Chapta Foiteen

Disclaimer: Don't own Newsies.
A/N: More things piece themselves together, and some more fluff.

Oh, and at this point, I should explain something - I WILL be throwing random songs into chapters. There are some things said better with music in the background, especially when I have a writer's block and need to get something down. But don't worry, I'll tell you when there's one coming up.

Spot was watching Natalie, which, in fact, was a very interesting and time-killing thing to do. The two sat in her room again, Spot sitting in the chair in the corner rocking slowly, and Natalie sitting on the bed sowing. Spot's cane made an annoying tap whenever the chair rocked foward, and after a while, it sounded like it was tapping to a melody. Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was stupidity, but he noticed this, and rocked faster, and then slower, listening to the tap. After a while of just this and no other sounds, he ducked just as a ball of yarn went sailing towards his head.

"Stop!" Natalie cried, distracted. She was sowing him a new hat, or, at least, patching up his old one for winter, and had been listening to the tapping for half an hour.

Spot stretched. The metal key which hung on his necklace caught the light and weakly reflected it onto the wall behind his friend. Natalie was already over the whole tapping incident, and absentmindedly, she asked, "Is your real name Sean Patrick?"

"Yeah."

"Where does Spot come from, then?"

"I'm a spot on da ass o' humanity."

Natalie chuckled but did not look up. Her face suddenly folded into a frown and she shook her finger as the needle poked her. A drop of blood oozed out.

"Ya got blood on me hat."

"You're welcome."

After a moment of nothing, ignoring her finger and continuing on with the hat, she asked again, "But, no, really, where's it from?"

"Me name?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno. I think it's cause I got me dis spot on me wrist heah," he said, holding out his wrist. Natalie looked up. A tiny little birthmark sat, small and innocent.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's da only one I got."

Natalie looked at him. His skin was perfect. Now that she checked, it was the only spot on him.

Spot pulled his wrist back. "Whadda bout you? Ya got a nickname in yer gang?"

"Yeah, I do. Cappie."

"Cappie?"

"Uh-huh."

"Weird name.'

"So's Spot."

"Well, at least dere's a reason faw it. Where does Cappie come from?"

"My hat."

"Wha hat?"

Natalie stared at him like he was something she peeled offthe bottom of her shoe.

"My hat," she said, slowly, and pointed to her closet. Spot picked himself up and made his way over, to see clothes, shoes and clothes... and a hat. It sat there, light blue, like the kind of hats the newsies wore. He didn't know girls wore them... But then again, he didn't know girls had gangs, either.

"Ali have a name?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Yeah, Checkers."

At this, Spot laughed loudly.

"Checkers?"

Natalie stared. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Yeah, dere is."

"What?"

"Ya goils don know how ta make nicknames."

He flipped his hair back and snickered to himself. Natalie watched him. The tone he used wasn't an insulting one, it was a friendly one, or at least, as friendly as Spot could be, so she didn't take offense to anything he said.

Lately, an odd feeling had been creeping it's way into the back of her mind, but today it was up-front and ready for some action. It was a warm and happy feeling, but wasn't love. No, she had been in love before, and she knew from good experience that love didn't come as easy at this, nosirree. Crushes could spring up in the blink of an eye, and that's what this was, but not love.

Before this, the fourteen year old had been seeing a seventeen year old named Pumming (chapter 5 or 6, peeps). He. Was. An. Asshole. Ali had hated him from the moment she saw him, but Natalie had ignored her friend's judgement and went out with him. No, she was not the tragic girl abused by her boyfriend. There was nothing tragic about it. They just broke up, and she was practically dancing with joy.

But the thing she felt with Spot was different than a crush. It felt more like... they were connected, on the same page, but they didn't know it. She had a feeling that Spot could tell something was with her, but not what.

And all of this, she kept to herself.

Racetrack bit his lip as another brush of wind chilled him to the bone, but he kept his arms forcefully plastered to his bare sides. He felt like an idiot - walking around in the late October weather with winter on the way, and he was shirtless. Ali was across the yard, all the pumpkins picked, and she was shoving them into a shed.

'I should be helpin' her,' he thought, snapping on the suspenders. He had offered to help her, of course he had, but Ali saw how cold he was and shooed him away and told him to get a shirt on and said she'd do it herself, and that she'd make him a nice cup of tea when she was done. But, despite her kindness, the newsie felt bad, that he should be the one helping her. After all, he was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend.

It was still a surprise to him that they were already going out - it had been so sudden, everything had happened so quickly. Something in the back of his head told him things were moving a bit too fast for his taste, but she was the girl he liked, and ignored the thought.

As he finished fumbling with the last button, Ali came over, wiping her hands together. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Racetrack sighed. All doubts of them left his mind. He was happy.

"Now I need to buy you a sweater," she commented. The thin shirt was icy cold, probably colder than the air around it, and it'd take a while to warm up to his temp.

"Naw, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Come inside with me."

They walked side by side towards the house, not saying anything. Slowly, making sure not to mess up, Ali slowly slid her hand into Race's, refusing to look at him. Race watched her. A deep red flushed her face, but he made no motion to take his hand away.

Of course, in a peaceful, happy, romantic moment like this, something was bound to go wrong. Just to ruin the moment.

Racetrack stumbled over an outstretched tree root.

With an 'oof!', he slipped, but landed on his hands. However, anyone who is a human being knows that landing on your hands does notmake you immune to injury, and he landed on the sharp root, cutting a thin line into his palm.

Ali knelt down next to him, almost as fast as he had fallen, before she saw the blood. Race's mind flashed to his leg, but he put that aside and stood up. Ali took his hand and looked at the cut.

"You okay?" she asked, a smear of blood dotting her fingertips.

"Yeah, I think so. Owww..." he squeezed the wound, causing more blood to come dripping out.

"Does it sting?"

"Hoits a little bit."

"Here, come in, let me clean it."

Racetrack held his hand, not taking his eyes off the cut, until Ali put her hand over it. Race stared at her.

"Yer gonna get blood all ova yer sleeves," he commented, wondering if she'd care.

"That's alright."

They walked inside, and Ali rushed to the cabinet, where she pulled out a gauze pad and began to dress the cut. Race focused all his attention the girl next to him, admiring her with a warm affection, but it was soon interupted as she gave a painful yank on the bandage and tied it together. Ali then kissed his hand, keeping her eyes on him as she did, and he tried to resist, but couldn't, and kissed her on the cheek. She laughed.

"Guess you won't be able to drink your tea," she commented. Race shrugged.

"S'okay."

"Here, sit down, sit down. Tell me if it starts hurting anymore."

Ali began washing her hands in the cold water that flowed from underneath the pump. Shaking them dry, she sat put up a pot of water to boil on theold stove and took a seat next to Race. Not a word was said, until she shifted and asked, "D'ya think it'll leave a scar?"

Racetrack shrugged and eyed the wound. "I dunno. Can ya even get scahs on yer palms?"

"I haven't ever gotten a scar on my palm, but I do have one on my hand from where I fell down the stairs a week ago," Ali replied, and she rolled up her left sleeve to show him a jagged little scar, pink and faded, but small. She poked it tenderly, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Ah," he bragged nonchalantly, "Ya ain't seen wha happened ta me a few daises ago." He rolled up his pant leg, revealing the fresh scar from the knife. "Look at dis."

Ali stared in horror. "Where'd you get that from!" she cried.

"Me an' some boydies was down by the track," he recalled, "An' someone pulled a knife on me.'

"A kni–"

And something hit Andria Wells right about then. A disturbing realization. Only a few days ago had Natalie returned home from the racetrack and said she saw someone almost get stabbed. Memories flashed through her head.

'...But one of those guys was gettin' it really badly. Like, really badly. They almost stabbed him.'

Apparently, she had turned pale. Race put his hand to her forehead, a look of worry clouding his eyes. "Ya okay?" he asked. Her voice was faint and shaky, as was her figure, and she dropped herself into a chair and said, "N-no, I don't think so..."

"Ali?" Race's voice threatened to call the doctor.

Ali shook waved him away. "No, no, I'm fine,' she stuttered, "It's just..." And she trailed off.

"Ya look like ya just seed a ghost aw sumthin'."

She lifted her eyes and gazed at him. "I should be seeing a ghost in front of me."

"W... Wha does dat mean?"

"It means exactly what it means," she said, "Race... How did you make it out?"

Race rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don ezactly know," he said, "But someone threw a rock an' it hit the goon who was tryna' stab me. So dey only scratched my leg."

But Ali had stopped listening after she heard what she had been listening for.

"But someone threw a rock."

Race abruptly stopped talking, after realized she wasn't listening. "Ali?"

"Race..." she began. The kettle on the stove started whistling loudly and obnoxiously.

"Yeah?" he asked, clueless.

"I know who it is that threw the rock."

The tea was done.

A/N: So, yeah! The big secret's out, or at least, one of them. Looking back on how much I've written and how much I have yet to include, I'll say there's going to be around 25-30 chapters, so brace yourselves. Carryin' the banner!