Just before she awoke for the second time that morning, Gabby had a feeling of rest come over her. She hadn't felt quite satisfied after a night's sleep in a long time, too long to remember. The faint light spilled onto the empty space next to her on the bed as she stared bleary-eyed at it.

"Morning, Gabs."

Gabby rolled over and saw Spot sitting next to the bed, his hand cupped over the other resting underneath his chin. It was difficult to determine what was on his mind; his face was placid and his lips formed a line that just barely curved at the corners. It looked as though he had been rested as well, though pondering things over.

"Hi."

"How'd ya sleep?" asked Spot casually, as if this happened every morning.

"Fine." Gabby eyed him somewhat skeptically; seeing Spot and Noah was satisfying and comforting, but there was still a past that hurt think about.

"Why aren't you at work?" inquired Gabby.

"Uhm," Spot cleared his throat, "long story. Got time to talk?"

Gabby sat up and looked to Noah's crib; he was sleeping soundly, his chest moving up and down steadily.

"I already changed him," informed Spot; Gabby looked at him, bewildered and shocked. He continued, reading her mind, "It was the most disgustin' thing I evah saw."

An inescapable laugh issued from Gabby's mouth. She sighed heavily and brushed the hair out of her face. She sat up and folded her fingers between each other and rested them on her lap. Spot adjusted in his seat, as though nervous or anxious.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Gabby raised an eyebrow subtly, preparing to hear the best excuse ever known to man.

"I know we haven't really seen each other lately. I've been dealin' with a lot of stuff outside this."

"Like what, what have you been dealing with?" interrupted Gabby.

"I don't wanna talk about that right now. I wanna talk about how somethin' happened to me yesterday and it brought how we can't even be in the same room with each other anymore to my attention. I miss ya, Gabby. And I did so much that I ain't proud of, but I wanna be able to give it another chance…if not fer us, then fer Noah."

Gabby eyed him as he just mentioned their baby. The image of the two sleeping on the chair this morning popped up into her mind again. So he wanted to work on their relationship, huh? She sighed in a deep thought; Spot changing Noah was a start. Maybe Spot was being sincere. But there was something else lingering in her mind…

"Can you just tell me that it's all over with her?" asked Gabby. "I just want to hear you say it was a mistake and maybe…maybe I can find it in me somewhere…to trust you again." That night, the night that Spot had come home with lipstick on his face and neck, smelling of lavender perfume, it was plaguing her.

Spot's tense face loosened as though he had met his match. He had known that she as going to ask him about that. He took her hand and held it tightly in his own. Finding it particularly difficult to find the words, Spot held her hand to his cheek; his voice breaking faintly, he muttered, "I slept with her."

Gabby closed her eyes and lost her grip with his hand. She turned away and got out of bed, suppressing the lump growing in her throat and making her way to the door.

"Gabby…" Spot jumped up quickly and met her at the door. He grabbed her shoulders firmly and stood in front of her, though all she did was turn her face away.

"Gabby, this is the hardest thing I evah had to do. I know, I screwed up real bad, but I know what I done. Please just trust me when I say I wish I could take it back and I want us to be happy again…"

All Gabby could think was how she stood in this position a long while ago, pleading for his forgiveness. She had betrayed his trust the same way he had just done to her when she coincided with Tyce Nichols of Queens. She looked up at him with misty eyes and felt a connection for the first time in months.

"Well then…" started Gabby, "I guess this means we're even."

It turned a fair amount of heads when they saw it: Spot had brought Noah to the Manhattan lodging house to talk with Bolt and Thompson. He couldn't say he didn't expect it, but likewise he voluntarily took Noah off Gabby's hands for the afternoon. Not to mention he showed off his baby boy with pride.

"Okay, so where do we stand now that this happened?" asked Spot casually, getting back into his old self. He sat down at a table with Bolt, Thompson, and a few other newsies. The boys first looked at Noah with confusion, opened their mouths to comment, but decided it was best not to say a word about it.

"Well, uh," Thompson shook his head a little and continued, "we juss got word dat one 'a the boys saw someone run up and down the fire escape right before the fire happened. So we pretty much confirmed that it wadn't a candle that started it."

Spot nodded, transfixed in the story, unaware and used to Noah chewing on his fingers with his toothless mouth. He visualized the scene in his mind and asked further, "Did he say who he thought it was?"

"No, juss that he didn't recognize him."

"Which means it's likely the kid was from Harlem or Queens. All right, we got that part down, what're ya plannin' to do about it?"

"Already started without me?" said a voice from across the room. "I mean, I'm offended, to be perfectly honest."

Jack Kelly entered the room with a comfortable smile on his face. To his side was Racetrack, smoking a cigar and looking around the room in reminiscence. Ah, memories. They greeted the others and took a seat with them, choosing not to comment either on the smallest addition of the meeting.

"I'm thinkin' we should go in there and just blow their brains out, each an' ev'ry one 'a them," said Bolt with an unexpected tone of vengeful excitement. "I sat back too long to let 'em get away with this one."

Spot pressed his lips together to hold back his smile, finally glad to see the old Bolt back. He took his finger out of Noah's mouth, a bit grossed out by the amount of spit on it, and adjusted his seat.

"First, I wanna talk to Jumper," said Spot. "Er Johnny, whatever the hell he's callin' hisself these days…I can handle it, I don't care what anyone else says. I wanna talk to 'im in person and ask 'im about this. He was always easy to crack, er at least easier to read than some."

"What good's that gonna do, Conlon?" asked Racetrack, unconvinced. "You'll probably just wind up with a black eye er somethin'."

"We ain't entirely sure this is the work 'a Harlem, though, Race. I just wanna talk to 'im and see what he's got to say."

The following day, Spot and Racetrack entered O'Reilly's Social Club in the mid afternoon. Spot had completely avoided the fact that he was still employed at Bedford Furniture, though by now he was probably fired. Sometimes things happen, though, that require a little more attention.

"He's been comin' heah fer the past week," informed Race. "So I'm thinkin' he'll be heah today. Sure ya wanna do this, Conlon?"

Spot watched the fight in the center of the room escalate with an exciting punch. He turned to Race and answered, "Oh yeah. Real sure."

Race sat at his usual table for work. On the second floor he could oversee all the fights and take all the money for the bets. Shane O'Reilly made his way up to the table where Race sorted out his money and Spot sat watching the entrance like a hawk.

"How we doin' today, Higgins?" inquired O'Reilly. "Not too many men here today, I'm worried. My drink supplier just upped the prices on me…"

"Ah, don' worry," replied Race, licking his fingers to separate the bills, "it's early."

O'Reilly took a seat and rubbed his red, sweaty face. He turned to Spot, recognizing him with little difficulty. He said to him, "Hey, you're that kid not too long ago that fought here. The Irish, am I right?"

Spot closed his eyes for a second and replied, without turning his direction, "Yeah."

"Man, that was a terrible night…Neither 'a you guys won, did they?"

Spot remained silent. In Brooklyn, nobody dared speak of his mistakes, if he ever made them. Now this guy was throwing them in his face without any regard. He felt his jaw clench slightly and his fists tighten. Suddenly, the door to the entrance swung open and Jumper stepped through, accompanied by another boy.

Spot stood up and sternly made his way towards him. He worked his way through the small crowd of men and followed where Jumper was headed. He walked up behind him while he was seated at the bar and grabbed the weapon he had in his coat pocket. Standing close behind him, Spot pressed his covered weapon into the small of Jumper's back.

"Don't even think about movin'," threatened Spot in a low, vicious voice.

Jumper froze with his hand on his beer mug, shaking for fear of something flying out of Conlon's pocket and lodging into his back.

"We gotta talk. Go to the back room behind the bar and don't bring yer lil' bitch boy with ya."

"Conlon."

Spot shoved the weapon harder into his back firmly. "I ain't gonna hurt ya unless you'se just go to the back room. You an' me got a lot to catch up on."

Obediently and with a trickle of sweat coming down his neck, Jumper rose from his barstool and straightened himself out. He notified the other boy that he would be in the restroom, while Spot started off towards the room. Jumper swallowed and adjusted his jacket as if to encourage himself.

As Spot shut the door behind him, he loosened his grip on his trusty, harmless slingshot in his pocket. He smirked in spite of himself, knowing the trick had worked. Now the catch was getting the enemy to listen without any other protection.