Disclaimer: I own nothing save for the storyline. Ellie is a made-up character used only for the purposes of this story.

A/N: This is an challenge entry. A word challenge for the word Smoke.

"Race, you alright?"

I stopped in the doorway and grinned at Jack. "I'm fine, just need some fresh air."

"Alright," Jack said. He didn't look like he believed me. I gave him a thumbs up to reassure him and walked out of the lodging house.

As soon as I was free from the observation of Jack and the other newsies, I pulled out the handkerchief and into it expelled the cough that I had been forcefully holding back. "Holdin' 'em down probably ain't too good for me," I thought. My whole body wracked with the force of each cough. I took a gasping breath between each one before my body was jerked violently into another painful cough.

"Shit," I muttered when at last the coughing had subsided. I wiped my mouth and held the handkerchief up to the light coming from the window to observe. There was more blood than usual, and there were little chunks of tissue in it this time.

"Racetrack," Spot Conlon's arrogant drawl came from behind me. I quickly hid the handkerchief in my pocket, turning around and giving him a cheeky grin.

"Well, if it ain't Brooklyn himself," I greeted him with a spit-shake. Before meeting his hand with his, I quickly glanced down, making that there was no lingering blood. It looked safe. "What's a big-shot like you doin' 'round here?"

"Came hopin' there was a poker game or somethin' happenin' here. What you doin' out here?"

I cast my eyes downwards. "Nothin' much. Guy just needs a little fresh air sometimes, you know?"

Spot nodded and pulled two cigars from his pocket. "Want a smoke?"

I gratefully accepted one and, striking a match on the bottom of my shoes, lit it up. We sat there on the steps of the lodging house in companionable silence for a few minutes, smoking and watching the stars.

"What's on your mind, Race?" Spot asked me.

I shrugged, feeling my heart start to pound. "Nothin', what makes you think that?"

"Let's take a walk." I wanted to refuse, but I knew that surely would make Spot realize that something was wrong. So I stood up and followed him, falling into step with him as we walked. "Race, I ain't stupid. I've known you for five years. You was one of my boys in the beginning, remember?"

I nodded and took a puff on the cigar. My days in Brooklyn had been some of the best in my life.

"Now, I've known you long enough to know that if you ain't crackin' jokes and hurlin' insults, means somethin's wrong. Understand?"

Again, I nodded.

"So, the way I see it is you got two options. You can either tell me what's wrong, or I can soak you and then you tell me what's wrong."

"Ain't much of a choice, is it?" I cracked weakly.

"You got to the count of three, Higgins."

I contemplated. I knew that yes, Spot would soak me, but I wondered if it even mattered any more. And some kids would say it was an honor to be soaked by Spot Conlon.

"One."

'Course I'd already been soaked by Spot before. He'd hit me hard enough to put me out for an hour. It was near dark when one of the other newsies found me.

"Two."

It had been my fault, really. I'd taken Spot's cane from his holster, pointed it at one of the younger newsies, and said, in a voice much resembling Spot's: "I outta soak ya, kid." It hadn't gone over well with Spot.

"Three." Spot swung his fist towards me, and suddenly I remembered exactly how much it had hurt last time.

"Alright, I'll tell you. Gimme another smoke, will you?"

Spot growled and pulled out another cigar, lighting it and handing it to me.

"I'm sick, alright? You happy now?"

"Sick how?"

"Same way Ellie went." Ellie had been Jack's girlfriend. She'd died a few months earlier, and the symptoms I was showing were identical to those she had displayed before her death.

Spot breathed out a sigh. "You sure?" I nodded. "Jacky-boy know 'bout this?"

"No. And he ain't gonna! You saw how much watchin' Ellie go hurt 'im."

"Jesus, Race. How long you been like this?"

"Since 'round Ellie's death."

"Shit," he breathed.

I took a puff on the cigar. The familiar taste comforted me.

"You see a doctor or somethin'?"

"Can't afford one. Anyway, ain't nothin' they can do. Give me that shit they gave Ellie, didn't do much for her, did it?"

"You scared?" Spot asked me.

"I ain't never really been scared 'a nothin' in my whole life. Really think I'm gonna let somethin' little like death scare me?"

Spot grinned. "Guess you really are from Brooklyn, ain't you?" He ruffled my hair in an almost fond manner.

I took another puff on the cigar. Of course I was scared. I'd never been scared of anything more in my life.

But I couldn't let Spot know that.

If I was gonna die, at least I'd go with my dignity.

"You sure you should be smokin' those?" Spot asked, gesturing to my cigar.

I took another puff. "I'm gonna die anyway, ain't I?"

I blew the smoke out through my nose, savoring the taste.

Suddenly, as I looked at Spot through the cloud of smoke, I had a revelation. His features were clouded and gray and I couldn't see the usual smirk that branded his face. Nor could I see the unfamiliar and unwanted look of concern. But everything as seen through the smoke was suddenly clearer to me than it had ever been before.