Disclaimer: Yeah I wish I owned the newsies... In my dreams... but nah all rights to respective owners

16 Months Earlier

Jack Kelly wiped the sweat from his brow as he handed over the last of his papers for that day to a flirtatious young girl who couldn't seem to keep her eyes off of him. She giggled as she handed him a nickel which was four cents extra than the regular selling price.

"Keep the change," she said with another giggle as she batted her lashes at him and smiled suggestively. Jack forced a grin on his face and had to suppress a shudder of revulsion. The girl was not bad-looking until she flashed him that smile. Jack prided himself on not being too shallow when it came to looks, but he simply could not stop staring at those giant buck teeth. He could have sworn they shouldn't have been able to fit in her mouth. There was a time when perhaps he would have overlooked her atrocious teeth and taken advantage of her obvious lust for him, but now he realized that his standards had raised considerably. He had been courting Sarah Jacobs for almost a month, and she had already become the highlight of every day. In fact, he couldn't wait to return to the Manhattan boarding house where he knew she would be waiting. She got along well with all the boys and had made habit of going to the boarding house with her brothers when she had finished her duties as a laundress. In a way she had become part of the newsies themselves.

Jack tipped his hat at the buck-toothed girl and ignored her disappointed look as he hurriedly brushed passed her and began to make his way back home with an excited skip in his step. Had he not been so distracted by the notion of getting back to the boarding house, he would likely have noticed the gold tipped cane that was thrust in front of his knees, causing him to clumsily trip and topple dangerously before regaining his balance at the expense of his pride. Straightening his disheveled clothing, Jack turned to glare at the perpetrator of the whole escapade. Spot Conlon stood bent over his knees as he rolled with laughter, his face turning purple at the lack of oxygen between his cackles. Jack's ears turned bright red in embarrassment and irritation as he crossed his arms with a huff.

"Yuh should have seen de look on yuh face," Spot choked out between fits of laughter. His snickers didn't stop for a good thirty seconds, before he finally raised his eyes to meet Jack's infuriated gaze. His expression became somber immediately and Jack swore he looked almost regretful.

"Ah come on, Jacky-boy, I's only messin' wit' you." Jack allowed himself to glare for just long enough to cause Spot to fidget in slight discomfort, before he felt the corners of his mouth curl up into a sheepish grin. Spot smirked back, and before the boys knew it, they had both burst into laughter. Spot made his way over to Jack and clung to his shirt as his legs became weak in the hilarity of it all. Jack patted him on the back as he desperately tried to stem his own chuckling. The two boys laughed for what felt like an eternity, clutching their stomachs, and eventually forgetting altogether what had been so funny.

Finally, their giddiness began to wane, and Spot lifted a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes as he gave Jack a genuine smile. These were the moments that Jack lived for. After the strike he and Spot had grown to be close friends. In fact, Jack would probably call Spot his best friend, even above his pal David. Spot and Jack understood each other and got along better than anyone else. They would often spend time together just talking about their lives while they shared a smoke or patrolling the streets of New York. Besides that, the two leaders had brought about a partnership between the Manhattan and Brooklyn newsies. While the other boroughs had gone their separate ways after the strike, Jack and Spot had remained united in friendship, and had built their two boroughs into an impenetrable force. No one messed with Brooklyn and Manhattan, and the boys felt as though they ruled the entirety of New York. Spot, with his renowned reputation as the King of Brooklyn, brought fear and respect to both boroughs, while Jack was the voice of their united front. It was true that Spot was more famous and seen as the "higher leader" of the newsies, but Jack didn't mind. Spot was his best friend, and most people didn't realize that sometimes he was just a boy, and not the ruthless King of Brooklyn. It was moments like these that Jack was proud to be one of the only people to whom Spot showed his true self. Spot had a reputation to uphold, and never opened up to anyone the way he did to Jack, with the exception of maybe Race. So as Spot gave him that smile, Jack felt like he was on top of the world, and like no one else would ever know what it was like to be friends with Spot Conlon.

"I ought tuh get back atcha fawh trippin' me, Spot.," Jack said as he raised his fists like he wanted to fight. "Yuh know dere's nuttin' a man values mawh den his pride."

"Hey now," Spot said while he squared his shoulders and took on a threatening pose. "Yuh know dat no one messes wit' Spot Conlon unless dey're ready tuh meet dey're makuh."

No one really knew who had coined the phrase. Whether it was one of Spot's boys, someone he'd soaked, or even Spot himself, but, still, everyone in the lower class had heard it. Anyone who knew anything about gangs, or the newsies, or the life of the poor also knew to fear and respect Spot Conlon. When he walked through the slums people would whisper and avert their eyes as he passed. They bought his papers out of fear that if they didn't, he would find them and kill them in their sleep. Jack thought it was all hogwash, himself, but he never said anything to Spot about it. Spot was proud of his reputation. He'd never killed anyone, to the best of Jack's knowledge, but he didn't mind if people thought he had.

Don't mess with Spot Conlon unless you're ready to meet your maker. Jack shook his head and laughed a little. The Spot Conlon everyone else knew simply didn't match the Spot he knew. Of course, he could remember a time when he too feared the boy who stood before him. There was a time when he would have cowered at the look Spot was giving him now, but that was so long ago it seemed like another lifetime.

"What's on yuh mind anyway, Jacky-boy?" Spot smirked knowingly. "Dat dame o' yawhs?"

Jack punched him in the shoulder, causing him to lose balance slightly, the smirk never once leaving his face.

"Ah shut up, Spot," Jack grumbled, but he couldn't hide the smile that crept onto his face. What could he say? Spot's happiness was contagious; it always had been. Spot smacked him on the back and the two began to walk down the streets of Manhattan.

"Yuh know, I'm not shoh whatcha see in huh, but damn she makes yuh happy. And dat's what's important, right?"

Jack didn't answer. He simply smiled again before turning away from his friend to forge on toward the boarding house. Spot hurried after him until he fell in step beside him and they walked side by side in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable or awkward silence by any means. The two boys were comfortable in each other's presence and didn't need to make small talk. They had walked the streets together what felt like a thousand times in the past month, and by now it felt natural to both of them. When they came to the statue of Horace Greeley and were nearing the boarding house, Jack finally broke the silence.

"So, what are yuh doin' in Manhattan today, Spot?" he asked testily.

"What? Can't a man visit his friend wit'out havin' a reason?" Spot gave Jack his infamous smirk. It was true the two of them were good friends and that Spot spent a lot of time in Manhattan, while Jack spent some time in Brooklyn. In fact, all the boys of the two boroughs could be seen at either location at any given time. When Jack and Spot had originally announced that they'd be joining the boroughs they had been met with some resistance, especially from the Brooklyn boys, but over time the newsies began to get along and some even formed close friendships. The Brooklyn newsies could often be seen teaching the Manhattan newsies to fight or shoot, while the Manhattan newsies would provide them with extra food or money. Sometimes Jack didn't even know if his boys would be staying in the Manhattan boarding house or the Brooklyn one; it was almost like they all had two homes. The only exception was that every newsie always sold in their own borough. That would never change.

Spot, however, was different. Spot didn't waste his time by coming to Manhattan just to visit. He always had a reason- a motive. Whether it was to talk business with Jack or gamble away his savings with Race, Spot never came just to hang out. Jack knew that this time was no different and he sighed.

"Quit playin' mind games, Conlon, I know you's up to somethin'."

Spot's smirk only grew bigger.

"Know what today is, Jacky-boy?"

Jack rolled his eyes.

"No, Spot, I doan know what today is. So would yuh quit bein' such a scab, and tell me whatcha on about?"

"Why, Jacky-boy," Spot place his hand on his chest and acted like he was in pain. "I'm hurt yuh fawhgot."

Jack had had enough. He sighed in exasperation and threw his hands up frustratingly.

"Well maybe I'd remember if yuh just told me, yuh dumbass," he said grumpily. Spot's smirk never wavered.

"It's August 30th, Jack," Spot stated proudly. "It's me birthday and you, me supposed best friend, fawhgot all about it cawze yuh was too busy tinkin' bout yuh little girlfriend."

Jack mentally smacked himself. Of course. How could he have forgotten? Spot had been going on about his birthday for weeks, and Jack had totally forgotten. And the suckiest friend of the year award goes to…

"Jeez man I'm sawhry. I can't believe I din't realize."

"Ah it's okay. I ackshully came here tuh get me man Socks, who came here fawh de day cawze he felt sick. Said somethin' bout Brooklyn not bein' sensitive enough tuh take care of him." Spot laughed, knowing full well that the Brooklyn newsies were ruthless fighters who would never stoop so low as to play den mother to a sick boy. They had all been whipped into shape by Spot himself, who was as ruthless as they came.

"Anyway, I din't expectcha tuh do anythin' fawh me birthday. Okay?" he continued. "I just thought it'd be fun tuh make yuh head go in circles."

But despite this explanation, Jack still felt like a shitty friend.

"Well how about I make it up tuh yuh?" Jack said. "We'll head ovuh tuh de boardin' house togethuh right now, and I'll tell Sarah dat I can't hang out wit' huh tonight, cawze I gotta buy a drink fawh me best bud who just turned sixteen. How's dat sound?"

"Nah really, Jack, it's fine-"

"I insist, Spotty," Jack cut him off and grabbed his arm to begin pulling him toward the boarding house. Spot shook his head, but he followed his friend as they crossed the street.

Spot lagged behind the Manhattan leader as they made their way into the boarding house. Jack stopped to hold a conversation with Kloppman, who merely nodded at Spot as he passed by. Several of the Manhattan newsies patted Jack on the back or said hello to him with big smiles on their faces. Most of these smiles vanished almost immediately when their eyes fell on Spot, and they avoided his gaze as they went about their business. He recognized some of them: Skittery, Bumlets, Snipeshooter…

Boots was one of the only ones to acknowledge him, and Spot rewarded him by messing with his cap in a friendly way. He wanted to show the boys of Manhattan that they didn't have to fear him as much as they did. He wanted their respect, sure, but he couldn't help but feel like they would jump off a cliff if he asked them to. He wanted them to do some thinking for themselves and let him lead them out of reverence rather than solely out of fear.

Of course, he could hardly be friends with them. He didn't even consider the Brooklyn newsies to be his friends. To be a strong leader he couldn't become emotionally involved with anyone. Although to be entirely honest, Spot did have more friends in Manhattan than he did in Brooklyn. Before the two boroughs had merged Spot had allowed himself to make friends with some of the Manhattan newsies because he had never expected to become their leader one day. Now it was too late and there were a precious few in Manhattan who no longer feared the great Spot Conlon. Jack, Race, Boots and Kid Blink among them. As much as they drove Spot crazy when they rolled their eyes at him and proved time and time again that they didn't fear him in the slightest, Spot was grateful for them. The life of a king can often times be the life of the lonely.

"Hey Spotty-boy!" Speak, or rather think of the devil, Racetrack Higgins appeared to Spot's right and clapped him on the back.

"Hey, Race, how's it rollin'?" Spot replied with his usual smirk in place. Race grinned back and began to spin a wild tale about the Sheepshead Races, and how he'd almost made a hundred bucks on his last bet but had been cheated by a rich gentleman with a rather long nose that made him resemble the likeness of a large rich mouse. Spot laughed along with him, knowing full well that not one bit of it was true, but enjoying the other boy's company just the same.

He was so caught up in Race's story, in fact, that he failed to notice the brunette beauty enter the room until he heard a groan of disapproval sent in his direction. Turning away from Race, Spot's blue eyes were met with the annoyed hazel eyes of none other than Sarah Jacobs. She glared at him ferociously and crossed her arms.

"Who dragged in the dirt from the streets," she huffed out, emphasizing the bit about Spot being dirt. Spot felt the smirk on his face grow ten times larger at the comment. Not deterred by her infuriated look, Spot sidled up next to her and snaked an arm around her waist. Sarah flinched and stiffened at his touch. He grinned broadly. He loved the effect he had on her.

"Why?" he spoke into her ear with as much mock seductiveness as he could muster. "Miss me, Princess?"

Sarah shuddered and immediately pushed him off her. She raised a fist and attempted to land a sock on his face, but Spot had been anticipating it. With a smooth side-step he avoided the punch and instead caught her elbow and once again pulled her closer to him. She let out an enraged scream as she struggled to escape his grip, but Spot only laughed. The other newsies who had been watching were holding back their own guffaws at the girl's struggle, as they did not want her rage to turn on them. Just as Sarah's face was turning red with anger and embarrassment, Jack finally entered the room and put a stop to the situation.

"Hey, Spot, what's de mattuh witchu?" he complained as he pulled Sarah away. "Leave de lady alone, will yuh?"

Once she was free Sarah immediately straightened her dress and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. She glared vehemently at Spot and stuck her nose up at him as Jack clung to her protectively. Spot mentally rolled his eyes at the couple, but simply sneered and winked at the girl before turning his back on them and heading to the dorms to find Socks. He knew Jack would be annoyed at him for that, but he simply couldn't help it. Sarah was just too fun to tease. Besides, Jack knew that it was all fun and games. He knew that Sarah despised Spot, and that Spot loved messing with her, he just didn't know why exactly. In all honesty it had all started before the great strike had ever even entered the minds of the newsies of New York. Spot Conlon and Sarah Jacobs had met in early May 1899, just as the first days of the hot Summer sun had begun to emerge on the renowned city of New York…

Spot trudged through Central Park early on that Tuesday morning. The first signs of the rising sun were just appearing on the horizon; he figured it was close to six in the morning. Unbeknownst to any of his boys, Spot came to Manhattan every morning before sunrise. They all knew that he was always the first one to the distribution office, and that he left long before the start of a new day, but none of them knew why and nobody asked questions. They trusted Spot with their lives and never questioned his actions without necessity.

Reaching his destination, Spot began to make the climb up a small hill just outside of Central Park, facing Hudson River. The truth was that Spot did his best thinking in the mornings. Many a conniving plan brought about by the infamous King of Brooklyn had been conceived on the very mound his two feet stood on in that moment. It was a simple hill. Nothing special or flashy about it, and it was out of the way of the hustle and bustle of Central Park. Not many people knew of its existence, and that's what Spot liked about it. He came here every morning to sit at the peak of the knoll and watch the sunrise. Even in the dead of winter Spot came here to feel the wind on his face, let the glory of the first rays of sunshine wash over him, and simply clear his mind of all troublesome thoughts and anxieties. It was his spot.

As Spot neared the climax of the hill, he stopped. There was a girl. There was a girl in his spot. For a moment, he simply observed her. She had long, slightly curled chestnut brown hair that draped across her shoulders delicately; she wore a simple brown skirt with a white blouse, and held a thin blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders; she held herself proudly and her features were that of a headstrong young lady; she was pretty. But she was in his spot. And for that Spot could already feel the first prickles of aggravation building up inside him. Making his way over to her, Spot stood just behind her and cleared his throat loudly. She jumped, obviously startled, and whipped around to face the intruder on her peaceful morning. Her eyes met Spot's, and he couldn't help but stare. Her eyes were by far her most outstanding feature. Flecks of gold seemed to glow in a sea of hazel, and Spot could feel himself becoming captivated simply by the look of them.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" The sound of her voice broke Spot out of his reverie. She spoke like someone who had been educated. Middle to upper-class then. Remembering his annoyance, Spot's composure soured into a sullen glare.

"Who are you, and what are you doin' here, Sweetheart?" he growled out, never breaking eye contact. She backed up a step, slightly put off by his foul mood. Spot watched, amused, as she seemed to internally scold herself for revealing he'd intimidated her, and she immediately returned his glare and positioned herself mere inches from his face.

"I asked you first, you prick," she said angrily, her eyes flashing in irritation. Spot stared at them, once again noticing their beauty. Her scent washed over him in waves, and he couldn't help but notice the sweet smell of honey and vanilla. He smirked.

"I'm the King of Brooklyn," he said haughtily. "Yuh will have heard of me, of cawhse."

Spot was well aware that it was very likely that she hadn't heard of him, as she was most likely from a higher class. He was mainly famous in the lower classes of the city, and his reputation had yet to extend to the middle and upper classes. Add that to the fact that she was also likely from this side of the river and not Brooklyn, and it was very unlikely that she'd heard the whispers and gossip about the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. But he still wanted her to know that he was important. The only way to do that was to act just arrogant and conceited enough to let her know that he had power and influence in these parts.

"For your information, I haven't the faintest idea who you are," she scoffed. "And I don't have time for conceited little boys who think they can just swoop in, acting all high-and-mighty, and have me falling at their feet because they think I'm their sweetheart."

Now Spot was angry. No one made fun of his size. No one. Spot may be short and thin, but everyone knew that he was one of the best fighters in Brooklyn, and that even though he may not look like much, you simply didn't mess with him. Ever since he was a boy Spot had soaked people for ridiculing his size, and now they all knew not to mention it. He was small, but he was also unbelievably fast, and could pack a punch at any time.

In the blink of an eye Spot had reached out, latching onto her wrist in a steel grip. She struggled at first, but stopped when she met his infuriated gaze, and began to tremble at the sheer amount of rage and power radiating off the boy in front of her.

"If yuh know what's best fawh yuh, Sweetheart, you'll get de hell away from here and quit actin' like you's de princess of New Yawhk," he growled, putting all his years of authority behind his voice. Her eyes widened as his grip around her wrist tightened. "Yuh may have not heard of me, but I can assure yuh dat I's not someone yuh wanna be messin' wit'. Go ahead, go ask people about de King of Brooklyn. See what dey say."

He released her from his grasp, and she immediately pulled her arm away and began to rub her sore wrist, where the red imprint of Spot's hand could be clearly seen against her pale white skin. He smirked at that and peered at her expression. At first, he could clearly make out the trepidation sketched across her face, but even as he watched, her fear melted into anger, and she looked at him in absolute disgust.

"You know I was wrong, I have heard of you," she said. Spot felt his smirk waver slightly, not expecting her to say that. "You're that one boy, who thinks he's so special that he flaunts about, ordering people around, thinking he's some kind of king, when really he's just a low-life, good for nothing nobody, who has no right to even speak to me."

Before Spot could reply, she drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. Astonished by her show of defiance, he simply held his aching cheek as he watched her turn and run away, clearly terrified at his reaction. He had used all his intimidation on her, and still she'd had the guts to go and hit him. Some grown men had been too cowardly to do the same. He felt his lips turn up into an amused smile as he watched her until she disappeared. She may be an impudent little thing, but she sure had fire. Spot would never admit it out loud, but the prejudiced, cheeky young girl who had invaded his spot that day had completely and thoroughly impressed him.

The days that had followed Sarah had continued to come to his spot, clearly wanting to make it her own daily start of every morning. Whenever she saw him, however, she would immediately stomp away, muttering heatedly. They rarely spoke in those days, and when they did their conversations consisted of taunting each other and arguing back and forth about meaningless things. Spot took to calling her "Princess", because he claimed that she desperately wanted to be the princess of Manhattan, which she absolutely despised. When he discovered that she hated the nickname, he refused to call her anything but, loving how livid it made her. She also never called him anything other than "insolent git," and the two never bothered to exchange their real names.

After a couple weeks of their fighting for the spot every morning, Sarah had finally stopped coming. Spot supposed she simply decided it wasn't worth it and gave up trying to win against the stubborn boy from Brooklyn. He was surprised to find that he missed the little squabbles he had with her every morning, and that his spot became considerably less exciting once she stopped showing up.

He never thought he'd see her again, and during the months between their first encounters and the days of the strike, he thought little about the obstinate, witty girl with the glowing hazel eyes. When Jack had first told him he was bringing a girl to the rally, he had not given it a second thought, so when he had arrived at the rally to find none other than the princess herself hooked around the arm of the Manhattan leader, Spot's smirk had grown bigger than it ever had before. The look of sheer astonishment on her face had been enough to cause him to burst out laughing, and receive several, questioning looks from the other newsies in the room. Spot had played it off like he had never met her before and had introduced himself like he would to any lady, even, to her absolute horror, taking her hand and kissing it gently, and, as usual, calling her the princess of Manhattan. From then on, the two began to see each other quite frequently, and Spot never missed a chance to make her squirm. She often attempted to slap him, or strike him in one way or the other, but to Spot she had become quite predictable. He easily avoided her swings, and to her annoyance he had grown both taller and stronger over the Summer, and only continued to grow as time passed. He now stood at a tall 5'9 and was just a few inches shy of Jack's own tall stature. He was finally growing out of his years of being the smallest boy around, and soon his profile would match the expectations held within his reputation.

Spot found himself grinning as he remembered the way he had met the princess, and he chuckled to himself at the thought of how angry he'd made her just moments before. He would never grow tired of teasing her, and it always brightened his day, even if he knew Jack would be on his back about it later. Jack would simply have to learn that he and Sarah would always act cholericly toward each other, and that things would never change between them.

After several long minutes of searching, Spot finally found Socks resting on a mattress in one of the back rooms of the boarding house. Waking the younger boy, Spot convinced him to make the journey back across the bridge, and the pair made their way back to their own territory. Before they left, Jack stopped Spot and told him he would be over in Brooklyn later to buy him that drink. Spot had simply nodded before leaving, knowing full well that Jack intended to keep that promise, and that he would not have fully enjoyed his birthday until the two of them had downed several drinks, and were completely and utterly intoxicated.

Alright so that's chapter 1! Let me know what you think and please follow the story for more! I plan to update every weekend so I will hopefully finish this story before the end of the school year. Also, you'll notice that I have attempted to write in a New York/uneducated accent, but let me know if I mess anything up or if it doesn't make sense, and I'll do my best to fix it. Thank you for reading!