Author's Note: Another turning point, yea. This story is coming along nicely – I only have a few more big plot points before this story is done. I guess that's one good thing about writing a companion piece to another story – you always know where your characters are going. Woot.

I did realize a stupid mistake that was kind of huge. I kept referring to the date as 1895 but it's not – it was 1893. I'm going to go back and fix that later, but, just so you know, the 1894 is correct.

And, yes, the Maria lust-references are intentional. She'll be coming back into the story in a big way within the next few chapters (and her murder will be solved).

Disclaimer: These are always mandatory when dabbling in fan fiction. If there is anything at all that is reminiscent of the 1992 musical Newsies, then it probably belongs to Disney. The characters of Luke/Rip & his family, Caitlin/Spindle, and Jessa, specifically, are mine, as well as others that may work their way into this story. Any others belong to their respective authors and will be noted in individual disclaimers.

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A Virgin's Touch

07.26.06

They say that what men desire is a virgin who is a whore.
Maybe that's what I was looking for. It's what I made her, after all.

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PART X

Christmas came and went just as quickly as Thanksgiving did. The feast thrown by the Children's Aid Society was just as large and enjoyable as the one from November; this time, Mack was able to get an apple pie, a figgy pudding and the name of the daughter he had been skirt-chasing since the last feast (Sophia Grant). Mr. Smith made the toast for the season and offered free lodging fare for the week following Christmas. As the winter season had proven to be as bad as the first snowstorm suggested, the bunks were very crowded that week.

Rip's birthday came that first week of January, January 3rd to be exact. He had been born in 1879, making him now fifteen years of age. For the first time in a while, Rip thought back to the family he had left behind and whether or not they remembered if it was his birthday. He wondered how his brothers were doing and if his mother's sickness had been cured yet. And he thought about Maria.

He thought about Maria more and more those days. When he wasn't selling, or spending his time with Spindle, he would lay in his bunk and think about his sister. She would have been fourteen on the 11th of December and he had found it hard not to leave Harlem and spend that day sitting beside her gravesite. If it wasn't for Spindle and her insistence that he spend the afternoon in her bed, he would have gone. Considering there was a blizzard that night, demonstrating his bleak yet tormenting emotions of that day, it was a good idea that he remained in doors rather than try to brave the storm.

He didn't tell Spindle why exactly he was upset. He had tried to tell the redhead about his sister only once before since that first night in Spindle's room and she had grown upset listening to him describe how sweet and beautiful and innocent she had been. He didn't understand why she seemed jealous; Maria was his sister, after all. But Spindle, despite the front she put forth, was a lot more intuitive, especially when it came to Rip's emotions – even if he couldn't admit the lust he felt for his sister, Spindle knew.

For his birthday, Spindle offered him two gifts. Despite the fact that he spent more time in her bed than in his own – the pair had bribed Gimmick by then to keep her mouth shut about their comings and goings – Spindle gave him the gift of herself. She was the more experienced of the two and normally was in control in the bedroom; for his birthday, she let him do what he wanted. After that night, she was never in control again.

The second of the two gifts was a trip to the barber. When he lived with his family, Rip's hair – as well as his three brothers – was cut by their mother every month to ward of any sort of lice they could pick up from other children. Ever since he left Little Italy in favor of Harlem, his hair had grown out of control and he was almost certain he had contracted nits.

Even though Spindle liked the front lock of hair that covered his icy eyes, she decided it was high time for him to cut his hair. So, for the first time in nearly ten months, his hair was cut and he looked like the boy he was when Maria was murdered. And he felt a little bit better about himself for it.

--

Slowly, but surely, Spindle was working her way under his skin. He would never say that he loved her but there was tie there, a tie between them, that he could not deny. If he had to explain it – and, he didn't, since both of them were particular in making sure that no one knew about their relationship but Gimmick – he would say that they were just the perfect fit. Spindle was almost as emotionless as he was, at times, and held no love for anyone but herself. And maybe Rip – in the least, she was very possessive of him. The one rule she had for him, in exchange for his free trips into her bed, was that she was the only girl for him.

He thought she was referring to his only whore. She was not. Either way, he agreed.

The first time, apart from the instance when they first met and he saw sadness within her green eyes, that he saw that she was not exactly whole was when Rip bumped into Aisling, one day after leaving Spindle's room. He had neglected to tell Spindle about the time he slept with Aisling – it slipped his mind, really, and, later on, he didn't see how it was her business at all – so when Spindle, who had followed Rip out of the room to wash up, saw the familiarity in which Aisling greeted Rip, she changed.

Her lips, normally quirked coyly, had turned downward as she stomped over to her boy and the whore who was petting his hand. "What's going on?" she said, but in a falsely high voice. Rip knew she was upset just by the way she spoke; Aisling didn't have a clue.

She, unaware of the relationship between Rip and Spindle, put her hand against his chest. Smiling at Spindle, she said, "Have you met Rip yet, Caity? I had him in my room when his first visit to the Brothel and I was just asking him when I'd see him again. I'm the best here, you know." Then she patted his chest once and laughed, to show that she was only joking around.

Spindle didn't seem to think so.

Rip watched as Spindle, with more force than he would have ever given her credit for, slapped Aisling hard across the face. He didn't know what exactly happened after that. Aisling, covering her face, had swung back at Spindle but, before Spindle could retaliate to Aisling's strike, Cecilia came storming down from her room upstairs. Rip, once he saw Cecilia coming to break up the fight, fled from the Brothel. He was afraid she might demand payment for all the times he had been in Spindle's room.

The next time he saw Spindle, shortly before St. Valentine's Day, she laughed over the matter and explained that it was just a misunderstanding between her and Aisling. Everything was back to normal, she had said, before going ahead on to celebrate the holiday.

Rip nodded his understanding. It was all he could do before he lost himself in her touch.

And then, one day in the beginning of March in 1894, she was gone.

--

He found out in a difficult way, actually. It was still dark that morning, the sun had not risen yet, and Rip still had an hour or so to rest before going down to the Distribution Center. A loud thundering woke him up – as well as most of the boys who retaliated by cursing under their breath and trying to cover their ears with their pillows – but it wasn't until a pair of rough hands shook him that he was truly up. He opened his eyes and, by using the dawn glow, he saw that Mack was leaning over him. "Rip? C'mon, kid. Get up." And, before he turned and began to thunder back down the steps, he pushed something into Rip's hand.

Not wanting to upset any of the other boys, Rip, wearing only his union suit, climbed out of his bunk and followed Mack downstairs into the lobby, the flat, square item clutched in his hand. Mr. Smith hadn't arrived yet to do his morning duty, so it was just the pair of them together: Rip, scratching his head and yawning; Mack, standing there with blood on his hands.

Blood on his hands?

Rip was awake at once after seeing the crimson – well, now brown – liquid that stained his hands. "What the hell happened?"

"You should ask your girl," Mack replied, seriously for once. There was no trace of a smile on his face; his eyes were dull. If Rip didn't know that the boy standing before him was Mack, he would have thought that he was an impostor.

"My girl?"

"Yeah, your tramp. She decided to go after one of the girls. Unfortunately for me, I was fucking the girl at that exact time and got her blood all over me. I'm just glad that she's going to be alright. Spindle don't got no aim, I tell you." He was frowning, just then, as he took a seat at the bottom of the steps. He looked like he didn't have the strength to stand up any more. He hasn't gotten any sleep yet tonight.

Without even stopping to wonder how Mack found out about him and Spindle, Rip shook his head. He had gotten to know Spindle quite closely in the last four months. While she seemed to be his almost counterpart, though female, he never got the sense that something was really wrong with her. Or, at least, any worse than he was. He was a murderer – she couldn't have done anything worse than that, could she? "I can't believe it. Spindle hurt one of Cecilia's girls?" Maybe he understood what Mack was saying. It wasn't like the boy was being forthcoming with information.

He felt Mack's eyes on him at that moment followed by a soft pat on his shoulder. "Listen, Rip. I warned you about her but I didn't really warn you, did I?" He paused and shook his own head. "I'm telling you, that is one whore you don't want to mess with. She may be a good lay but she'll take your balls before she's done with you. Though, by the look on your face, she's already got them in her damn hand."

Rip shrugged off Mack's hand. In a way, he didn't want to believe that Spindle was capable of doing that. Never mind that she all but admitted to him that she left her orphanage after attacking another girl. She turned on one of her own? Why? She had never showed any odd or violent tendencies when he was around. Except for that one time with Aisling… Oh shit.

"Who was it?" He almost didn't want to know, though he was pretty sure he did. Who else would Spindle attack? Shit.

Mack didn't say anything right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was a lot lower than normal and it almost sent chills up Rip's spine. "It was Aisling," he said, confirming Rip's suspicion. "She just ran in on me and Ais, yelling some crazy shit and then whipped out a knife. She got Aisling right in the arm before she turned and ran. Stupid tramp."

Rip almost couldn't believe it. If it wasn't for the blood that coated Mack's hands, and specked his face, Rip would have thought that it was all a joke. "You've got to be kidding me. That little Spindle? She stabbed Aisling? Why?"

Mack stood up from the step he was sitting on, slightly shaking as it was; the sun was slowly creepy upward and Mr. Smith would be entering through the entrance soon. He needed to get upstairs and change in order to alarm the old man. As he got up, using the wooden banister for support, he pointed to the flat thing in Rip's hand – the envelope that he had given to the younger boy. "She left that for you, mate. Cecilia found it on her bed – it was the only thing left in her room. She must have been planning this, crazy kid." He shrugged. "I guess if you want answers, you'd better open that up and see."

Rip's eyes, colder than Mack had ever seen them, went from Mack's face to the stock paper in his hand. Slowly, his lip quirked and a twisted smile crossed his face. And then, before Mack could say anything about it, his left hand took the other side of the envelope and he tore the paper in half. He continued to do so until there were only bits of coarse paper in his open hands. He could make out scrawling on the torn pieces but, due to the small size, could not read any of the writing. Good. Then, with a swift breath, he sent the bits wafting to the floor.

He didn't want to know at all.

Fuck Spindle. He liked Aisling and she didn't deserve that. No one deserved to be stabbed.

Especially not Maria.