September 21, 1899

Everyone knew her only as "Spot's Girl." He never referred to her by name, he would just say things like, "I'm going to see my girl," or, "I don't know what to do with that girl," or, "I love that girl so much." Vague, very Spot Conlon. They had been together as long as anyone had known Spot, which Jack counted to be two or maybe three years - she moved to the Bowery from Boston in 1897 (or maybe 1896, no one could remember for sure), and while Spot never explained how, they met within a month, and, in his words, "just fell right in love with each other." None of the boys had ever been able to meet her, unless you considered "meeting" being shown a small photograph, faded and torn; to the Bowery from Brooklyn was a long walk, one that Spot took often. The trips that Spot took were never day trips. Jack took over for him in his absence, and David filled the role usually occupied by Jack. "One day you'll go off to Brooklyn and never come back, and you'll leave my little brother in charge of all those rowdy boys," Sarah would joke, laughing melodiously. Jack loved her laugh. Hearing her laugh made going out to Brooklyn for at least a day and a night more than worth it. His response never changed - "I'll always come back to you," he told her every time, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead before climbing out her window and down the fire escape.

But things had changed. Sarah was dead now, along with Spot and Crutchy. Tragedy, it seemed, struck hard after the success of the strike; no one would forget David's face when he walked into the distribution center one August morning to tell them all that the headline, "Girl Hit And Killed By Runaway Carriage", was about his sister, or Kid Blink's shock at discovering Spot's crumpled body in an alley and his voice as he told them he was killed in a knife fight, or Jack fighting off tears as all the boys awoke one morning - all but Crutchy, who'd tried to downplay a cold that had quickly gotten increasingly worse. Most of the boys would say Jack bounced back quickly, or even too quickly. The only people who knew otherwise were David and Les Jacobs, and their parents. Jack spent the night of Sarah's funeral in her bed, crying - not just for her, but for all the people he lost; he went to work that morning with his typical smirk plastered on his face, ignoring any comments about looking tired or his eyes being bloodshot.

Even now, months later, there were days when Jack Kelly bought fewer papers so he could walk to Brooklyn. Not to mourn or remember his dead friend, he would say to himself, that was too sentimental. He had some responsibility to those boys, who had basically run wild with the demise of their leader, he needed to look out for them, check in on them once in a while. At least while the weather was still nice, he would be able to go once every couple weeks. In his trips, he had begun to find the Brooklyn docks less and less crowded, he assumed because all anyone could think of there was Spot. Last week they were empty completely. This week, there was someone sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down to the water. Jack would have ignored it, but the person was barely moving, which worried him for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd been more on edge since the deaths of his friends. "Hey, hey kid, you alright?" he called out, walking a little bit closer.

"Fine," answered the person - the voice of a girl. As she stood up, Jack could see now that it should have been obvious. Even in oversized clothes, it was clear that she was skinnier than any boy would have been, and her hair went down past her shoulders. Still, Jack could not think of a single reason why a girl would be sitting on a dock in Brooklyn. That is, he couldn't until she turned around.

Jack was practically speechless. He'd seen this girl's face before. "You're Sp-" He cut himself off. Jesus, Jack. Her boyfriend's not dead a month, and you start to call her Spot's Girl? He sighed, a deep, tired sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't know your name."

To Jack's surprise, the girl smiled and approached him. "Cassidy. Cassidy Doyle. And yes, I was, at one time, 'Spot's Girl'." She held out her hand for him to shake and he took it, forcing a smile. He opened his mouth, possibly to introduce himself, but she cut him off. "And I know who you are, Jack Kelly." They both laughed. Something in Jack's stomach churned, caught off-guard. Her laugh sounded like Sarah's.

"So, Cassidy, what brings you to Brooklyn?" he asked, almost too casually. It was his typical manner - make everything lighthearted, change the subject when you're upset, don't talk about the serious things, like Spot (and Sarah) being dead.

Cassidy took a deep breath. "I've never been here before. It's...it's not that I'm here to think about Spot. Well, sort of. But he's dead, and I can't change that. Ever since he died, though, it bothered me that I never came here. He always came to me. I never got to see this with him." Her green eyes met Jack's brown ones, and she made herself smile. "And I have no idea how the hell I'm gonna get home, I practically got lost finding this place." She laughed, and the mood changed again.

He could hear the slight sadness in her voice. He knew how she must feel all too well, he was sure, and somehow he felt compelled to do something. "Listen," he began, in usual Jack Kelly fashion, "you got a long walk ahead of you, and you shouldn't do that on an empty stomach. Let me buy you lunch before you go," he suggested, a smirk returning to his face.

She stared at him for what seemed to him like an eternity, and when she finally did speak, "Okay," was all she said.

Neither Cassidy nor Jack could quite explain how lunch lead to a dark alley, or the small girl pressed against a cold stone wall, gasping for breath as Jack Kelly, Manhattan's famous strike leader, leaned in for another kiss. Her long, thin fingers tightened in his wavy hair; he clung to her bony hips. Both seemed desperate, and maybe they both were. Beads of sweat had started to form along her hairline, and she pushed him gently backwards. "I maybe don't have to go home tonight," she suggested awkwardly, trying not to laugh as he came in close to her again.

Jack shook his head a little. "Goddamn, I see what he saw in you."

"What?" She stopped moving.

"Spot. I see what he saw in you." He started to kiss her again, but she stopped him. "What's wrong?"

She let out a dry laugh and smiled. "Spot never did anything like this." He didn't have a chance to reply before she kissed him, resting her elbows on his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist.

She saw his eyebrows raise, and this time he was the one to stop them, although his fingers now combed through her red hair; something about her made him always want to have his hands on her. "I have a place we can go. If you're sure."

"Then let's go." She reached her hands to his, their fingers intertwining, as she slid back down to the ground from where she had been perched around Jack's waist.

With the late hour, Jack hadn't counted on running into anyone en route to the cheap, one-room apartment he rented shortly after Sarah died, for when he needed time alone. But he was wrong. It had been only a minute since the two walked out of the alley, her small left hand wrapped in his big right, when Jack was stopped by a tall blonde boy with an eye patch. "Who's the girl, Jack?" Kid Blink asked, looking at her curiously.

Jack could tell that she looked familiar to his friend, just as she had to him earlier. "Blink, this is, ah, Cassidy." She was identified just as Kid Blink realized just who she was, but Jack cut him off before he could speak. "Don't tell nobody. 'Specially Dave," Jack whispered in Blink's ear. The boy nodded, and took one long glance at Cassidy before heading off to the lodging house.

"What was that all about?" she asked him as they continued walking.

"Who cares?" he responded. Neither of them did.