Pocket and David had talked far into the night, but she had refused his offer to come inside and sleep on the sofa. She knew she wouldn't be comfortable in the Jacobs' apartment. When she reached the lodging house she realized there was no way for her to go in and get to bed without waking the other newsies. Rather than face their questions about Crutchy, she'd curled up in the doorway of a nearby shop. Exhausted by the events of the day, she closed her eyes and drifted into dreams of blue-grey eyes and strong hands.
Jack had once again slept on the Jacobs fire escape; David roused him and they headed back to the house. They came across Pocket on the way; after stopping for coffee the three of them discussed their next course of action. David tried to convince the other two that they couldn't start any more fights. If they wanted to be taken seriously, he argued, they had to act more civilized. Pocket laughed out loud at the thought of a "civilized" Blink and Mush. Jack looked doubtful, but reluctantly agreed with David.
The newsies were disappointed to see them return without Crutchy, but seemed more determined than ever to go on with the strike. Outside the distribution office they faced the gates, waiting. When the doors opened, the scabs came walking out and Pocket briefly wondered why they didn't look scared. The newsies waited for Jack to tell them what to do, David cautioned them once more to remain calm. The tension mounted, and finally, Jack snapped.
"Let's soak 'em for Crutchy!"
With a roar, the newsies surged forward, chasing the scabbers back into the yard. Racetrack taunted them all the way back to the door, where they pounded and shouted to be let in. Pocket headed after him, grinning.
The smirk fell from Race's face the second the door opened. "J-Jack. . ." he stammered, looking wildly back towards his friends. "Jack it's a trap. It's the Crips!"
He ran as the doors opened wide to reveal a group of burly men, all grinning wickedly. Pockets eyes took stock of the men, then shifted back to the gates, her hear sinking as she watched them close, a mounted officer keeping people away. In the back of her mind, she remembered Spot's question of the day before. "How do I know you got what it takes to win?"
She smiled softly to herself as she faced off against a man twice her size.
"Iguess we'se about ta find out," she murmured, and clenched her fists.
When they reached the distribution center, a groan rumbled throughout the Brooklyn newsies who saw that the gates were closed, with the Manhattaners trapped inside. Spot strained his eyes trying to see Pocket but there was just too many people. Struggling to push aside his fear, he turned to his men.
"I want da best shooters with me," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone. "The rest of ya wait here until I open the gate."
Slips stepped forward, clutching his slingshot. After a moment's hesitation, he received a nod from his leader and crept around the side to find another way in.
Inside the yard, Manhattan was surrounded. Jack was trapped in a circle of Crips, the rest of the boys held back by the beefy men. He danced away from the swinging chain, falling back against the steps. Pocket started toward him, but found her arms restrained by a foul smelling oaf. She watched helplessly, waiting for the blow to fall.
A sudden banging distracted the crowd as one after another, boys hopped onto the ledge above. Pocket knew without looking that he had come, even before she heard his voice.
"Nevah Feah, Brooklyn is heah!"
"Brooklyn!"
The shout went up among the besieged Manhattan newsies. The Crips looked up just in time to see Spot and his boys send a hailstorm of marbles and pebbles down on their heads.
And then it began.
Spot scored a hit, giving Jack an opening to get away. Pocket saw Slips look around, find her, and take aim. Ping! Her arms were suddenly freed as the man holding her collapsed. Immediately, she leapt into the fray, launching herself at Oscar Delancey. Catching him by surprise, she knocked him to the ground. He tried to rise, but she pinned him with her knees and glared down at him. Intent on getting revenge for Crutchy, she didn't see the man behind her.
He caught her raised fist in his meaty hand, yanking her up. Her cap fell off, releasing her dark curls. Ugly face splitting into an evil grin, the thug grabbed a handful of hair and shoved her to the ground. She brought her knees up just in time to block a hard kick to the ribs. Before she could move away, he abruptly pitched forward, she had to scramble to the side to avoid being pinned under his weight.
Taking the hand he held out to her, she allowed herself to be pulled upright by her rescuer.
"You're late," she chided.
Spot smirked. "Looks like I'm just in time."
She grinned and bent to retrieve her fallen hat. Long hair once again tucked securely away, she darted off and was soon lost in the melee. Spot chuckled to himself, then turned to shake hands with Jack.
After fighting his way through the courtyard, Spot opened the gates to the rest of his boys. His battle cry of "Brooklyn" echoed over the din. Wielding his cane with authority he led his men into the courtyard. As he fought he kept an eye out for Pocket. He caught brief glimpses of her, cheerfully tormenting the outnumbered Crips.
She waved merrily as she ran past, a greasy thug in hot pursuit.
"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," Spot shouted.
"What trouble?" she laughed, reaching out to snatch the metal pipe away from her pursuer.
"Don't see no trouble here," she called to him, blithely bonking the man in the head with his own weapon.
When he fell to the ground, she looked down at the pipe in her hand and nodded appreciatively. She gave Spot a cheeky salute and bounded off, gleefully brandishing her newly acquired weapon.
Before long it became obvious that the newsies had won the battle. Spot stood on the platform with Jack and the others, slapping each other on the back and cheering. They mugged happily for the camera, arms around each others shoulders. Down below, Pocket and Slips joined the younger newsies in a jaunty little victory dance.
Spot hopped down and hurried over to her. Laughing breathlessly, she threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and twirled her around, drinking in the sight of her of her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. When he finally set her down he pulled her tightly against him. Suddenly serious, she curled into his embrace, resting her head on shoulder.
"Hey Brooklyn," she whispered into his neck, "Knew ya'd come."
He didn't answer, just rested his chin atop her head. She raised up to look at him, and they stared at each other. Relief flooded him as he held her, thankful that he had reached her in time. His face tightened as he thought of what could have happened if he hadn't been there.
Pocket saw the change in his expression and knew the direction of his thoughts. Gently she placed a soothing hand on his cheek. If she let him, she knew he would beat himself up, focusing on the danger she had been in.
When she had realized that she and her friends had walked into a trap she had felt a sharp flash of fear. But somehow she had known that he'd show up. In the five years that they'd been friends, Spot Conlon had never once not been there when she needed him.
She smiled into his familiar blue eyes, warmed by the strength of his arms around her. Her heart skipped when he turned his head slightly to press a soft kiss to her palm. A soft sigh escaped her as he leanded forward, resting his forehead against hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, not needing the words.
"If you're done playin' kissy-face, Pocket," Racetrack's sly voice cut into their moment, "We've got some celebratin to do."
Pocket blushed at Race's knowing look, pulling away from Spot. He let her go but kept a hand on her back. Avoiding Jacks teasing grin he faked annoyance.
"I was celebratin' just fine until you two showed up," he grumbled.
Pocket snorted in amusement. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the gate. Cocky grin firmly in place, Spot ignored the good natured jabs of his friends and happily followed her into the street.