Author's Note: BIG NEWS! There is now a Spot Week! Yay! This week takes place April 1st through the 8th, and is hosted by huffle-bibin and I, details about the weeks are on either of our profiles. So put your best foot forward and make it a Spot-tacular week!! (boy, that was a cheesy thing to say...)

And now, without furter adu (besides the disclaimer), here is chapter five!

Disclaimer: Sinker, Trip, and Speed belong to me :D

"Whaddaya mean ya ain't gonna go?" Mush asked in disbelief, no one said 'no' to a Brooklyn party.

Sinker sat on Mush's bunk, her hands supporting her head. "I'm still tired from last night," she lied, looking up at him with a pout.

Mush crossed his arms, "Well, if ya change ya mind, be careful makin' ya way there, the bulls live for the nighttime, they'se'll pick ya up for just lookin' like a newsie."

Sinker nodded, "Thanks Mush, but I'll prolly just stay heah." Probably? More like definitely. She had no wish to watch Blink drool over that floozie, Trip.

As if merely thinking of Blink summoned him, he appeared at the foot of the bed. "Ya ready ta go?" he asked, unable to conceal his excitement.

Mush shook his head, "Sink ain't goin'."

Blink's jaw dropped. "Ain't goin'? Why not?" he questioned, confused. He looked at her soft eyes, and realized this was his fault. He knew he shouldn't have been so into Trip when she came, especially after kissing Sinker, but Blink couldn't help it. "Mush, I gotta talk ta Sink, ya mind?"

Not slighted in the least, Mush skipped away to go join Skittery and Snitch by the stairwell. Blink hesitantly stepped closer to the gloomy girl, then leaned against the bed. "Ya really not comin'?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged. "I'm tired," she replied. "So I'se'd just be taken up space."

Blink glanced down, poking the floor with the toe of his boot. "I kinda want ya ta be there," he admitted. His heart was flopping between Sinker and Trip, tearing him in two opposite directions. He hated seeing Sinker like this, even after knowing her for less than three days.

Sinker smiled weakly up at him, "Don' worry about it Blink, go have fun. Trip's waitin' on ya," she looked down, forcing a friendly laugh.

Blink's chest tugged in hurt at how she had used Trip against him, "Yeah, okay, well…see ya tomorrow then." He too smiled, but not near the usual brightness, then headed out the door.

At the same time, a shadow that had crept onto the fire escape sprinted away. "Spot ain't gonna be happy bout this," the boy mumbled to himself. His black hair whipped around his face as he picked up speed, dark brown eyes darting around. He burst through the Brooklyn Lodging House doors when he arrived there, panting and out of breath. He glanced around for Spot, but his eyes settled on Trip. He sauntered up to her. "'Ey Trip." She spun to face him, and he was taken by surprise at the hint of make-up on her face.

Noticing the look, she explained, "It's all part a the plan, Speed."

Speed swallowed, Trip was pretty when she needed to be. He shook his head. "Where's Spot?"

Trip shrugged. "Either his room, the roof, or the docks; I'll help ya look," she offered.

"Sure," Speed nodded, and they began ascending the stairs.

True to Trip's assumption, Spot was in his room. "Come in," his voice sounded distantly from behind the door Speed had knocked on. Trip exchanged a glance with Brooklyn's most valuable bird and runner, not to mention one of her closest comrades, and led the way into the room.

Spot nodded at each of them, his eyes lingering on Trip, then landing on Speed. The runner obviously had something to say, for his torso was still rising and falling fast, proof of his journey. "What is it?"

Speed looked to Trip for help, but her eyes reminded him that in the presence of Spot, it's every newsie for themselves. Speed returned his gaze to Spot. "It's Sinker," he said, raising his hand to comb his fingers absently through his dark curls. "She's, uh, not comin'."

Spot stood stock still. For a few minutes the room was filled with silent tension, then Spot spoke eerily. "And why is that?"

Speed gulped, "She don' wanna be by Blink, since he made a fool a himself with Trip, I heard…"

Spot's eyes burned at Trip. She held up her hands, "I just followed ordahs," she pleaded.

The leader looked away, thinking; if all of Manhattan was coming to Brooklyn, then that meant Sinker would be alone…

Spot smirked. "Keep them undah control," he barked, "I'm goin' ta 'Hattan."

The boys were gone and Sinker laid out on her and Blink's shared bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing Blink was with her, telling a joke she had already heard from him five times, grinning giddily, laughing intoxicatingly.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Sinker's head shot up in alert. Kloppman stood in the doorway. "Sinker, there's a young man downstairs waiting for you, he says you know about this," he looked at her with concern.

Sinker scrunched up her face in confusion. Who would come and call on her? Then it clicked. Pulitzer wanted her first report. Well, they nearly missed her, she thought. "Yeah, I know 'bout it." She climbed off the bunk. "Thanks, Kloppman." She jumped the steps two at a time. Sure enough, Tyler, one of the men who had previously thrown her from the boat, was waiting awkwardly at Kloppman's desk.

"'Bout time," he muttered, exiting the building without waiting for Sinker.

"Nice seein' ya too," she mumbled, scrambling out the door after him, walking behind him so no one drew any suspicions from the image of them together. Tyler led her up the stairs of the World building and into the air-conditioned office of Pulitzer's.

"Mr. Pulitzer?" Tyler asked to get the man's attention.

Pulitzer swiveled his chair to face Sinker. "Sit." He pointed at a much less comfortable looking chair in front of his desk. "You can go now Mr. Tyler." With a nod of his abnormally bulbous head, Tyler exited the room, leaving Sinker to face Pulitzer on her own.

"Well," the bearded man said expectantly.

"Well…" Sinker thought. She didn't want to be there, giving away anything important, but she didn't know either side well enough to decipher through what or wasn't vital to the newsie's existence. "I've sold forty papes."

Pulitzer's mouth drew into a thin line. "I don't want to hear how you're selling my papers; I want news of anything the newsies are doing," he gruffly stated.

Sinker shrugged. "They'se sell papes all day and party with Brooklyn at night—"

"Brooklyn?" Pulitzer interrupted.

Sinker gulped, "Um, maybe."

Pulitzer's eyes were slits. "Have you by any chance met someone called Spot Conlon?"

Sinker's facial expression of annoyance gave her away before she could lie and say no.

"Oh, this is good news indeed," Pulitzer clapped once and rubbed his hands together. "If you can get with this Spot fellow, not only will the Manhattan newsies be crippled, but Brooklyn may fall as well."

Sinker's jaw dropped. "No." She was not going to be used to break Brooklyn too. She hated having to report on Manhattan like a child finking on the entirety of the class, she didn't need Brooklyn wanting her blood as well.

Pulitzer looked her over. "Think on it. It would be in your best intrests to agree with me the next time one of my boys comes to get you." He lifted a miniature bell that was resting on his desk and rang it. Tyler reappeared. "Take this street rat out," Pulitzer instructed.

"Hey," Sinker yelled in offense at the term, but Pulitzer was already gazing out of his gigantic window down at the empty streets.

Tyler grabbed her elbow, dragging her from the cool office, a sense of de ja vu running through Sinker's mind. "I hoid da whole thing. Ya best agree with Mistah Pulitzah if ya know what's good for ya health," Tyler hissed, tossing her roughly into the alley.

She tried slowing herself down, but ended up colliding loudly into a few barrels that had been stacked outside. "Ow," Sinker moaned, wishing she could just live her life as she pleased.

Spot had reached Manhattan in record time. He sauntered down the streets in the direction of the Lodging House when, from a nearby side road, he heard a rather distracting ruckus. He raised his eyebrow, peering into the dim light. Something had just been thrown out of the side door of the World building. He shrugged his shoulders and was about to continue on his way when he heard what—actually who—had been thrown out mumble a tasteful string of curses. He chuckled until the person stood from the disrupted barrels.

"Sinker?!"

Sinker froze. "Oh shit," she whispered.

Spot approached her stealthily. "Now, what are you'se doin' outside the World building? Actually, what were you'se doin' inside the World building?" his eyes were concentrated darkly on her own.

Sinker gulped, looking about helplessly. She was done, dead, she figured, so why lie? Spot wasn't stupid, he knew what was going on, and if he didn't know at that exact moment, he'd figure it out. Sinker licked her lips. "Look, it's not that I wanted ta, it was more a matter of life 'n death," she began. "I didn' choose ta rat on Manhattan. I didn' know what ta do…"

Spot pursed his lips. "So you'se a weasel? Giving info to da head honcho? How much he payin' ya?" he spat in disgust.

"He's not!" Sinker yelled in Spot's face. "If I don't do this, I'm dead. I told ya that already."

Spot looked her over coolly. "You'se is dead if Manhattan finds out too."

"I know! And Pulitzer used that against me too, he said if I didn' listen ta him he'd tell—" Sinker stopped, what Spot said finally registering in her head. "Wait, whaddaya mean if 'Hattan finds out? Ya ain't gonna tell 'em?"

Spot smirked. "It's gonna cost ya," he spoke smoothly. An idea was forming in his mind. Sinker was now putty in his hands, he could make her do anything he wanted. She was his puppet and he was the puppet master. Sadly, he admitted to himself, his pride was more important than the safety of Manhattan. Besides, there wasn't anything going on with the newsies now, so there wasn't anything she could tell Pulitzer that would lead to dire consequences. "I got a deal for you'se…"

Trip made her way clumsily down the stairs of the Brooklyn Lodging House, Speed in tow. "I've nevah run a party before," she confessed. "I didn' know parties were run, I just thought ya let 'em go…"

"Well, you'se don' really gotta run da party," Speed reminded her. "You'se've gotta distract Blink and get his mind offa Sinker."

Trip scowled. "I'm well aware of that."

Speed glanced down at her, "Ya know Spot'll want ya ta do everythin' it takes…"

She glared in the direction of the raven haired newsie. "Yes. I realize that. And I realize what that entails, thank ya very much."

"Sometimes I thinks Spot's a bit hard on ya," Speed sighed.

Trip thought over what Speed had said, she shrugged, "I guess that's what I get fer bein' second-in-command."

Speed trotted down the rest of the stairs to the already rowdy party, "Just sayin', you'se always get the short end a the stick." He brushed past, grabbing a drink and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Trip forlorn on the stairwell, leaning on the railing.

Manhattan's newsies were arriving in a steady stream, and Trip had her eyes peeled for Blink, wishing she could just finish her job and move on with her life. She knew what Spot expected of her that night, and his request made her squirm inside, made her feel dirty. She made her way carefully down the rest of the flight and grabbed a cup of cheap liquor, knowing she'd need the extra courage it gave.

As Trip went back to scanning the party, she saw the door open. Mush, Blink, Snitch, and Skittery piled in, and seemed to already be buzzed. Grabbing up another drink, plus one for Blink, she plastered a coy smile on her made-up face and slithered through the crowd to meet him. "Hey Blink," she cooed, handing him the glass, which he willingly accepted.

"Hi," he grinned sheepishly, absolutely smitten with the newsgirl in front of him. And yet there was still the nagging voice in his head reminding him of Sinker.

The duo sat down at a nearby table, joining in on a few games of poker, then merely watching after Racetrack managed to clean them out. After a few hours, Trip stretched her arms elegantly, beginning the last bit of her morally wrong task. "I'm tired," she yawned, then in the same innocent tone, "Ya wanna go ta bed?"

Blink understood the underlying message, but hesitated. What about Sinker? The poor girl was probably moping around the Manhattan Lodging House, maybe even crying, and all because Blink had been a little preoccupied with Trip earlier that day. He knew he should have offered to hang around with her instead of going to the party, but then he would have let Trip down.

As Blink was about to shake his head in refusal, the door of Brooklyn's Lodging House banged open, attracting everyone's attention. Standing there were Spot and Sinker. A huge, triumphant, and weaselish smirk plastered upon his face, his arm draped over Sinker's shoulders in a kind of ownership. Sinker had one of her arms twisted around Spot's waist, but she looked uncomfortable and unsure.

Both Blink's and Trip's hearts sunk at the image before them, hurt racing through their systems. "Yes," Blink said rashly, maybe a little too loud.

"Wonderful," Trip agreed, grabbing his hand tightly and pulling him up the stairs.

Spot and Sinker made their way over to the same seats Blink and Trip had just vacated. Sinker felt nauseous at the sight of them running for a bedroom. Blink apparently didn't liker her in the same way she liked him. Racetrack looked at the new couple with a grin, "You'se're togethah now?"

Sinker glanced at Spot, his eyes reminding her of the deal they had struck. "Most definitely," she tried to reply convincingly.

"We found we'se enjoyed each othah quite a lot," Spot spoke up, arm still wrapped around her shoulders. "Ain't that right doll?"

Sinker turned to face him and was caught off guard when his lips crashed upon hers. Her eyes opened wide as Spot kissed along her jaw to her ear and hissed, "You'se is gonna hafta act bettah in ordah for this ta work."

Sinker pulled away from Spot, who's kisses had been working their way back to her mouth. Rage flared in the leader's eyes until Sinker pathetically mewed, "Spot, I'm sleepy…"

However, once in Spot's private room, his anger returned. "Hey, don't get mad," Sinker said after shoving him away from her. "I just made it look like ya got a goil, and that's the deal. I act like I'se ya goil, and you don't tell Manhattan about my double life."

Spot lunged at her, grabbing her wrists tightly. Sinker gasped, surprised. "I can make ya do whatevah I want," he snarled, "I'se the one with the uppah hand," then he let her go, his smirk cutting across his previously tense face. "But I'se'll let ya be for now," he allowed. "'Cause you'se'll come around," he prophesized, "You'se'll want it."

Author's Note: Aw, poor everyone! Except Spot, who usually seems to get what he wants, because he's Spot. And just a reminder, don't forget that Spot week is coming up! YAY!! and yes, Spot will show a soft side every now and again during this story, no worries, I'm not going to make one of my favorite characters into a heartless jerk for an entire story ha ha

Now review pweez :D