Disclaimer: I do not own newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. Priest and Alley Cat belong to one of my best friends. I own Fred, and she's based off another one of my best friends. :D I own Thomas "Tom" O'Brady, I do not own the Addams Family.

He ran past the Emergency Room's doctors and nurses, his heart pounding. His eyes scanned the long hallway for his family.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

Tom spun to the shouting nurse behind him, "I need to know where Winifred Addam's room is!"

"Sir, I can't give you that information until I know who you are--"

"I'm her older foster brother, Detective Thomas O'Brady," he replied quickly, as he scanned the hospital level. Families, but not his, were gathered as they waited to hear news about their loved ones. IV Pumps beeped loudily and steadily; nurses rushed around as a gurney sped past, doctors and nurses wheeled it towards two large white doors.

"Alright, Detective O'Brady," the nurse exclaimed, "My name is Patricia, I'm the head nurse...You're sister is in surgery, your parents are already here."

"What happened?" He asked.

"Tom?"

He turned, "Pop," he exclaimed before walking towards his father, who was still almost just as tall as he had been years ago. The two exchanged a quick hug before Tom stared at him, "What happened? We just caught our guys when an officer-"

"Fred's been shot," his father replied, his sky blue eyes filled with concern as he put his hand onto his son's shoulder.

"Shot...Where was she?" He asked with a frown, before he had left for undercover, Fred had been living in the small but safe and nice apartment he had rented for her. He didn't have the money to afford it, but the owner of the apartment house was a buddy of his. Tom paid rent once every other two months, the rest of the time Fred paid her rent.

"At work," his father replied, "Minnie told the police that Brandon kid walked in demanding money from her, she refused to give it to him. After that Brandon takes out his gun, shoots the ceiling, then Fred."

Tom wanted to smack his forehead, instead he settled for pacing back and forth. How many times had he told her, if someone came in holding a gun to give them the money? Why did that girl have to be so damned stubborn all the time?

"Have the doctors said anything?" He asked as he continued to pace, he had to do something to keep himself from going out and trying to find that kid. Damn Brandon!

"Not yet, we just got here before you came. She's been back there for almost a half hour now..." his father replied, "They did catch Brandon."

"He had better be sentenced to lock up for the rest of his damned life, if she dies then he should be put to-"

"Mr. O'Brady?"

The two O'Brady men turned and watched as a small Asian American doctor walked into the room. Tom recognized her as Dr. Mallorie, she was the best surgeon in this side of New York. She was confidant, knew what she was doing, and extremely careful.

"Please...Tell us how she is," Exclaimed Tom's mother as she walked into the room and molded herself to her husband. Unlike his father, his mother hadn't aged well, she had survived two bouts of Breast Cancer, and now she had Bone Cancer. She small and frail in body, however in spirit, she was stronger than his father at times.

"I won't lie to you all, the bullet hit a major artery in her side," Dr. Mallorie exclaimed, "The bullet pierced an artery then bounced from her backbone into her left lung. Her lung is flooded with blood, I don't think we're going to be able to save it. We've stitched the artery."

"What are her chances?" Tom's father questioned.

"We're optimistic, hundreds of people survive with only one lung, as long as she gets plenty of rest and is easy with herself we think she'll be alright," Dr. Mallorie replied.

"But you're not certain," Tom frowned.

She glanced at him, "When one's a doctor, Detective, it's never safe to assume the patient in question will be alright. But even after the surgery I'll be keeping a close eye on her, I promise."

"Damn it, Fred, you had better survive through this," Tom muttered to himself and pushed his right hand through his curly dark brown hair.

"There's nothing more we can do but to pray," his mother said softly, "And all three of us know how stubborn Fred is. I cannot see her returning to the good Lord without a fight."

----------------------------------------------------

Fred looked around the room she had been taken into, she hadn't bothered to look around it before. She had been in pain and exhausted, she still was in pain however now that she had slept she was wide awake. The room she was in wasn't large, yet it wasn't overly small, it was somewhere around almost medium. There were two beds, the one she was lying in, and the one above her that creaked, letting her know someone else was in the room with her.

The next thing she became aware of was the fact she was no longer in her own clothing. She was wearing a white and light blue striped button down shirt; brown corduroy pants; and her feet were bare. Her eyes widened, what about her watch? She reached around her neck and patted around, then calmed when her hand landed on a small pocket watch that was meant to be worn as a necklace. It was the only thing she had - and was able to keep throughout all these years - that belonged to her mother that she barely remembered.

"You're awake," exclaimed a cheery feminine voice from over in the corner of the room.

Fred jumped, she hadn't known there was another person, besides the one above her, in the room. She looked over to find Alley walking towards her. Alley was a short woman of maybe a little over five feet, around Fred's height, she wore an ankle length brown skirt, white blouse, and brown vest. Her dark brown hair was braided and hung over her left shoulder.

"Alley...Right?"

"Yes," she replied with a nod.

"Whose sleeping above me?" Fred asked.

"Spot, this is his room," she replied, "Race is over in the next room. I was just coming in to see if you had woken up yet. You've been asleep now since you arrived here."

"What time is it?"

"I think you mean to ask what day is it," Alley smiled.

"D...Day? How long did I sleep?" Fred asked in surprise.

"Most of yesterday and part of today, Spot just got back an hour ago from selling his newspapers. You needed the rest."

"You should have woken me up, I'm going to be awake all night now and you all are going to grow sick of me," she replied.

Alley paused, "We did wake you up...Don't you remember?"

Fred paused and thought hard, "I think I remember one time, Racetrack was standing over me and kept saying something about eating."

"Yes, he woke you up for lunch earlier today. You ate your hot dog along with his."

"I'm sorry," Fred replied, she truly meant it. She knew what it was like to barely be able to afford food for yourself, then pay for another's only to have the other eat both meals. She found herself thinking about the time Emmaline had pick pocketed and bought Fred, Brandon, and herself lunch. Brandon had been starving at the time, he had been pick pocketing around town and hiding from the cops, he hadn't eaten since the middle of the day before. He ate everyone's lunch including his own, leaving Emmaline and her starving.

"It's alright, Racetrack laughed and said he was glad you were finally eating something, we all were glad," Alley smiled, "And Spot had bought extra for Racetrack just incase his meal was taken from him."

"She awake?"

"Yes, Spot, Fred's awake," Fred replied as she referred to herself in third person.

"About time," he replied as he leaned down from the top bunk and stared at her.

Fred blinked, there was something disturbing about an upside down Spot Conlon...Maybe it was the fact she could see his nose hairs? Or was it the fact that when his hair hung downwards in mid air he reminded her of Cousin It from the Addams Family? However she did have to admit, he was kinda cute.

Spot Conlon is kinda cute? They drugged me for me to think that! Fred thought to herself as she edged away towards the wall a little as much as she could. She was surprised that the pain in her side had went from a loud, shrieking, and nearly paralyzing pain down to a dull roar in such a short amount of time.

"Mind hanging that nose of yours somewhere else?" Fred questioned, "It's poking my eye out."

"Hah hah," Spot replied in sarcasm, "So Dat's how youse t'ank someone whose keepin' youse safe and takin' care of youse?"

"No, I don't thank people like that. Spot thank you for taking care of me though the next time you keep after me to move out of a lodging house until I say yes I'll beat you over the head with that cane of yours," she replied.

"No one threatens Spot Conlon," he exclaimed, before he could finish Fred was pinching his nose shut.

"And no one sticks a nose full of boogers into Fred's face," Fred replied. Two could play at this game of referring-to-one's-self-in-third-person.

"Get yer hand off me nose!" He exclaimed, his voice nasally and higher a pitch sending herself and Alley into a fit of giggles.

"It ain't funny!" Spot exclaimed as he tried to pull away, Fred pinched harder.

"I'll let go when you agree to my terms."

"Terms? What terms?" Spot asked, his eyes narrowing giving her a look she guessed would scare the pants off of most people. But she wasn't most people. On the streets in her own time she had seen much worse than a glare. She had seen dead bodies, she'd even been the witness to a murder once when she was 15, however the shooter was shot by a rival gang member later that day.

"These terms, in order: One, you will never try to give me a nickname again; second, You'll stop treating me as if I'm a possession and not a person; and thirdly and lastly of all, I'll damned well be friends with whomever I wish too. I'm friends with Racetrack, you ever try to get in the middle of any of my friendships -especially the one I have with Racetrack - again, I will make it my life's mission to make your life a living hell."

Alley backed away a few steps looking nervous.

Fred ignored and glared right at Spot, never losing eye contact. His lips pursed in anger as he stared at her, his gaze becoming so cold Fred began to feel chills down her spine.

"Youse in me lodgin house," he exclaimed slowly and in a low tone of voice after Fred had released his nose, "Youse go by me rules. Da day youse run youse own lodgin' house I'se will go by yer rules. But as far as I see it, any newsie dat makes you deir leader is stupid. Youse stubborn, bull headed, rude, arrogant, and don't give a damn about who youse speakin' too, and youse bettah. I'se Spot Conlon, if I'se tell every newsie ta stay away from ya, den dey will, including Racetrack. It's me who will make youse life a livin' hell, youse undahstand me, goil?" He replied as he glared at her.

"Funny," Fred replied, "You just described yourself."

---------------------------

Spot stared at Fred, what the hell?! He had given her the biggest threat one could ever give a newsie or any other street kid at that! Instead of being terrified, which was supposed to be the outcome, she simply stared at him with a raised eyebrow and replied, 'You just described yourself perfectly.'

He lifted himself back up onto his own bunk, for once, speechless. How the hell was he supposed to reply to her last statement? He was Brooklyn! He was the toughest newsie in all of New York and in the Walking Mouth's words, 'Probably everywhere else too.'

This girl...She was something else, she wasn't like any other newsie he had ever run across. Which also made her a danger, he knew the smart thing would be to ship her off to New Jersey or to somewhere far from New York. But the larger part of him wouldn't think of it, she was tough, streetwise, smart,...Had a mouth larger than Davey's on her....But there was just something about her that made her stand out from all the other newsgirls and girls.

He wasn't going to say he wanted her as his girl, then again she was like him and having two Brooklyns instead of just one would probably keep Harlem in line. Maybe. He wasn't sure if there was any order to that borough. The Harlem leader, Priest, was power hungry and was damned determined to be the new Brooklyn. But he had been that way for years and hadn't made his move as of yet, however, Spot still kept a close eye on him.

Now he had another potential enemy in his own room, one lying in the bed below him. However, being wounded and having no idea where she was made her less of a threat. If she was a threat then why the hell were these thoughts running through his head? What was wrong with him? He only thought of middle class girls in this way, not newsgirls.

"Fred, are you alright?" Alley's voice asked.

"Whad's wrong wid heh?" Spot asked as he leaned over his bunk again, this time keeping his hand over nose as a shield. He would never make that mistake again.

Fred was lying perfectly still and was gritting her teeth.

"Youse hoitin' again?" He asked her.

"Something's wrong and I don't know what," Fred replied, her voice sounding truly afraid, which concerned Spot. Since the moment she first woke up in the Manhattan Lodging House she hadn't been afraid. Why now?

"What is it?" Alley asked in concern.

"I don't know...I....I feel as if I can't breathe, but I'm breathing, it's....It's as if I'm short of breath but at the same time...My side aches."

"Cause youse were shot."

"No, I was shot near my stomach, the pain is here....And this pain is all the way up and over to my left side where my lung is."

"To where youse what is?" Spot asked in confusion. What was a lung?

Fred paused and stared up at him, "I forgot," she muttered, "Think of two balloons, when you blow air into a balloon it expands, when you breathe the air back in it becomes smaller again. That's the same thing lungs do, everyone has two lungs, and both gather in air and put oxygen into the blood."

"How do youse know awll dis?" Spot asked.

"Learned in school."

"Da Walkin' Mouth had school but nevah learned of no....'Lung'."

"Walking...Mouth?" Fred asked before she apparently forgot the pain in her other side and began to laugh hysterically.

"What? Dat's Jacky-Boy's second in command's nickname? Da Walkin' Mouth, if youse met him youse would agree wid me!"

Fred's laughter only became louder and harder.

"Youse gonna pop a stitch," Spot grumbled. He heard a snicker and a muffled snort and glanced down towards Alley with his eyebrow raised. Her hands were covering her nose and mouth and she was snickering hard, it was the first time in a long time he had seen her laugh. Well, that was one damned good reason to keep Fred around, she could make Alley laugh.

"Ow! Ow! Ok, laughing hard is bad," Fred exclaimed before giggling again.

"Hey, am I'se hearin' t'ings or is Fred laughin'?" Racetrack asked as he walked in.

Spot wanted to mentally groan to himself, he had finally made Fred laugh and got to see her smile a true smile for once. He was actually, in a way, getting to know her when Race just had to walk in. Ruining everything.

"Hey Race," Fred greeted happily, Spot glanced down at her and hid his frown with a smirk trying to act as if nothing bothered him. Though the only thing he could wonder to himself was: Why doesn't she smile like dat foah me?

----------------------------------------------

Race had been about to call it a night when he heard Fred laughing, he wasn't sure if he was hearing things or not. But sure enough when he walked in she and Alley were giggling. However the moment he opened his mouth Spot had stiffened from his hanging off the bunk bed act. He was sitting back on his bed now glaring at Race as if he had betrayed Brooklyn some how.

He ignored Spot for the moment and walked over to Fred.

"How ya feelin?"

"Better," she replied, "Sorry about your hot dog."

"Eh, it ain't a problem, I just stole part of Spot's lunch," He joked.

"Do not believe her when she says she's feeling better, Racetrack Higgins," Alley exclaimed after she had caught her breath, "She has a pain in her left side around her lung."

"Around heh what?"

"See!" Spot exclaimed so suddenly Race nearly found himself jumping into Alley's arms. "I'se told youse dat 'lungs' ain't normal knowledge!" Spot puffed out his chest like a proud red robin proudly showing its feathers off to a female.

Fred rolled her eyes, "Isn't there an off switch on him?"

"No," Alley and Race replied at the same time.

"Believe me," Alley smirked, "I've tried for over 10 years to find one and I haven't had any luck."

Fred bit the side of her lip and glared up at Spot, "Hey Spot."

"What?"
"You have a big nose."

Race wasn't sure whether to laugh, hide, or groan.

"Oh come on you two! Grow up!" Alley groaned, "Fred, please, don't sink down to his level of maturity that he's stuck on. He's like a five year at times and I have a hard time watching him, I don't need two to keep my eye on!"

Fred chuckled, "Alright, I'll shut up now."

Race glanced up at Spot, he didn't seem offended by Alley's comment at the least. If he should be chasin' any goil he should be chasin' Alley. Da goils been wid him foah years and knows him bettah dan his own mother does.

"I'se was wonderin if youse feel up ta walkin?" Race asked.

"After the other day," Fred frowned.

"Come on, it will be good foah youse, unless youse scared," Spot challenged.

Race wanted to strangle the Brooklyn leader more than anything at the moment. But Fred didn't seem at least affected by the remark.

She sat up slowly and refused anyone's help before carefully standing on her own two feet. Race wasn't to shake his head and tell Fred to stop giving Spot what he wanted. However, what he hadn't been expecting was for the girl to grab Spot's ankle, which was now dangling over the edge of the bed, and tug him.

"Hey! Whad do youse t'ink youse doin?" Spot snapped as he grabbed hold of his bed post and flailed his leg around, trying to get her hands off his ankle.

"Are you afraid of a little exercise, Spot? If a girl who was shot can pull you half way out of this bunk, then a strong healthy guy like you should be able to get up."

"I'se been sellin' papes all day!" Spot retorted.

"Poor baby," Fred replied with a tone of mock sympathy, "In my job I stand up for 8-10 or more hours straight each day."

"Sounds borin'," Race commented.

"It's mind numbing," Fred replied, "But I'm lucky to have my job....I really am."

----------------------------

It had nearly been 3 hours since Dr. Mallorie's last check in, Tom was beginning to think about barging into the operating room and demanding to know how Fred was. As if reading his mind, Dr. Mallorie came out of the operating room, Tom's stomach twisted.

She walked towards him with a frown on her face.

"What is it?" He asked softly, and glanced down at the bench his parents were still sitting on, both asleep.

Dr. Mallorie paused, "You best sit down, Detective."

Tom sat, not liking the look on the doctor's face, or the feeling in his gut. The feeling that he should be going to say goodbye to Fred. He had been a big brother to that girl for nearly a year now, she had been a brat and a criminal at first. But she straightened out, became a great kid. He had become attached to her, to him she was his little sister.

"We had to take your sister's left lung."

"Oh God," he whispered.

"Hundreds of people live with only one lung and their doing great, just as good as you and me," Dr. Mallorie assured, "What I came to tell you is that she will be physically alright....I just don't know when she's going to wake up," she replied, "She's in a deep a coma, it could be hours, a day or two, months..."

Tom nodded, "She will. She's stubborn. She'll wake up and probably be on the phone ordering a pizza when my back is turned."

Dr. Mallorie smiled, "She survived the surgery, she's strong, and when she does order a pizza let me know, I'll pay for it."

Tom chuckled, "Will do."