front of Pocket. At his leader's nod of permission, he told them his news.

" Dere was a fight at da distribution office. Da bulls came."

He stopped again looking at Spot, unsure if he should continue. Pocket tapped her foot impatiently and resisted the urge to shake him.

"Then what?" the older boy prompted. "Did they all get away?"

Slips shook his head. "Not everybody. Dey got dat one crippled kid."

Pocket swore and kicked the wall, causing Slips to take a nervous step back. Spot didn't react, just narrowed his eyes and glared at his informant.

"There's more," he demanded. "What else?"

Gulping, the ten year old looked at his feet. Even though he knew he wasn't in trouble, Slips had a healthy respect for Spot's temper, and the leader never reacted well to bad news. He continued to stare at his shoes until Spot growled a warning.

Sighing, he finished, "Da Delancey bruddas got ahold a him foist. Can't be a good thing." Pocket swore again. "Kelly figures da gimp's in da refuge now, plans ta go afta him tanight."

"Anything else?" He shook his head. "Get some rest,"Spot ordered. Ya got till dark, then I need ya back in Manhattan."

Slips nodded gratefully and headed to his bunk. His eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow. Spot turned and walked to the door.

"C'mon," he called over his shoulder. "Let's go find somthin' ta eat."

"What!" Pocket exclaimed. "Whaddya mean."

"I mean I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

She stomped acroos the room, eyes flashing. "That's it?" she fumed. "Crutchy's in jail, and you wanna go eat?"

Spot shrugged. "It's dinnah time."

For a second, Pocket looked like she wanted to slug him. She settled for poking him in the chest and said, "Fine. Go get some food. I'll be in Manhattan." She pushed past him to open the door.

"What?" he asked, startled. He put a hand on the door to keep her from opening it, irritating her further. "I thought you was stayin in Brooklyn tanight."

"Well not now! I gotta go back. I'm gonna help 'em get Crutchy."

Spot grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. She tried to pull away from him but he only glared and kept walking.

"Stop it," he ordered sternly.

"You stop it," she shot back. "I ain't goin upstairs. I'm goin home. Crutchy's in jail, and my friends need me." Her voice rose steadily until she was yelling. "AND YOU AIN"T STOPPIN ME!"

"Quit yellin," he told her, giving her a shove toward the loft. "We're gonna talk about this."

She dug in her heels and refused to move. "So let's talk then. We don't gotta be upstairs to talk."

"Yes," he argued,"We do. Da boys'll start comin in any minute and they ain't gonna find ya in hear screamin ya head off at me. Now take your ass upstairs."

She opened her mouth to protest, then decided against it and stomped up the stairs. He followed her into his room and sat on his bed, motioning her to sit beside him. She stayed where she was, arms crossed defiantly. He rolled his eyes.

'Look," he stated flatly. "There's no reason for you to go all the way back across the bridge tanight. You should just stay here like ya planned and head back in da morning. Nothin for you ta do till tamarra anyway."

"I told you," she informed him in a mock patient tone. "I'm gonna help get Crutchy out. I ain't waitin till morning. I'm goin now."

"I don't want ya goin back now," he announced, as if that that settled it.

"I don't need your permission."

He stood and crossed the room to join her, looking down at her face. Spot wasn't very tall, but Pocket was tiny, and she had to tilt her head to look up at him. They glared at each other for almost a full five minutes before he threw up his hands in disgust.

"I know you're upset about Crutchy," he huffed. "But ya gotta think about it. Ya really think Jack's gonna be able ta get him out? Let him try. He must have some kinda plan, and he don't need ya taggin along, gettin in da way," he reasoned. "You'll only get in trouble."

"Don't ya care about Crutchy?" she whispered, confused.

Pocket understood why he had refused to join the strike. She was disappointed, knowing it would be harder without Brooklyn, but she respected his decision and wouldn't push him. She even understood why he didn't want to be part of the rescue attempt. Spot had spent a year in the refuge when he was nine, and now he wouldn't go near the place. Not that she blamed him. But that didn't mean she couldn't go. She was hurt that he didn't seem to care.

"Sure I do," he answered her, putting his hands on her shoulders. 'It's a tough break for da kid, an' I hope they can get 'im out. But that don't mean I want you goin. If I thought ya'd just go back ta da lodging house, that'd be one thing. But I know ya, you'll have ta go along, and Jack's no good at keepin ya safe."

"I can take care of myself," she reminded him for the second time that day.

He put his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his cheek on her head. "Most of tha time ya can, I know that. But if ya get caught breakin inta tha refuge, they'll send ya ta jail. Is that what ya want?"

"Ya ain't worried about Jack gettin caught," she accused, holding herself stiff in his embrace.

"Jack's not you."

"Why are you being so stubborn?" she complained.

"I just want you to be safe!" he exclaimed, arms tightening around her. "It's bad enough I can't stop ya from goin on strike, but I know its important to ya. Do ya have to go lookin for more problems?"

Pocket didn't answer, and he searched his brain for a way to convince her.

"Can't ya just go back to Manhattan and wait there, and not go to tha refuge?" He tried a compromise. "It'll be dark soon, if ya wait, ya can go back with Slips. But ya gotta promise ta stay outta trouble." He tilted her face up to his, blue eyes soft, and spoke softly, almost pleadingly. "Can you promise that for me? Please, Katie."

It was the name that did it. She could never say no to Spot when he used her name. She stopped resisting and relaxed into him, and he hugged her close.

"I promise," she mumbled into his chest. He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Finally," he joked. "Now can we go eat?"

Laughing, she pulled away from him slightly, and stuck out her tongue. He grinned at her, and she smiled back. He found his eyes drawn to her mouth and his chest felt tight. Pocket stopped smiling when she felt him tense up and his face went serious.

"Spot?"

He said her name again. "Katie."

Then he leaned down and kissed her softly. The young leader closed his eyes and held perfectly still, enjoying the feel of soft lips. She hesitated, then moved closer, pressing her lips to his. That was his undoing. Unable to help himself, he held her tightly, lifting her in his arms as his mouth moved on hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and to his surprise they parted for him. He slid inside her mouth, exploring, and after a moment her tongue met his. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. He deepened the kiss, demanding more, one hand on her back, the other cupping her face. She pressed against him, reaching up to knock his hat off and bury her hands in his light brown hair. Growling, he whirled them around and backed her against the wall. Panting, he tore his mouth away, pulling back to look at her.

Her skin was flushed, her lips damp and parted. Clumsily, her yanked the hat off her head and watched her hair fall around her shoulders. Tossing the hat over his shoulder, he reached out and ran one finger along a curling black tendril, then along her jaw. He held his finger to the fullness of her lower lip, his eyes never leaving hers. When the pink, wet tip of her tongue darted out to taste his fingertip he nearly lost his mind. Shoving a hand in her hair, he wrapped it around his fist and pulled her head up to his.

She whimpered as he attacked her mouth and he thought he had scared her with his intensity. Ashamed, he started to pull back but she would have none of it. Clutching his shoulders, she bit his lip gently, causing him to groan into her mouth. Gasping for breath, his mouth left hers to trail kisses along her jawline. She shivered when he reached her neck, her had falling back to allow him access. He opened his mouth to taste the slight saltiness of her skin. He nibbled a path down her neck until her collar stopped him. When he lifted a hand to move it aside, she dragged him back to her lips.

This time, she was the aggressor, demanding entrance. Shifting restlessly against him, she stood on her toes to kiss his temple. Her breath was hot on his skin as her tongue followed the curve of his ear. Knees so weak he almost couldn't stand, he placed a palm against the wall on either side of her head, bracing himself against the sudden dizziness. Bolder now, she left his ear to kiss the hollow of his throat, then lower, her mouth open on the skin exposed by the vee of his shirt.

"Jesus,' he whispered, and she chuckled softly.

Her hand moved to the button of his shirt; he knew if she opened it he was lost. He stopped her, holding her face in his hands and bending to kiss her again. She melted into him. His hands slid from her face to her shoulders and down her back. Hands shaking, he jerked her shirt of the waistband of her pants. They sighed into each others mouths as his hands found the heat of her bare back. Now it was her knees that grew week and he felt her slump against the wall. Without breaking their kiss, he turned them so that it was his back against the wall and she leaned into him.

Her small hands slid his suspenders of his shoulders before returning to the buttons of his shirt. She conquered the first one, but struggled with the next, until her finally pulled it off for her. Head swimming, he claimed her mouth again. Her palms flattened on his chest, moving urgently oer his shoulders and down his arms. Returning his attention to her neck, he earned a breathy little sigh for his efforts. He nuzzled her, breathing her scent, but couldn't stay away from her mouth too long. Underneath her shirt his hands continued to roam her back, pulling her even closer.

The sound of a door slamming broke their kiss, and the voices of two younger newsies filled the bunkroom. Panting, he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes were a cloudy shade of green he'd never seen before. A pulse beat at the base of her throat and Spot had to bite his tongue to keep from tasting it.

Slowly, he came back to his senses, his breathing gradually returning to normal.

"We should stop." The roughness of his voice sounded odd to him.

Unable to speak she nodded. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and he closed his eyes, groaning.

"Don't do that," he choked, and she froze, eyes wide.

"Sorry," she whispered, burying her face in his chest.

A shout from downstairs reminded them where they were. He knew he should let go of Pocket, but he couldn't make his hands move. They remained stubbornly glued to her soft skin. Minutes passed as they stood there, eyes closed. Finally someone from downstairs called up to Spot.

"Hey Conlon! We'se getting dinnah. You comin?"

'Yeah" he yelled back, wondering if they could her the thickness in his voice. "Gimme a minute."

He looked down at Pocket, not sure what to say. Her face was still hidden and he wondered what she was thinking.

"We better go," he murmured. "Ya need ta eat before ya go back to Manhattan." Again, she nodded, but her grip on his upper arms tightened.

"Hey," he said, and she looked up. "Ya alright?"

Another nod. He worried about her silence. Sighing, she let go of him, stepping back. Reluctantly he released her. As soon as his hands left her waist he was desperate to touch her skin again. Luckily she took another step back. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked around for his shirt.

Pocket was quiet after that, and didn't eat much of her bread, instead bringing it back to the lodging house when she went to wake Slips. Spot walked the two of them as far as the bridge, motioning for the little spy to stay a ways in front of them. As they walked, he sneaked glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She still hadn't said much, just stared at the ground, and he was scared she was regretting their kiss. Biting back a groan of frustration, the Brooklynite mentally kicked himself for getting carried away. Now she was going to think he saw her as little more than a toy, when really she was the most important thing in his life.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks and he stopped walking, mouth hanging open. Pocket turned toward him, a questioning look on her face.

"What is it?"

"Nothin," he told her, jogging to catch up. "Just remembered something is all."

At the edge of the bridge, he gave her a quick hug. Mindful of Slips presence, he lightly kissed her cheek and whispered. "Remember, ya promised ta stay outta trouble."

Pocket smiled for the first time that evening. "Me?" she replied innocently. "Trouble?"

He grinned, nodded his goodbye to Slips, and watched the two of them head across the bridge.

When they were halfway across, he whistled a quick, sharp note. Three huge boys separated themselves from the shadows and wordlessly followed the pair towards Manhattan, just like they did every time.

The King of Brooklyn nodded in satisfaction.