Disclaimer: I don't own newsies; never have, never will. I do, however, own Kathleen and Benjamin Conlon (Sr.)

Author's Notes: This chapter starts a little differently. I decided to begin with a kind of flash back so I didn't have to tell the whole story of Spot's past using dialogue, because that would have taken an obnoxiously long time lol. I finally am secure with where I'm taking this story though. I now have the whole thing in my head, roughly, so yay for that. Again, thank you to anyone reviewing my stories. Special thanks to Rustie, and your help with my accents – I tried to employ them best I could this time around, lol, but old habits die hard.

Oo, I also am asking the help of anyone who thinks they could teach me how to type an Irish accent. I have yet to attempt it, and I think I might want to bring it into later chapters with a character I'm going to introduce. So if you know how, please let me know. Thanks a lot

Kathleen was fresh off the boat from Ireland when she met her husband-to-be. Barely 18, she was trying to escape the life of tragedy she'd known since childhood back home. Her mother hadpassed awaywhen she was just a little girl, and her father had recently died of disease in a local jail (imprisoned for his inability to pay the families' landlord.) The young redhead found herself wandering the dank streets of New York soon thereafter, quite aware that she herself had no way to pay for food or board. Sofollowinga night or two of hunger, it came to pass that the virtuous Kathleen Doyle found herself dancing in night clubs and plucking chickens in factories to pay the rent. But she would not give up. She had always been, and always would be, a fiery, determined woman – quick of wit and wild, sharp tongued and spontaneous.

Benjamin was New York born and raised, though also of Irish decent, and significantly more level-headed than Kathleen. His own parents were devout Irish Catholics who had also grown up in America – though they preferred a quiet life in the country, to the bustle of the city that their son had chosen. Benjamin was currently working for a lawyer, making a decent living for himself. The young man was soft spoken, but intelligent; shy, but cunning. The night his employer and a few other coworkers decided to take a Friday off and check out the nightlife, was the night Benjamin Conlon saw his wife for the first time.Kathleen was beautiful – the star of the show, and the young man fell head over heels. After the show he approached her. He told her he'd watched her all night, and was convinced he was in love. He draped his coat over her bare shoulders and left her with an address where she could find him, should she wish to see him again. Benjamin Conlon Sr. was a firm believer in fate, and he had faith that Kathleen would find him, and all would be well.

Sure enough, within a week Kathleen wandered her way to his doorstep. Within a month they were living together, and within that very year the two were wed (much to the dismay of Benjamin's parents, who strongly disapproved of Kathleen.) It was a perfect marriage, filled with such love many people will never experience. And a year later, when Benjamin Conlon Jr. – Spot – was born, they became a perfect family. Once, Benjamin Jr. even met his grandparents. They were kind to his face, but told his father never to bring the product of his and Kathleen's sin to their home again. Outside of his grandparents' disapproval, however, the family lived a good life. Benjamin Sr. became a lawyer himself and could give his wife and son the best of everything; Kathleen never danced for tips again in her life.

Spot lived the life of the privileged.

They lived seven years thus. Then, on his eighth birthday, while Benjamin Jr. was staying the night at a friends' house, a fire destroyed the Conlon home. Benjamin Sr. and Kathleen were trapped inside: the Conlon son never saw his parents again. He used to wonder why it was that both his parents had died that night, yet he had lived ... for what purpose?

For a few years Spot was passed from orphanage to orphanage, from foster home to foster home. No one he ever stayed with treated him well. He was harassed and abused, until finally he left and made his own life on the street… Becoming the King of Brooklyn, and possibly the most feared newsie to ever walk the streets of New York ...

That same newsie now walked alongside Racetrack in the chilly night air. Upon hearing the story of Spot's roots, Race couldn't think what to say. "I'm sorry," he mumbled lamely.

Spot sighed. He had given up trying to resist Race – the Manhattaner was hell bent on discovering the truth, and Spot had found through the course of their talk that truly he appreciated Race's concern.

"So …" Race continued. "Why don't ya let nobody call ya Benjamin, or even let dem know dat's ya real name?"

Spot let out a soft chuckle. He looked up from the street and his eyes laughed at Race as he gave his friend a small push. "Ya don't let me fahget nuttin', do ya Race?"

Race grinned back.

"Dis is gonna sound real dumb," Spot said softly, shaking his head.

Race put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't know what was causing this newfound sympathy in himself, but it seemed to work best on Spot when he was kind, and honest. So after only a moment's hesitation, he confessed "You ain't nevah said anythin' stupid in ya life – whatevah ya about tah say now can't be dat bad."

Spot looked unsure for a moment; but an eyebrows-raised, encouraging grin from Racetrack got him talking again.

"All dose people in da fostah homes, dey all called me Benjamin, yelled at me Benjamin, till I couldn't even remembah me own parents evah callin' me my name," Spot explained,"An' I hated dat I couldn't remembah. So I decided tah change me name, an' no one was evah gonna call me Benjamin again … till it was someone dat loved me …"

The last bit was almost lost in his mumbling, but Racetrack just caught it. It stunned him.

"So why'd ya tell me, Spot?"

Spot sighed heavily. "I dunno dat part, Race. I just did. I nevah planned to, and lookin' back, I can't think of a reason why. It just happened dat way."

Race nodded.

They walked for a little while longer in silence. Race had all the information he'd wanted. So why was he lingering? He couldn't tell. He decided it was best not to push his luck. "Well, I'se should be headin' back tah da Lodgin' house. I'll see ya latah Spot?"

Spot nodded, punching Race heartily in the shoulder and laughing. "A' course."

Race smiled back, and turned to leave.

"Heya ...Race?" Spot called suddenly.

Racetrack turned around in surprise.

"Thanks fah talkin' tah me. I'se appreciate it …"

Racetrack's smile was wide. It was good to hear Spot expressing sentiments that Race himself shared. "Don' worry about it none, Spot."

The two turned at the same time and wandered their separate ways. Both smiling the same silly smile. Both completely unaware of what they were getting themselves into.