The Royal Flush

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Tee hee. Hello.Um, okay. Hehe. Hi. Long time no see…I would say I'm very sorry for not updating for so long, but I can't, because I personally think I had a good reason! What reason, you say? Um.

Well, this chapter was REALLY HARD. I had like a whole ten pages of re-writes and re-re-writes. I simply couldn't get any of it right…and I'm still not happy with it now either. But I just thought: Ah, whatever. I forced an ending to it. And since it's been such a long time since the last update, I'll put a recap, see? Btw, Ace is in a bad mood in this chapter, so watch out.

OH, and check out my profile. There's a face to Philip Danford now. Remember that kid in Air Bud? Kevin Zegers? Yeah, that's him! Tell me what you THINK! And remember Verge? The blonde, sullen newsie from Harlem? I found a guy for his character too; he seems to have made it to one of the likeable semi-characters, and I like him as well, so I think I'll be using him later on.

The links are in my profile as usual, so click over if you wanna see.

And since we're talking about faces to characters, I'm making a character list in my profile. For those whose characters are being used in my story, (Artemis, Pike, Jackal, Cat, whatnot), I would like to put them up too! So if you can, could you tell me what guy/girl you want as your character and I'll put them up to the list. If possible that is, I know how hard it is to find a real human being to represent a fictitious character.

Well, then. Enough with me blabbering.

On With the Chapter!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Recap:

Dear Journal,

I'm so tired…I could just fall asleep right now. But I won't. I've got to write this down.

I've decided that people like O'Connell aren't all that bad. They like to slither out of things, but when they don't, they do their job well. They just don't notice the importance of things sometime. This time, thankfully, O'Connell did.

Cat woke up once and was aware of the fact that I was staring at her. She gave me a puzzled, sarcastic look before falling back asleep. Yeah, well, she wasn't a talkative person.

A sort of warmth swept over me as I looked over at Cat. Her fever had cooled down and she was breathing easier now. She was going to be alright. She was going to be alright.

And I had helped her, with Philip's help. What a night! A swell of pride filled me and I turning back to my journal.

Cat survived the night. O'Connell said if she does, she'll be fine.

I guess he was a doctor after all, and not a mad scientist.

I wonder who Philip thought I was when he tried to strangle me.

I wonder when Spot's going to come back.

I wonder if Philip is coming to the dinner.

I wonder if Spot found Duke.

I wonder if he's alright.

He knew who he was even before he saw his face. It was the stance that what was most familiar: hands clasped behind him, head held up high at an imperious tilt, shoulders straight and back. Spot had always thought it was as though he considered himself some sort of royalty. As though he was better than everyone and the world ought to know of it.

And yet, wasn't that was everyone thought Spot himself was like?

He watched his former friend a moment longer, vaguely disconcerted with this thought. He frowned. Concentrate. This is no time to lose focus.

He was tempted to just rush Duke from behind and finish him off. He was angry enough, and bitter enough. However, considering Duke was his former second-in-command, he would probably be prepared for something of the sort. So Spot settled for tapping his gold-topped cane on the ground before him and leaning on it languidly, making his presence known.

"Just in time," remarked the other, without bothering to turn around. "I knew you'd come sooner or later."

There was something in the way his former friend said those words that actually stung Spot's pride. He was insinuating that Spot was here because he was summoned. As though Duke had spun the situation into his own hands and knew Spot would have to come. As though he had come crawling on his hands and knees to his former friend. Like a subject to his king…

Maybe he shouldn't have come.

But one of his Brooklynites was dying. He was not going to let an outright slap in the face like that get by.

Duke turned then, as though he had sensed Spot's discomfort. The faint light from the lamppost next to him cast shadows upon his features, but his face was now visible. It was a face Spot had become used to loathing.

For the first time in a long while, Spot found himself dangerously close to losing his self control. He struggled to regain himself, but to his dismay, found himself slipping as anger threatened to engulf him. A wave of bitter memories rose up against him and he remembered all too clearly how hard Duke's betrayal hurt. This was too personal, too painful a memory to be able to maintain his usual calm.

He knew everyone thought he was completely impenetrable and invulnerable. He wanted them to think so. But it wasn't always true. Duke had been one of his closest and most trusted friends. He had turned right around and stabbed Spot in the back. And the wound was still store.

"You've changed," Duke smiled thinly, but Spot noticed that it seemed forced, "Grown taller, for one thing."

Again, that condescending tone, but the insult was cheap. It was a clumsy attempt to get a rise out of him and in a flash, Spot recognized it for what it was. He recovered from his momentary weakness and his mind cleared as he drew inner strength from the knowledge that Duke was as affected by his presence as he was. He smiled agreeably at Duke and eased his tight grip on his cane. "You, on da other hand, ain't changed at all."

Duke reacted slightly, which surprised Spot. Then he smiled in a faint, amused manner, as though he were remembering a fond memory. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," he replied, his familiar dark eyes revealing his humor, "Someone told me that people change."

Spot was puzzled by his reaction, but he said smoothly, "You'll never change, Duke. People like you don't change."

The trace of humor in Duke's eyes disappeared like a candle snuffed out of its light. He folded his arms across his chest and eyed Spot, who stonily returned the gaze.

So this is how it's gonna be…

For a brief moment, both of them watched each other warily, trying to penetrate and read the other's thoughts. Both failed.

That had always been the problem, Spot mused as he silently returned Duke's stare. No, not that they couldn't read each other's thoughts. The fact they always tried to. The fact that they were much too alike. They were both born leaders. Brooklyn had always been too small a place to hold the two of them.

Perhaps, if he had been in Duke's place, he might have done the same and…

No.

He wouldn't have. He wouldn't have betrayed a good friend for territory. There was a line, and Duke had crossed it.

He stopped leaning on his cane and straightened, swinging it back and forth in a bored manner. "So why Queens of all places?" Spot raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Way too predictable, Duke."

"It's a good place to lose yourself in. And a good place to be found."

"Danford knows you're here?"

Duke's eyes focused sharply on Spot for a second and then again, flashed darkly with humor. "Danford…Philip Danford?" At Spot's silence, Duke's lips tugged upwards and he then gave a short, cynical laugh. "He's a fool. The boy has no idea about what's going on in his own borough."

Spot's eyes followed Duke's hands watchfully, trying to discern where he had hidden those knives of his. He still remembered how fast he was with the blades. The point was to have an idea from which point they'd come. They'd be in wrist sheathes, probably. Duke had always liked the wrist sheathes. Or perhaps strapped to his shoulders. Throwing knives there, usually.

"You received my message, I suppose? It was a bit dramatic perhaps, but I should think it got your attention…because here you are."

Spot glanced at him with alarming calmness. "Message?" he echoed. Then he grew serious, and his eyes narrowed dangerously, ""Cut da act, Duke," he said lowly. "You stabbed her. Dat's low, even for you."

"You worry too much. That's your problem."

"Is it?"

"You shouldn't have sent her."

"You shouldn't have come back."

Duke laughed outloud. "Still thinking it was my fault you lost all those Brooklynites? Still blaming everyone but yourself, aren't you?"

Spot murmured, "Don't be a fool, Duke. Dis is one story dat ain't got two sides."

Duke raised his eyebrows, but only remarked, "She alright?"

Spot was startled despite himself. "What?"

"Is she alright?"

"You stabbed her."

"She hated me. The only one who hated me."

"Must have felt good den, huh?"

Duke frowned, pressing his lips together. "Not really," his voice grew quiet, "I'm telling the truth this time, Conlon. I didn't want to do it. I didn't enjoy it."

Spot narrowed his eyes at the sincerity in Duke's voice. "What are you talkin' 'bout?" Spot scoffed, "What, you had a change of heart since our last encounter?"

There was a queer silence. Spot felt a jolt somewhere inside as Duke seemed to search for words. Surely not. Surely Duke was not trying to tell him that he had changed. Even he couldn't be that…hypocritical.

Then Duke's dark eyes slid over to Spot's grey, an odd smile playing around his lips. "You misunderstand me. You know what I meant: I dislike having to involve other people. It complicates things."

Complicates things?

Spot clenched his fist, but somehow he felt relieved. This was the Duke he was familiar with. The other boy, either not noticing the danger signs or simply ignoring them, continued on, "I have to admit though, Cat is a splendid fighter. She left a couple of scratches...," he grimaced, but then grew serious again, "Like I said. I didn't want to hurt her. Give her my regards."

"You know what's funny, Duke," Spot gritted out, "It's how you're being all high up there and saying how you hated stabbing her. As if you had no choice."

"I didn't," Duke said in mock-surprise. "She was trying to kill me."

With a sudden surge of anger and strength, Spot grabbed Duke by the front of his shirt and slammed him backwards against the wall with controlled rage, taking satisfaction from the grunt of pain the other boy gave. "You filthy liar," Spot snarled icily, "You filthy, dirty liar! Cat's dying. She's dying, do you hear? And all 'cos of you!"

He drew back his fist and drove it at Duke's face with precise strength, but Duke's reflexes were fast. He blocked the punch swiftly, but instead of fighting back, he shoved Spot forcibly away from him. His dark eyes flashing with anger at having been taken by surprise, Duke's left hand disappeared to his back pocket with incredible speed.

Spot quickly regained his balance and out of reflex, grasped both ends of his cane with each hand in a defensive stance. He stepped backwards, knowing from experience what would be in Duke's hand when it reappeared again.

The two of them glared at each other with barely bridled hatred. Both tempers were frayed and close to snapping; a complete change from the previous unnatural calm. For a moment, it looked as though they were going to spring for each other's throats.

Then Duke sneered and his hand returned empty. "You forget, Conlon," he spat out the name as though it was a curse, "You forget that you're here because I wanted you here. I allowed you to find me. And you came, like the predictable fool you are. Now, are you ready to listen to what I have to say?"

Spot sneered right back, "And you forget dat you ain't holding anything over me. I can leave at any moment. I can even kill you right now and get it all over and done with."

This time, a knife materialized into Duke's hand from apparently nowhere. "You aren't exactly in the position to talk about killing people," he said icily, "I suggest you listen."

Spot tensed again, tightening his grip on his cane. Then his grip loosened as he realized what he meant. "We're not alone, are we?"

Duke smirked. "Ah, he finally understands."

Well, it wasn't as though he hadn't expected it. What mattered now was whether his gamble on Duke's pride would be right or not. Spot didn't think he'd kill him here, with no one to witness it. Duke would want him humiliated the way he had been: in front of his newsies and those who respected him.

Spot glanced around once, surreptitiously taking note of where Duke's thugs might be hiding. He then fell silent for a second longer, feigning indecision.

"Alright," he finally said and slung his cane through his belt loop. "Talk."

Duke crossed his arms and twirled his knife deftly among his fingers. "Well. First of all, I want to get this clear: I don't want Brooklyn."

Spot felt a flash of surprise but he remained impassive. "Get to da point."

Duke stared at him coldly. "I want you dead, Conlon. It's taking a lot of me to not slice you open now," his grip on the knife tightened, but then he merely flipped it, "But I won't."

"Because you don't like hurtin' people, right?" Spot laughed mockingly, "Or am I makin' a mistake?"

Duke grew very still. "You don't count, Conlon. Why should I spare you? You pride yourself on being heartless to yourself and to others. Isn't that right? So why should anyone treat you any different?"

Spot looked at his former friend with distaste. "You always enjoyed justifyin' yourself. As if you had a conscience to worry 'bout."

"And you do?" Duke scoffed, "I know you too well, Spot. If you had a choice between Brooklyn and the lives of one of them girls you have from time to time, we both know which you'll pick," he smiled thinly, "It's not like it hasn't happened before."

Spot chuckled humorlessly. "You keep accusin' me of stuff you do all da time. Yoah losin' my interest, Duke. What is it you want?"

Duke's features darkened. "For now...I want you to get back to Brooklyn. And make sure none of your newsies come after me, because I swear," his dark eyes grew flinty, "I'll do what I have to do."

Spot smirked. "You can try."

Duke's eyes hardened even more. "This isn't a joke, Spot."

Spot gave Duke a scornful look and met his eyes fully. "I ain't laughing, Duke," he stepped closer and Duke flicked his knife up warningly. Spot ignored it and continued in an eerily quiet voice, "And here's something else for you: Unless you wanna get what you got before, you better get yourself out of here. I ain't gonna change my mind. Brooklyn don't want you."

Duke glared. Spot stepped back and surveyed him impassively. "So you best back down."

Without another word, he turned briskly around and walked away in long, firm strides. Outwardly, he looked calm and relaxed. But inside he was alert and ready, his shoulder blades sensing Duke's eyes on him. He heard him swear and glanced back to see him walking in the other direction.

Spot did not try to follow him. He merely turned his feet towards Brooklyn, feeling suddenly very tired. This time Duke had won. One of his own had gotten hurt. And not only hurt, Cat was dying.

He should have known better than to wait for Duke to make the first move. By refusing to see the real threat in his enemy's return, he had risked lives. He should have acted immediately.

He paused, taking a deep breath as he forced his mind to stop berating himself. There was nothing he could do now, except be prepared for anything. Duke wouldn't stay in Queens since he now had been found…there was no telling where he would turn up next.

Or what he'd do.

Cat.

Was.

Scaring.

Me.

She and I were the only ones in the Lodging House now; everyone had gone off selling papes. I think they all assumed that I was now Cat's official nurse, so they made me stay. And here I was, trying to help her, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I guess she was making me a little nervous.

She woke up ten minutes ago and she immediately demanded to know where Spot was. I told her I didn't know, and asked her whether she was alright. She blinked and shrugged. She seemed a lot better than she was last night, and I told her so, cheerily.

She didn't answer.

I looked around the room rather desperately, feeling her eyes on me. Then I looked at her. She stayed silent for a minute longer and then spoke. "They dump you here to look after me?"

I nodded. "Yes. What do you want me to do?"

It seemed a silly question, and one that I ought to know and not she, but Cat took it seriously. "Water?"

"Sure."

So I gave her water and she surprised me by thanking me quite decently. Then her almond-shaped eyes focused on me. "Tell me what happened."

"Er?"

"I was dying," she said matter-of-factly. "How am I alive right now?"

I told my story. Somehow it was rather hard to leave out the parts with Philip than it was yesterday. She just watched me quietly the whole time, as though she was picking apart my explanation bit by bit. When I finished, I felt strangely exhausted, as though I had been physically straining the whole time.

"Doctor O'Connell?" she asked finally at the end.

"Yes."

She fell silent for another moment. Then she flicked a look at me and sat herself up with her elbows. I was surprised she had the strength. Her eyes had an odd sort of intensity in them when she said, "He's the doctor in Queens."

"That's right," I said, surprised. "You know him?"

"How'd you find him?"

I shrugged in my most nonchalant manner. "I looked."

Her eyebrows rose expressively. "Why did you go to Queens? Why go all the way there?"

I felt a sudden surge of annoyance at her suspicion. I had saved her life. Why was she questioning me? Or was I the prick for pretending to take all the credit? Some of my irritation must have shown on my face, because she let herself fall back on the bunk with a hiss of pain, closing her eyes. Or maybe she was just tired.

I opened my mouth to concoct another lie that I looked in Queens first because I knew it better, as I lived there before (well, this part was true). Then somehow my words sort of shriveled in my throat when she opened her eyes again.

"Thank you," she said again, seriously.

I shrugged. "No problem."

She fell asleep again, just like that. I sat there, feeling extraordinarily queer. I wandered around the room and then sat down on the bed, absently rubbing the bruises Philip had left on my neck. I sighed and fell back on my bunk, trying to figure out the mess in my head.

Hiding what Philip did for me did seem a little strange. What on earth did I have to hide? Philip was a friend, wasn't he? And just because he wasn't friends with everyone else doesn't mean that he shouldn't be with me. So why not talk about him?

Oh, really. Why was I being bothered about all this? Why was I even thinking about this? Of course I couldn't talk about Philip Danford.

The whole Queens vs Brooklyn thing, for example. Although Brooklyn didn't seem to have anything against Queens, there was still some unavoidable friction. They'd dislike the fact that I was fast becoming good friends with its leader. Disloyalty or some other rubbish.

And then there was the bigger reason: The moment they clap eyes on him, they'd instantly assume that I was cheating on Spot. I scowled at the air. That was sure to happen. Someone who looked as attractive as Philip; they'd instantly assume him to be the stranger who 'stole my heart' or some other rubbish.

And anyway, it was too late now. They'd ask me why I had kept him a secret in the first place, and then they'd go off and say:

"Oooh, because you two are together! Let's tell Spot, so he'll go all explosive and possessive and condemn you both to some hellish pit down in South Africa."

But, I firmly told myself, I had told Spot about Philip, some time ago. He said he hadn't met him, but had heard of him. So he wasn't exactly a secret. Spot knew about him.

Except, he probably thinks I haven't seen him since.

I felt vaguely annoyed with myself. Why was I worried about this? I hadn't done anything wrong.

Ace, you are an idiot.

I determinedly set my chin. What I needed now, I told myself firmly, was to see Spot. I was being all edgy because I was worried about him. That was all. I was sure he had gone to Queens.

And you know…about that…

Why did he leave us last night? It hadn't seemed important then, because I had figured he just couldn't handle one of his newsies hurt. I had even felt sorry for him. But now, I felt an ugly taste of bitterness somewhere inside. Why had he left? Of all the times to just leave. It was as though he had abandoned us – abandoned me -, by leaving us at such a crucial moment. Cat's life had been hanging by a thread. Why didn't he stay with us?

If he had been there, I wouldn't have had to go to Philip for help. He wouldn't have throttled me. If he had been with us, we could have settled this whole thing much faster and smoother.

Slowly, my nasty feelings grew. I told myself firmly that I needed to stop thinking so negatively.

"If," I muttered, "He has gone and got himself killed, I shall take him to that pit in South Africa myself."

Heh.

Well, the morning passed rather uneventfully. I was in a thoroughly rotten mood, and therefore, a rotten nurse. Cat woke up eventually because I crashed into a bunch of books Artemis had conveniently placed right behind the door of the washroom. I apologized and she rather coolly forgave me. I changed her bandages and made her drink plenty of water. And all the while cheerily trying to make hercheery. This is hard, especially when you are only pretending to be cheery and the other can tell.

I can see why Cat is one of the Difficult Brooklynites.

She's not outrightly unfriendly. She's not even rude. She just treats me, as she treats all the other Brooklynites, as a polite acquaintance. I suppose this was what was nagging at me. Never had I dealt with anyone who simply wouldn't relax. In a sense, it was a sort of snobbishness, wasn't it?

She's just so…well, it's like she's serenely assessing you all the time, and in a way that you can tell, so you just sit or stand there feeling a fool. It's just like Spot sometimes, except Cat's perpetually doing it, while Spot only does it when he thinks you're being an irritating bug.

We kept halting in our awkward conversation. We were just stumbling on, as if we both were trying to make each other happy by talking. How ridiculous. I thought about giving up and going to my bed because I simply couldn't see the point of all this. I was just about to do so and pretend to fall asleep when, to my surprise, I had an absurd revelation.

She was embarrassed. She was embarrassed about getting herself so hurt. She was embarrassed about having to be taken care of like this. She was embarrassed about failing Spot, which, I realized, she really, truly believed she did. And, she was extremely embarrassed about the fact that I, of all people, had been the one who had more or less saved her life.

Well, I suppose that was understandable.

At any rate, I found myself relaxing a bit after that. I even ventured to ask her: "Did Duke say anything before he tried to kill you?"

She flicked me a Look. And what a Look! Nasty awkwardness returned again. Then she said: "Funny you should ask."

"Erm?"

"It wasn't really like that," she said distantly, as though she was trying very hard to wish herself away from me, "He didn't try to kill me. I confronted him and he said…lots of things. He didn't try to kill me."

Immense shock. "What?"

"You thought he ambushed me and struck me down on the spot?"

I had. But I didn't want to admit to it, so I kept quiet.

"I was following him," she began, and I listened carefully because this would be the first time I heard what had really happened, "And he caught me. Yeah…I thought he was going to kill me right den and dere."

"Why didn't he?"

She shrugged. "Duke never did things like dat. He wasn't keen on the whole jumping people and stabbing them thing. He was more interested in playin' with people's feelings and twistin' dem around so dat dey did things he wanted dem to."

She sounded bitter. As if she had been one of those people. But then, weren't they all? Even Spot; he had gone off after Duke, just like Duke wanted him to.

She had fallen silent, as though she were remembering. I respectfully stayed quiet as well, until my curiosity finally got the better of me, as it always does. "So," I prodded, "What did you say?"

She sighed. "I told him what he was thinking, coming back to Brooklyn. He said he wasn't finished with any of us yet and that he wanted Spot beaten, humiliated. And then…"

I shivered. "What?"

She suddenly lifted her head and stared straight at me. "He told me to congratulate Spot on his most recent girlfriend," I boggled at her. She didn't look away, although I must have looked ridiculous, "He knew your name, Ace. He knew exactly who you are. And he told me dat Spot should value you for as long as possible, because it wasn't going to be long."

I felt as though hot water had been poured all over me. "What?" I whispered, feeling fear creep up my spine. I suddenly felt vulnerable and scared and…watched. I hadn't even seen Duke before. How could he know me? And what was that about Spot not having me much longer? Did this awful Duke plan to kill me?

Cat seemed to feel sorry for me, because she moved on swiftly, "Then he asked me whether I was still with that 'ridiculous oaf with da eye-patch,'" she tried to shrug, but only managed to move one shoulder, "I lost my temper, which he was expecting anyway. I tried to murder him. He fought back. He won."

I wasn't really listening by now. Duke knew me? How? Spies, my mind reeled wildly. It must have been spies. But then who? Could be anyone. Then why? Why?

"Before…," Cat supplied helpfully, as though she had read my mind, "Duke managed to steal Spot's girl. Didn't exactly break his heart, but Duke made him look bad in front of the others."

I could see where she was going with all this. I gave her a narrowed stare, not liking what she was trying to say.

She paused and looked at me. Then she went on, "Duke probably means to do the same with you. So you better watch out, Ace. Don't let our leader down. He trusts you and you-"

"Oh shut up," I rose up irritably, snarling (okay, I snarled at an injured, bed-ridden girl), "Just shut up. I won't do anything of the sort. I love Spot. You think I'm just gonna go off with some murdering maniac, who did this to you and even worse to others? You may think I'm ridiculous or ignorant or stupid, but I am not that shallow. Or that disloyal. So don't you think that I am. Don't you dare."

I suppose naturally this sort of speech is supposed to result with Cat staring at me in awed silence, with large astonished eyes or something like that. Instead, she flicked those bland, grey eyes at me in a sort of alarmed boredom. Alarmed boredom. As if she was scared of the prospect of having to listen to oh-so-loud Ace bellowing more dull things at her.

Peeved, I shut my mouth with a snap and sat down in my chair, feeling annoyed again. Oh really. This was ridiculous. We should be good friends by now. Why was she being so difficult? Or was I the one being difficult?

Minutes passed on. We weren't speaking to each other. Well, actually, it was I who wasn't speaking to her. She didn't seem to notice and/or care about the fact that she had just offended me by insinuating that I would fall in love with Duke so easily.

He knew about me. He knew. He knew my name, he knew that I was with Spot. Again, I felt that awful feeling of being watched, and I hated it. I felt…used, somehow, as though someone had violated my privacy. Who could have told Duke? Or had he found it out himself? Had he actually seen me? Seen me and added me into his plans? This must be it. Either that or I have someone who disliked me enough to tell Duke who-

Oh.

I felt my face blanch and for a second I felt dizzy, floored by my realization. I had completely forgotten about the one person who…who had hated my guts, truly hated me, and swore he'd make me pay for…well, actually, I never really got why he disliked me so. Spot and I both knew he would side with Duke. It wasn't that surprising really. He had done it before. But how on earth could I have forgotten him?

You know who I'm talking 'bout right? Of course you do.

Fire.

True, I hadn't seen him for weeks now. Ever since Spot had told him to get out Brooklyn, he had disappeared. I had been happy, although a bit uneasy about how easily he had taken his 'banishment.' And now, I knew why. He must have told Duke everything. So, like Spot had to deal with Duke, I would now have to deal with Fire. I felt like screaming with frustration. Whydid Fire have to come in again?? Honestly! And then this Duke guy, who knew all about me and planned to use me against Spot.

Gah!

This whole thing stinks.

"Hey, darlin'. Wake up."

Pause.

"Wake up. C'mon, Ace."

I blearily rolled over, irritated at the voice that kept persisting and bothering my sleep. Not that I was having any pleasant dreams, but I was dead tired. For a second, there was blissful silence and I slowly fell back to sleep again. Then something brushed against my forehead and a hand touched my shoulder. "Ace? Ashley?"

I groaned once and the hand persisted to touch my cheek. It was a gentle touch, but I reacted viciously, smacking my hand out in annoyance.

"Ow!"

My eyes cracked open and I blinked dazedly at the sight of an adorably attractive guy grabbing at his nose and swearing colorfully. I watched stupidly, still half-asleep and not comprehending what was going on. Then I realized what I had hit was him, and that he had come back, and that he was Spot, and I had been asleep. I stared at him, mixed feelings rising in me, and I rubbed at my eyes.

"You're back," I said, numbly. I didn't really know how I felt right now. All my old feelings came back, crowding into me and putting me in a thoroughly unforgiving manner. I remembered again how he had just left us - when we needed him the most- and it seemed as though now he had come crawling back.

Oh, what is wrong with me? Am I going on another emotional rollercoaster ride, like before?

Spot rubbed at his nose and said wryly, "Yeah."

I got up and looked at him. He just looked back and remarked, "You look tired."

I laughed, and the laugh didn't sound like it was mine. "No kidding," I said.

His eyes hardened, as if he found my behavior disturbing. (Yeah. That's me. Ace the Disturbed.) He glanced at Cat, who was still sleeping. "Let's get out."

We simultaneously crept out of the room and slipped downstairs where we could talk without fear of waking her. Then he turned and I narrowly looked him over. He didn't seem hurt or angry or depressed or moody or whatever. In fact, he seemed suspiciously light-hearted. What on earth? He abruptly grinned down at me, all charm.

He had been up to something; I could tell. I stared steadily through the charm and said very coolly, "You certainly took your time. Where've you been?"

His eyes seemed very much amused, and although I subconsciously admired their color and depth, I was still grouchy.

"Ace," he murmured, taking my hat teasingly, "Always smart, eh?"

I snatched the hat back. "Yes, I know. Where were you?"

He shrugged, still smiling oddly. "Around."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Who?"

"Duke."

"Ah. No; he didn't."

"You found him?"

He shrugged again and drew me closer, almost absently saying, "Wasn't hard, really. He wanted to be found. Why else do you think he hurt Cat?"

I paused, digesting this information. "Then…," I mulled it over, frowning and chewing at my lip. Then I saw the look on his face and scowled. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Nah."

"Heh, well, at least-," I stopped short of an insult and my eyes widened, then narrowed. "You mean you knew that it was a trap?"

"'Course, Ace. Don't insult me intelligence."

I pulled away and tried not to glower at him, but I failed miserably. I didn't want to be angry at him; I didn't want to argue. But words were already pushing themselves up to my throat, and I swallowed, knowing that this whole pathetic situation was going to end badly in tears or something worse.

His expression turned from amused to slightly concerned. "What?"

"Nothing. I don't-"

"What. Is. It."

I glared at him. Then burst out unpleasantly, "Why did you go?!"

All of my strained tiredness, all my feelings of fear and desperation that had been raging inside of me throughout the entire, terrible night before, my frustration towards her coldness to me, the violence displayed towards her, the knowledge that Fire was still out there…oh, I was aimlessly furious!

His lips parted slightly in surprise and his eyes widened. "Ace-"

"Why did you leave just when we needed you?"

He blinked again, properly startled, and then his grey eyes grew shielded. "What do you mean?"

I went on angrily, horrified as my eyes began to prick, "Cat was about to die and you…well, you just went flying off. So you were upset; but we all were. That's what I call selfishness, Spot," I could scarcely believe what I was saying, but I didn't stop, "Duke could have killed you too. Then where would we be? And Cat! If it weren't for Phi-," I cut myself off sharply and nearly bit down onto my tongue. "I mean, if you had been there, I'd wouldn't have had to go around searching all night for a doctor."

"If it weren't for who?" Spot inquired mildly, his eyes impossible to read. He didn't seem upset or angry or sorry. Those impossible eyes were merely calm and assessing as they watched me. It was a familiar look, and my mind wearily told me to stop.

I shook my head, suddenly feeling very, very tired. "Whatever, Spot."

I was afraid he would pursue the question, but instead he asked, "So you think I was a coward for leavin' you all?"

"N-o," I said helplessly, caught off guard by his forthrightness. "Not a coward."

His mouth tightened; his first display of emotion. "Den what?"

"I'm not calling you anything. I'm telling you that what you did was wrong; leaving us in a ditch with Cat while you went off to satisfy your own feelings about taking revenge on Duke! And…oh, I just hate this."

"Hate what?"

I gestured weakly, rubbing at my eyes, "I dunno. I just hate this. Hate, hate, hate-"

The LH door suddenly swung open with a loud creak. We both turned around rather guiltily. A tall, brown-haired boy stood there in the doorway, his entire body practically sagging, as if he had been running for a very long time. I didn't recognize him until he looked up, breathing hard.

"Hey hey, Kid," said Spot with no visible display of surprise. As if nothing was happening. It made me bristle.

"Came da moment I heard." As tired as he must have been, Kid Blink's one blue eye was alert and aware as he looked curiously from me and Spot and despite the dire circumstances, his mouth twitched slightly as if he were about to grin a little. Typical. Nothing ever gets him down; I have never seen him without a smile or a laugh on his face.

"Were you yelling at Spot?" he asked. I gritted my teeth and frowned at him in a grave, ugly way.

"Yes," Spot replied dryly, and threw me a swift look that made me flinch. "I don't know if it's me she's angry at though."

I cut in stonily, "Of course it's you."

"Hmm."

I whirled on Kid and snapped, "Cat's doing fine," I added pointedly, "She's sleeping upstairs."

Kid Blink's grin burst out, making his face light up with boyish relief. "Thanks, Ace," he added cheekily, "An' I'll take dat as a hint to leave you two alone."

Spot growled, "Why don't you step to it, den."

Kid chuckled and then ran lightly past us to race up the stairs. It was only after we both saw him disappear into Cat's room when Spot turned to me again. There was an uncomfortable silence as he seemed to wait for me to say something. I felt slightly calmer, or maybe it was simply that I didn't feel like arguing anymore. But I was still upset.

"You shouldn't have gone, Spot," I said pointlessly again, relieved that my voice was no longer shaking with emotion. It was as though Kid Blink had broken the tension in the room and made me realize that I had been ranting like a lunatic.

"Y'know what, Ace?" Spot remarked, drawing back. I lifted my chin defiantly, expected him to make some scathing remark about how I was overreacting, or how I simply didn't understand. Instead, he unexpectedly sat down on the stairs and stared straight at me. "I think you're right."

Instead of being stunned, like I always was when he made uncharacteristic remarks, I found that I didn't feel anything at all. Does this making me a demanding jerk-ess of a girlfriend? Or just too tired to react? I didn't know. But I was sure I was right. Or was I just tired of being wrong? But if he had been there, I wouldn't have had to go all the way to Queens to ask Philip for help.

Something prickled at the back of my mind just then, as though I was on the verge of finding out something important. I paused, waiting for it to make itself clear, but it merely faded away. I inwardly shook the feeling away, deciding if it was that important it would come again.

"Ace?"

I looked up to see Spot looking at me quizzically. "I'll make it up to you," he said seriously, and I had a feeling he was repeating himself, "I promise."

Whatever was left of my nastiness finally drained away slowly, leaving me feeling empty and weary of the whole situation. I didn't feel like arguing anymore. I guess I now understood Cat's feelings when she gave me that alarmed look when I had yelled at her. It was too tiring to argue.

"Yeah," I rubbed my eyes again and for some reason felt unbearably sad. For some reason, I told Spot, "Thank you."

He looked dark. "Nah. I think…well. Maybe I lost my head last night. Maybe I was selfish. Or maybe I just needed to face Duke. I don't know."

This time, I was surprised. I hadn't though he would go as far as say that. His lips twitched into a bitter smile. "I ain't perfect as everyone thinks I am, darlin'. I make mistakes too."

"Of course you do. You're human, aren't you?" I shot back rudely, but somewhere inside I felt a pang at his words. Did he think that I saw him in such a cruel, impersonal light?

He took off his hat and gave it a brief spin on one hand. "Sure I am. But I ain't as heartless as people think. And I do care 'bout Cat."

I blinked at him. "I know that."

His eyes flickered over at me. "Ya do?"

"I do!" But as I spoke, I remembered what I had said only minutes ago. I had implied that he did not care about Cat, hadn't I, by stating he had left without a thought for her or us? "Oh. Er…I know you care about us. I didn't mean…well, my point was that I wish you hadn't left last night. I didn't mean that you don't care about us at all. Like you said, everyone makes mistakes."

He laughed a little unsteadily, and a shiver crawled down my spine. "Yeah. Everyone. Even da great Spot Conlon."

I stared, feeling a trickle of unease at his behavior. In fact, he had been acting rather odd ever since he had come back. I hadn't noticed, because I had been moody and grouchy. But now, I realized in a flash that Spot was not being Spot. I had been the one doing all the talking (well, yelling, rather). I hadn't really paid any attention to what Spot might have been feeling after his confrontation with Duke.

Had I been the selfish one then? Yelling and screeching at him for caring only about himself, while I was doing the same…? I looked down. I was sick of being wrong. Sick and tired of it. I was sick of making mistakes. Sick of making a fool out of myself. Sick of being ignorant all the time.

… To not know one's faults is true ignorance…

Yeah well, thanks, Philip.

Spot was staring hard at something only he could see. Well, he had apologized to me. I suppose I owed him an apology too. But somehow, I couldn't do it. Shame and self-loathing kept the words from forming themselves. So instead, I asked very carefully, "What happened, Spot? What happened last night?"

He gave a flippant shrug, but I saw the intensity in his eyes. "He talked. I listened."

"Yeah, right."

He grinned wantonly. "Alrigh', I talked some too. He just wants me humiliated, Ace. Oh, and dead."

I frowned. "Then…why didn't he hurt you when you came?"

"Well, he thought it would be too easy. I was counting on dat; dat's why I went."

I bit my lip. "I don't understand."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you leave? Really?"

He was silent for a long moment. I waited, trying to see past the careful mask he had over his emotions. I hated that mask, by the way. Maybe it was because I had no control over emotions whatsoever. But if it was a real mask, I would have ripped it off of him. I hated it that much.

When he finally spoke, his voice was also toneless, except for a slight acerbic edge. "I couldn't put it off any longer. I knew things were boilin' up to somethin'. An' dat somethin' turned out to be Cat gettin' stabbed. It was my fault for not actin' da moment I heard 'bout him coming back."

I shook my head vehemently. "Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't have possibly seen that she was gonna get hurt."

Ignoring me, he went on, "I needed to see him with my own two eyes. I hadn't seen him for nearly two years. It's hard to fight with an enemy who might have changed. He may have become someone else altogether."

I asked curiously, "Had he? Had he changed?"

Spot's mouth tightened into a smirk. "Nah. He hadn't changed one bit."

I thought for a minute. "Not one bit? Is that really possible?"

All of a sudden, he gave me a sharp, perceiving look. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," I shrugged, inwardly startled by that suspicious look, "I don't mean anything."

"No?"

"Well. People change."

For a brief moment, I was in Queens LH; Philip Danford sitting across from me as he discussed the very same topic.

People can change…

What if one longs to amend a certain thing, but everyone else believes he cannot?

Spot however, nodded slowly, agreeing with me. "Maybe. Maybe people do. But some people don't."

"I see," I grimaced and vehemently swore. It made Spot smile, but he sobered too quickly. So I asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Find out what he has in mind next. Den break him."

His matter-of-fact tone made me shiver. He wanted revenge. Just like…like…Duke. My throat clenched and I immediately hated myself so much that I turned away from Spot to hide my face.

I felt absurd. Of course Spot wanted revenge, I told myself fiercely. Duke had been awful, and he was still being awful. I hated him, and I never wanted to meet him, ever. He deserved whatever was coming.

But doesn't that make us no different from him? Would Duke simply keep going, because of what we believed was justice and vengeance? Won't it simply end up with him continuing and us lashing back? Even if we told ourselves all we wanted was to be rid of Duke, we would inevitably involve others. What about those in Queens? Like Philip? He was already involved, because I had turned to him for help. Innocent people would be hurt, just like Cat.

Or was I being ridiculous again?

"What are you thinkin'?"

I plopped myself down next to Spot, feeling slightly more awake. I think his willingness to talk had woken me up. This was so strange. Our argument had turned into a debate, and now into a conversation. Is this normal? Maybe it is.

"My head's going around in things," I stated. "Or maybe things are going around and around my head. I don't know."

"What things?"

I turned so that I was facing him. "What you just said."

He sucked in a breath, sharply, but he didn't change the tone of his voice. "Revenge, eh?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

He smirked without humor. "Sure. Dis may shock you, but I ain't no saint. I want revenge. I want Duke dead."

"I see."

I shot a sidelong glance at his face. Taunt lines etched every feature, and right then and there, I knew for sure that he was capable of becoming so obsessed with getting back at Duke that he would unconsciously end up hurting others in the process. It was an awful thing to accuse him of, but revenge had a way of twisting itself around until you became the very thing you hated.

Aren't I deep?

I suddenly noticed that he was narrowing his eyes at me again.

"You're killin' me, Ace," he said suddenly, fiercely. "What is it you're drivin' at?"

I bit my lip and wavered. I replied carefully, "I don't want to see anyone getting hurt."

He sighed. What was he thinking? "I don't wanna see it either."

"But will you try?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"No, I mean…I mean it. Don't get so caught up in this whole thing with Duke," I pulled back and said earnestly, "Don't let it…let him…get to you. Don't become like him."

He blinked for a second and momentarily looked stunned. As if he had finally understood what I meant; that I didn't mean he had to protect others from Duke, but from himself. He looked as though I had physically struck him. You can't imagine how I felt then…but he had asked for the truth. I thought he would get up and stalk away then, because he looked angry for a second. Then his face changed and he gave a sigh, running his hands through his hair.

Then he looked at me. He took my hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the tips of my fingers softly.

"Love ya, Ace," he smiled faintly, "Thanks."

I grinned with relief, knowing then that he understood. "You're welcome," then I added, "And I'm sorry for exploding at you just now." Somehow the words were easier to say. "I didn't mean to."

"Yeah right."

I gave a tired shrug and tried to think up something fairly witty to say, but then my mind felt as though it was working at a snail's pace. The best I could churn out was a yawn. He blinked and for some absurd reason I giggled. Oh no, I thought helplessly. I'm so exhausted that I'm starting to find everything funny. Well, this could be good…or this could be bad.

He looked at me sharply, narrowing those amazing blue-gray eyes at me in a savagely concerned sort of way that rather affected me more than it should have.

"Don't look at me like that," I twinkled, "And yeah, I guess I did mean to."

Those eyes widened slightly and he looked incredibly angry. He furiously snarled at me, "You idiot. You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

I yawned in his face. "Now you notice? But you didn't sleep either."

"I did."

"Where?" I asked, although I didn't have a single scrap of interest.

He looked at me exasperatedly. "Does it matter where? On da streets; I've done it before," then he gave me a burning glare, "You're just a stupid girl, aren't you? You could have told me. One word, and I'd have left you alone."

I scowled. "You woke me up," I then added, "And I'm not 'just a stupid girl.'"

He paused. Then he stared at me as though I would disappear if he looked away. His face had a thousand different expressions on it and one of them was a shade of something very close to wonder. "No," he breathed, "You sure ain't. You're marvelous, darlin'. Walkin' round all night to save Cat and den forcin' me to see things straight again. Givin' me blasted advice, when you're practically fallin' to pieces. What'd I do without you?"

He abruptly grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, fiercely, holding me so close that I could scarcely breathe. "Here," he growled, breaking away and suddenly picking me up, "I'm gonna personally take you to bed, where you will sleep and get some rest."

I blinked, but didn't speak. I wasn't arguing at any rate. Besides, it felt maddeningly glorious to simply relax in his arms. He stalked up the stairs and then looked down at me. He remarked, "You're rather tiny, huh."

"Well then, in the future I shall try and become enormously humongous for you."

"Dat's not necessary…though I appreciate da thought."

"Hah."

"Hmm?"

"I said, 'Hah.'"

"Brave Ace."

"For what?"

"For… everythin'."

Kid Blink must have thoughtfully left through the back entrance, because only Cat was in the room. She was sleeping still. Spot rather unromantically nearly dropped me at the doorstep. He isn't some macho guy, you know; he's built more for speed than strength. But he gamely went on and more or less dumped me on the bunk.

I sat up and gave him a mock-glare. "You certainly are a gentleman," I said sarcastically.

He glanced at Cat and, smirking, said in loud stage-whisper, "Heard it all before, darlin'. Now get some rest."

"Four of the loveliest words ever."

He gave a short laugh and then without keeping me awake by lingering around, he simply went out of the room with long, brisk steps. I watched him go through already half-closed eyes.

I managed one thought before I fell asleep: Did I just have my first quarrel with him? You know, like lovers' quarrel or whatever it was called?

Then I grinned, imaging what he would say to that.

First quarrel? Idiot Ace; you've been fighting with me since da day we met.

I think the day we stop fighting would be the day we fall out of love with each other. Twisted logic, but I think it's true. He didn't want some blonde, mindless bimbo, and I didn't want the perfect, marvelous boyfriend with impeccable manners. Besides…I think we both enjoyed making up after fighting too much.

And Duke?

Well, he can go fall off a cliff. We can take anything he throws at us. And if I knew anything about Spot, he'd have a plan ready by tonight. I smiled grimly and yawned widely, feeling every weary bone in my body clamoring for much-needed sleep. Yeah, bones, you're gonna get it.

I lay down…and I don't remember my head touching the pillow.

Author's Note: Whew! That was really hard to write…all my writing juices are practically all gone. By the way, although the Ace and Cat chapter seems like it took place at night, it actually didn't. It's in the morning. That's why no other newsies are here; they're all selling…so yeah. Just wanted to make that clear.

So, hope you guys liked this chapter…Will be eagerly awaiting for your reviews/opinions/thoughts/impressions/suggestions/advice/constructive criticisms on the chapter, the story as a whole, the plot, the characters…OH, and the guys for Philip Danford and Verge! Lol.