Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends. The italicized text at the end of this chapter is borrowed from W.B. Yeats The Shadowy Waters. It isn't mine, it just fits the story.

A/N: Oh it's what you do to me.

Warning: PG (dark themes)

v.)
his room is all crystal&capital buildings
beautiful outside&utter clutter inside
those scribbled words are poetic abortions
to emotions which are simply inconvenient
she plays mother&cleans up after him
(it is their biggest pretend)

Maps from everywhere have managed to find their way into his piles (Toledo to Timbuktu) and his pens have mangled their pages. The more maps that appear the more everything else disappears (including her resistance to change and her memory of anything before him). She doesn't know (what the hell she's doing) where he's taking her but doesn't care as long as he takes her with him (will he take her? There is always a chance he'll forget to.). He tells her to pack his books (they are the only thing he wants to pack) and she does so in no particular order (since that's how he likes it anyway) and watches him scribble notes on dreams and destinations.

Sometimes she wonders what will happen if she leaves, if anyone while miss her or try to find her, but she's four weeks too late for that. Anyone who cared (was there anyone?) have given over to the idea that she is at the bottom of some river or rotting in a junk yard with rats helping her decompose. Boy Vagabond disappears from time to time, often when she's sleeping, and something always leaves with him. Furniture, dishes, lamps, the clock that never was plugged into the wall again all left without a goodbye (even his beloved milk crate desk found its way out of their lives).

The boxes which contained his (soul) books remained as did the mattress (the frame and box springs had said goodbye even while she slept on them). Finally, when it looked like no one ever really lived there (and maybe no one ever had), his gold flecked eyes shone towards her (they looked like they had magic trapped in them). Three boxes stacked, pregnant with words, and a naked mattress was all that was left when he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his body. His lean frame pressed suggestively against her backside, those lithe, ink stained fingers spread possessively over her abdomen, and his words wrapped constrictively around her throat (she always had trouble breathing when he was close).

Darkness crept slowly in around the corners of her eyes as he murmured promises of fairy dust (the expensive kind) and how high they would fly. Each word and the reality she thought (that was Then and this is Now) she knew grew dimmer as the world around her faded to black. The iron in her frame was melting as she felt her mind haze and the floor fall from under her. She never struggled against him as he stole her breath. She trusted him with a childlike implicitly (her biggest mistake) and expected him to catch her when she fell (that explains her bruises).

Through the final haze his voice became more demanding and asked her a question she knew he wanted her to answer (and he hated to be kept waiting).

"What's your name?" he asked as stars exploded behind her eyes. "No that isn't right." he disagreed after she told him and there was a strange smile in his tone.

She didn't have time to ponder it and as her world went black she heard him say these words:

"She has begun forgetting. When she wakes,
The years that have gone over her from the hour
When she dreamt first of love, shall flicker out."

A/N: The lack of feedback on this makes me think I should take it down and rework it or maybe just not post anymore. I can't read minds. Seriously. I can't. If you want more updates you're going to have to give me something in return. An honest review would work nicely.