Part II, Chapter XII

April 12, 1902

Brooklyn, New York

The only thing preventing Emma from going inside was fear. As she stood across the street from the lodging house close to midnight, the only thing she felt was fear. What was Spot going to do when he saw her? She suddenly realized she had no idea. Was Bolt right?

Emma shook her head. No; she could do this, because three years of waiting were behind her. This was the moment. Right here. If only her feet would move. If only she stepped out of the darkness of the alleyway she was currently standing in. If only she could swallow down that last bit of hesitation, she could do it.

But just as she made her move, four boys rushed into the alley from behind her. Emma stepped outside, into the lightness of the street, and leaned her back against the building. She watched the boys zoom past her, apparently ignorant to her presence.

"This is it!" said one of them in a loud whisper, and he pointed to the second floor of the lodging house to the bunkroom. "They'se up there!"

"Got the rock, Roller?"

"Right heah, boss!"

"A'right, got the note attached?"

"Sure do!"

"Okay, we'se got yer back…"

The other boys drew knives and pistols, surrounding and protecting the boy with the rock. Emma drew back into the alley, shielded by the complete lack of light within the small space. Still, she watched with nervous anticipation.

When the coast was all clear, one of the boys hurled a baseball-sized rock into the air and in a second it shattered the window of the newsies' bunkroom.

"Direct hit!" shouted one of the boys on the street.

"Fuckin' right!"

"Take that, Conlon!"

Emma's heart leapt at the sound of Spot's name. As movement stirred quickly within the bunkroom and the light turned on, the four boys took off in a sprint down the street. Within seconds, newsies slid down the fire escape and stormed out the front door, looking all around and cursing at the tops of their lungs. Suddenly Emma felt herself run out of the alley, pointing in the direction the boys had gone, shouting, "That way! They want that way!"

Without even identifying the source, the boys sprinted down the street. Emma watched anxiously until she heard a familiar voice.

"Swear to God, those Crown Heights rats're gonna…"

Emma turned her face to the front door of the lodging house. Stopped in mid-sentence because his breath had suddenly been taken away, Spot stood in the doorway, facing Emma. Neither of them said a word; they only stared, motionless. The rock in Spot's hand--the one with the note attached that the boys had thrown--dropped from Spot's frozen fingers to the porch with a thud.

A few more boys bounded down the staircase and out the front door, stopping abruptly by Spot's still form.

"Conlon, it was them, wasn't it?!"

"Yeah, I can't believe their nerve!"
Spot shook his head back to reality. He pointed down the street animatedly and ordered the boys to go after them. As the newsies left the porch of the lodging house, Emma came back to her breath. She felt a lump in her throat and suddenly felt herself take a dozen quick, running steps forward. She stopped abruptly when she noticed Spot hadn't moved at all.

"Em, I…" stuttered Spot.

Emma suddenly felt a jolt of reality. He didn't react the way she had, on some level, hoped he would; he wasn't ecstatic, overjoyed, and scooping her into his arms the way she had subconsciously imagined. Tears flooded her eyes. She took a few steps backward and even made to turn around.

"No, don't," he responded.

Spot reached out his arm instinctively as if to catch her. Emma spun and remained still on command. Spot stepped down the porch steps slowly, and Emma released light sobs which she tried her best to swallow. Her cheeks became drenched in tears as she fell to her knees, her shoulders hunched over and her head buried in her hands. Spot stared at her weak form, walking toward her, faster with each step.

He bent down and grabbed her shoulders. Emma looked up into his face through tear-filled eyes; it was not even close the monster she had imagined. He rested on his knees and held her face up to his, holding her wet cheeks. His breath was short now and his face was suddenly full of emotion.

"Don't…evah leave me again, Emma," he said lowly, his voice breaking.

Emma smiled despite her quivering lips, and nodded over and over and over.

"D'you heah me?"

"Yes."

"'Cause you ain't goin' anywhere…now that I have you right now…I'm nevah letting go 'a you."

Emma buried her face into his chest, feeling the racing of his heart, wrapping her arms around him tighter than she had ever embraced him before in her life. Spot stood her up, held her close to his body, and roughly brushed the hair from her face. He bit down on his lip, looking at her earnestly.

"I'm holdin' on to you as long as I can, don't leave me like that again."

She nodded.

"Okay? Promise?"

"I promise!"

Without anything left to say, Spot gripped the back of her head tightly and kissed her. He kissed her for every day she was away, every word he had left unspoken, every mistake he wished he could have taken back. He kissed her and knew the only thing left to do in his life was to keep Emma the way he was now, to make sure time would never play the same trick on him again, to keep her close, to have, and to hold, for every moment for the rest of his life.

In that same moment, there was nothing in the world he cared for as much as the one person he had lived without for the past three years. A weakness touched his heart, and it suddenly seemed nothing mattered as much as she did. Not even Brooklyn.


A/N: Before you find me and burn my house down for not having updated the way I had promised, know that I am so deeply sorry for building up this whole "I'm on a roll!" kick, and not living up to it! I just moved out and into a new place and I'm still getting settled, getting used to a lonely old apartment by myself. I only as for reviews and forgiveness!