5

That night, Spot stayed at the Lodging House with Pocket instead of going with David and the boys to rescue Jack. Pocket had been subdued that day, napping off and on, exhausted from her ordeal at the rally. Spot went to Tibby's with the others to meet Denton, but hadn't stayed very long. He found it hard to leave her side, and wasn't present when Denton announced that he would no longer write about the strike.

The newsies returned disheartened, but neither Spot nor Pocket were very surprised at the reporter's decision. More than any of the others, Spot understood power and influence; he hadn't put much faith in Denton's support. He'd known it wouldn't be long before the other newspaper owners put pressure on the Sun to ignore the strike. Pocket had been grateful for the strike coverage, but had never fully trusted Denton the way David had. A childhood spent on the street had taught her that what David was just beginning to understand. When all was said and done, street kids could only depend on each other.

Blink, Race, Much and Boots came home late that night, without David, or Jack. Blink and Race joined Spot at Pocket's bedside, and the four of them spoke quietly about Jack's refusal to run away. The little Italian was more serious than Pocket had ever seen him. They were all confused by Jack's actions, and wondered what he was thinking. They tried to understand, but in the end they finished their discussion just as bewildered as before.

Race and Blink gave Pocket quick hugs and wandered off to bed. Spot stood and helped her to her feet.

"Let's go outside."

She leaned heavily on him as they made their way downstairs and out onto the steps of the Lodging House. He settled her onto his lap and took the cigarette she offered him.

"I'm glad you'se okay," he told her quietly. She didn't answer.

"I was worried about ya, when we didn't know where ya was," he continued, feeling a strong need to give voice to the fears that had plagued him.

She turned to look at him, her face sad. She opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head, needing to get it all out.

"I'd nevah forgive myself if somethin' happened to ya. It's my job ta look out for ya. I couldn't even keep ya safe an' I was right there." His voice broke slightly as the words tumbled over each other. "I'm sorry . . ." he trailed off, pulling her closer.

Pocket wrapped her good arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Don' blame ya'self, Spot," she whispered, her breath warm on his neck. "Ya know I'se always gettin' myself inta some kinda trouble. But I'se fine, don't worry. Lucky got me out."

Her words only upset him more.

"But it's my job!" he said harshly. "I shoulda been there for ya, not Lucky. You're my goil," he grumbled possessively.

Again, she said nothing, just held him, placing soft kisses along his jaw.

"I want ya ta come back with me," he announced. "You'll be safah in Brooklyn. Everythin's a mess here. Ya need to come back where I can take care of ya, at least until yer arm gets bettah."

She sighed against his cheek, then pulled away to look at him.

"I can't go, Spot," she said sadly. "I gotta stay here."

"Why?" he asked desperately, even though he wasn't surprised by her answer.

"Yestaday, while you was across the Bridge, Snyder came lookin' for Jack," she told him. "Course nobody said anythin', but it made Jack noivous. He told me, on the way ta Sarah's last night, that if anythin' happened ta him, he needed me ta take his place."

"What, ya mean like take over Manhattan?" Spot asked, shocked.

She shook her head. "No, that'd nevah work." As strong as she was, and as much as they liked her, it wouldn't do for a girl to lead the newsies.

"Just help keep things goin'," she explained. "Dave's smart, but he ain't like Jack. Nobody'd listen ta him. The fellas would listen to Race, maybe Blink, but they need somebody to keep 'em from fallin' apart."

Spot nodded his agreement. "Think they'll listen to ya?"

She shrugged. "Mostly. With Race's help. The point is, Dave can't do it. With out somebody in charge, it's all ovah." She gave him a resigned look. "They need you, Spot."

He sat quietly, mulling over what she'd said. She was right, he knew it. David was pretty smart, but he didn't have what it took. Blink and Race had the respect of the other newsies, but they, too, lacked the charisma and energy that made people listen to Jack. And she was right, too, when she said they need him. Pocket was stubborn and ballsy enough to keep Manhattan in the strike, but without a strong leader, all the other boroughs would lose confidence and back off. He was the only one who could step in, but he knew that he couldn't.

She knew it too, and didn't argue when he shook his head slowly.

"I can't, Pocket," he told her regretfully. "I can't stay outta Brooklyn that long. With no papes ta sell, me boys'll be fightin an' gettin' inta trouble. I gotta be there ta keep 'em in line."

"I know," she agreed. "Ya gotta worry about ya boys. Manhattan ain't your responsibility."

"I'm sorry," he began, but she put a finger to his lips.

"I know," she repeated. "I understand why ya can't stay. But do you understand why I hafta?"

Reluctantly, he nodded, and she removed her finger, replacing it with her lips. They kissed softly, Spot struggling to keep a tight hold on his desire. He wanted to do more than just kiss her, wanted to let his body reassure him that she was alright. He just wasn't sure she was ready for it, even without her shoulder injury.

She pulled away from him with a jaw-cracking yawn. He chuckled softly.

"I must be borin' ya," he teased. She gave him a sleepy smile. "C'mon." he stood, cradling her in his arms. "Ya need some rest."

Pocket was asleep in his arms by the time her reached her bunk. He tucked her under the covers before removing his shirt and boots and sliding in next to her. Careful not to bother her shoulder, he settled her against his chest.

Spot stayed awake far into the night, keeping watch over the sleeping girl. He searched his mind for a way to convince her to come back with him. She'd not leave Manhattan, he knew that, he understood her promise to Jack. Really, he expected nothing less from the girl who was every bit as stubborn as he. Spot grinned to himself, thinking that if Pocket had been a boy she'd rule half of New York by now. But she wasn't. She was a girl, his girl, and he wanted her to be safe.

Lately, Spot had been thinking a lot about Pocket staying with him full time. He missed her when she wasn't around , and he worried about her. No matter how many boys he sent to keep an eye on her, Spot was convinced that no one could take better car e of Pocket than he could.

On the flip side of that was his concern over what her constant presence would do to his reputation. Her being his girl was one thing, but he worried that if she was always around he wouldn't be able to keep up his leader persona. He had spent years cultivating his image – he was a mean bastard, and that's why nobody messed with Brooklyn. With Pocket, it was harder for him to maintain a distance. Around her, he couldn't be the ruthless king who ruled the docks with an iron fist.

What he didn't realize was that his feelings for Pocket were no secret. All of Brooklyn could see that she was special to him. But rather than make him weak, it made him human. Spot Conlon had always been an untouchable enigma, almost god-like in status. He was tough, but fair, and his boys followed him willingly. But they were happy to see a softer side, however small, now in addition to the respect they held for their leader, he was more approachable, and they could like him as well.

Spot scooted down the bed until his head was next to Pocket's on the pillow. He kissed her cheek softly, and in the stillness of the darkened bunkroom, he whispered the words he was still to afraid to speak in the light of day.