It was later, indeed an embarrassingly long time after the fact, that she realized what had been chafing in the furthest corner of her mind all day. The realization bothered her as it occurred to her, quite randomly as she sat at the window, that she was not bothered. While mulling over that morning's happenings, Gibbs' words echoed in her mind, a few of them finally plastering themselves to the big picture that was her life. Of course Spot's loose reputation was no mystery to her. Of course she was aware of it, although she'd seen no evidence of it thus far. And the possibility that Spot's intent for her was anything but noble felt so unlikely. He was Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn, of New York even, nothing less than common royalty, wielder of oozing charm, unparalleled charisma, and subjugating eyes. She was just Kat- a street rat in ill-fitting boys' clothes, barely managing to stay afloat in the rough waters of Brooklyn. She had so little experience in the art of relationships as Spot practiced them. She had no appealing attributes she was sure. Certainly not to him. And Spot wasn't one to beat around the bush- surely if he meant more from her he would have made it clear. His advances had been few and harmless enough. Kat suspected behavior of the sort was like second nature to him now; he meant nothing by it.

In spite of all this, the comments Gibbs had made should have been taken more seriously. She'd spent the entire day with her leader and not once given it a second thought. She should have made him suffer. He should have paid for his reputation.

Kat stood resolutely from her seat at the window and was halfway to the door before common sense stopped her. What did she plan to say to him? And was anything worth upsetting him? Spot was her life-line. Kat couldn't afford to make another enemy, certainly not one as prominent as Spot. But rules had to be made. Lines had to be drawn.

She turned again for the door, wrenching it open and marching past a few stray newsies strewn over their bunks. Peter was among them and he jumped up to walk beside her.

"Hey Kat."

She was happy to see him. He smiled at her in a sincerely amiable way. But his timing left much to be desired.

"Hi Peter, how's it rollin'?"

"Where's the fire?" he joked, grinning at her.

Kat sighed. "I need to discuss some important things with Spot." she replied in a clipper manner, hoping she wouldn't have an audience when she confronted him. She still wasn't sure what she was going to say; hopefully something witty and cunning would come to her when the time was right. Peter stopped abruptly and snagged her arm.

"Excuse me." she scowled up at him.

"Now's a bad time."

"Bad time?"

"To talk to Spot." He wasn't smiling anymore, he just looked... guilty. Kat narrowed her eyes.

"When *is* a good time to talk to Spot? When isn't he busy, Peter? Why does everyone keep telling me that I can't talk to him when I want to - do I need to be *sent* for?" she remembered bitterly the day before when William had tried to keep her from him at the docks. Peter made no indication that he intended to comment.

"Let go of Me." she demanded. Her mouth puckered into a line as she tugged against him.

"Kat, calm down." Peter's eyes were gentle but his lips twitched into an amused reproach. She ignored him, struggling further so that he reached forward to pin both of her arms to her sides.

"Stop, Honey, I'm hurting you." he apologized. His fingers did dig into her arms, squeezing tighter when she continued to pull away.

"Are not." she growled through clenched teeth.

"I can see it on your face. Now stop fighting and I'll let you go."

"To Spot?"

He pulled his hands away and moved to position himself between her and the doorway.

"Spot's busy. Trust me, Honey; you don't wanna see him right now." His words cooled in her ears, earnest and refreshing. When Spot called her 'honey' it was smug and condescending. When Peter said it there was affection in his eyes. But it was amused affection. How irksome. And if she didn't talk to Spot as soon as possible she'd loose the nerve. She took a measured step back and surveyed Peter unhappily. He tweaked her cheek.

"Aw, don't be mad, Honey, I gotta' follow orders. Anything you gotta' say can wait- better learn that quick. You better learn Spot-time. It's never the same as yours or mine."

"Orders?" she picked that word out from among the others. "He specifically asked you to keep me away?"

"Spot never asks. Like I said- orders."

"Well, what's he doing that I can't be apart of?" she demanded, stabbing an accusatory finger at him. Peter glanced over his shoulder to the stairs. This opportunity would do just fine for her purposes.

"Kat!" Peter swatted at her as she skipped around him and through the doorway. She leapt from his grasp, landing heavily on the landing that split the staircase. Before Peter could follow, she scrambled to her feet and down the stairs that remained.

The front room was crowded but Spot was easily recognizable. He was the insolent one with the blonde in his lap. The blonde. She nestled in his chest, lips to his neck, legs crossed over his. Spot himself was staring straight at her. He must've heard she and Peter on the stairs. His eyes narrowed. Kat felt her jaw clench. Peter came to an abrupt halt behind her.

"So... he was hiding her from me?" she asked hollowly and without understanding. Where seconds before she'd been hoping to draw lines, now she felt that there was some claim to be made. This was her home now. She couldn't be expected to share it with Spot's harem.

"Are you jealous?" Peter's question was disinterested, unaffected. She shook her head stubbornly. He nodded.

"I can see it in your face."

"I'm not jealous of *her*!" she bit back bitterly, spitting the pronoun like a curse word. Peter tugged at her arm.

"C'mon, Kat. Let's go back upstairs. Wanna' play cards?" He sounded anxious. Did he really believe that she could be so easily distracted? The blonde with Spot turned her head just then and caught Kat's gaze.

"Who's she?" she sneered at Spot, who looked at Peter's face and the hand that was clamped on Kat's arm. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw him roll his eyes.

"Nobody, Baby. Don' wo'y bout it." He met her eyes as he spoke, and the way he said the words implied that he meant them in two different ways. Kat swallowed. She took a step back.

"Does she live here?" the blonde persisted.

"Yeah. Jus one a me newsies."

The blonde turned a scathing expression on Kat; surveyed her up and down.

"Oh. Just a newsie."

Kat turned immediately on her heel and marched back towards the stairs.

"He wasn't hiding her from you, Kat." Peter hurried to follow.

"He was hiding you from her."

"Didn't realize I was such a scandal." she growled. Peter seemed to read her mind.

"Don't leave."

She ignored him. Commotion started across the room behind them and an unfamiliar voice called Spot's name.

"Hoid ya' gotta' new newsie- A goil. What's dat about, Conlon?"

Kat turned around to see who the speaker was. He was tall and lean with brown hair and eyes, a traditionally handsome face, a cowboy hat hanging down his back, a red bandana around his neck. Spot stood to his feet, dumping the blonde from his lap. Kat snickered. He whispered something in her ear and nodded her out the door.

"Ya 'oid right, Jacky-boy. Brought 'er in de odduh night."

The other boy raised his eyebrows at Spot's diction. His expression indicated that he intended for them to further discuss it later.

"Kat." Spot's voice startled her. Every eye in the room turned to look at her. He gestured for her to come forward. Her face reddened as she approached and she ducked her head so that her hair fell over her cheeks. The new boy's bright eyes followed her.

"Dis is Kat." every pore radiated confidence as he introduced her. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"An' dis is Jack. E's da leaduh in Manhattan."

Jack nodded sociably to her.

"Nice ta' meet ya."

"I'm sure the pleasure's all mine." she replied skeptically. Spot smirked and moved to sling his arm across her shoulders.

"I see ya' brought Davey." he directed all attention to a boy leaning in the corner behind Jack. Kat hadn't noticed him come in. He had strong features that sheltered grey-blue eyes and were framed by a mop of curly brown hair. He was clearly ill-at-ease, regarding Spot with acute distaste.

"Hello." he said to Kat, still wary. His eyes spent very little time on her before flicking back to Brooklyn's leader.

"We need to speak with you, Spot." He said seriously. Kat felt him stiffen beside her before relaxing into a purposefully casual stance, his arm growing heavy across the base of her neck. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh yeah?" Spot sneered and turned aside to Jack. "Jacky-boy, why you keep bringin' dis scum ta my Brooklyn ta soil da air?" He faced David again.

"Don' tell me whut ta do. We'll talk when I say so."

Jack pushed off from where he lounged against the wall to stand between David and Spot. He playfully agreed with Spot, chuckling as he did so, and reached back to put a hand on David's shoulder.

"Davie's right dou'" he added as the boy stumbled up beside him. "We do got some stuff fer ya ta hear—when youse is ready ta hear it." Kat glanced back and forth between the two; Jack obviously respected Spot—and out of more than just fear—but Spot's eyes were trusting when they appraised Jack. She realized with some wonder that more than just leaders and diplomats, they were good friends. Spot's hostility had completely vaporized when Jack stepped forward. Spot agreed to speak to them, skimming his gaze over his boys to be sure that they had gone back to their business. If they hadn't they were certainly putting on a good show of it.

His eyes fell on Kat next and she gave him a cautious smile. His mouth slid into a mischievous smirk before he turned back to Jack. His hand fell from her shoulders to the small of her back, causing her to stiffen automatically, her back arching away from him. He glanced back at her. He looked… confident? Amused? As though he knew what would happen next. She relaxed so that his hand brushed her back again. Even through her camisole and shirt it was hot.

Spot leaned forward, muttering to Jack; his fingers flexed as he did so, having left his arm stretched out behind him to keep Kat in place. Because she couldn't hear the exchange- and she was fairly certain that she wasn't meant to- she looked at David, whose expressions indicated he didn't agree with whatever was being said. The crease between his eyebrows deepened until something Spot asserted forced him to finally speak up.

"You can't!" his voice broke at the peak, switching from a whisper to its normal volume.

"We're talking about her, she can't come!"

Kat's ears perked up. As far as she knew, she was the only female they could be referring to. Spot's hand tightened on her back, affirming her suspicions. He mumbled a few words in the same inaudible tone as before and David sighed and set his jaw in frustration. Spot pulled Kat forward.

"Let's go fer a walk." He announced triumphantly, leading her to the door much to the obvious annoyance of David. He moved from her side to tug the door open and his blue eyes glittered as though enjoying some personal joke. Kat felt a smile on her own face as she stepped outside. His pleasure was certainly contagious. It was Jack who appeared at her side, stuffing his hands into his pockets and whistling a familiar tune. Kat felt vaguely uncomfortable, unsure of the news the Manhattaners brought and how they had reacted to her thus far, but Jack's pleasant countenance and cheery tune set her at ease. They sauntered along in silence for a few paces, with Spot shrugging in between them and David skulking along on Jack's other side.

"How goes t'ings in Man'attan?" Spot asked presently, without looking at the subject to whom his question had been directed.

"I ain't hoid much lately."

Jack shrugged and his song stopped.

"I can't complain none. Da' sellin ain't been too bad and da boys is all good. I gotta story I t'ink you'll like ta hear." He added and launched into the tale of a boy called Racetrack and his attempt to woo a factory girl. As he talked, Kat's mind began to wander. She admired the sun setting on the horizon and the way it reflected in the shop windows. The streets were unnaturally still as the factories had recently let out and all their workers had hurried home to their families. Her body only ached minimally from her trials of late—first her introduction to Brooklyn and then her scuffle with Gibbs. It hurt so that she hardly noticed it now, and the fact that she didn't have any chance of glimpsing the bruises in a reflection anywhere only served to obscure the memories even more. Spot's shirt still hung loosely on her shoulders. He hadn't said anything about it. She had caught Jack eyeing it when he came in and now wondered if perhaps it was Spot's way of marking his territory. She intended to return it when they got home, as her own shirt was surely dry by now.

Kat glanced over at the boys next to her. Jack's face was animated with the telling of his story, and David's expression had lightened some in the humor of the moment. Spot was supremely smug, both because of the chuckle the story elicited and the tizzy he had seemingly put David in. He didn't look at her, nor did he shift his body in any particular way, but the energy he projected was suddenly… aware—of her; of her eyes on his face.

Jack had grown silent once more; Kat was just beginning to wonder why Spot had insisted she come along, when he spoke up.

"So ya gotta problem wid mah Kitten, 'ere." His matter-of-fact tone had her eyes widening. Now she understood David's adamancy before. He looked unhappy and uncomfortable now, searching for the right words under the pressure of Spot's resolute gaze.

"We ain't unhappy wid 'er." Jack reasserted. "We jis don' understand is all. We hoid 'bout it yestaday 'n… wull… what's da deal, 'ere, Spot?"

"What deal, Kelly? Dere ain' no deal. She kin sell, she kin get along fine, dere ain't no reason fer 'er not ta be one a me newsies." She looked away to hide her expression. Spot was purposefully making the entire situation awkward for everyone involved—except himself, of course.

"Ya don need a goil ta sell wid. An youse got plenty fa all da odduh stuff." Jack persisted. Kat blushed. Spot raised an eyebrow. David interjected.

"It's not that we disapprove of you personally, Kat. You seem like a nice girl and a fine newsie. We just don't see the point, Spot. Does this mean that Manhattan will be expected to house girls? It isn't a girl's job-they're just collateral. We have enough boys who need jobs. Why doesn't she just work in a factory with the other girls?"

There was a tight silence when he stopped. Kat wasn't sure if she was supposed to be offended-whether David had meant for her to be or not. Spot's response chose hers.

"I don tell nobody how ta run t'ings—don' you tell me. Kat ain't 'ere fer no 'use', she's 'ere cause I say she is. An she ain't leavin till I say she does." The muscles in his forearm stood out as he clenched his hand over the top of his cane. His mouth was a hard line, set in a face tilted in the air to indicate the danger David's case was in. Once again, Jack interrupted to smooth ruffled feathers before David could really ruin relations with Brooklyn.

"All we wanna know is what dis means fer us. We don care whatcha do, Spot. What's dis mean fer us? That's all we wanna know."

There was a long silence as he measured his response. He looked intently at David, who was frowning again and squirming.

"Dis don have not'in ta do wid you." He said finally.
"So not'in 'ill change?"

"Not'in."

Kat glanced between the two and decided that perhaps it was her turn to speak up.

"Spot," she whispered, leaning into his side in an attempt to shield her words from David and Jack. "I didn' know my being here was going to be such a problem." He looked down at her seriously.

"You ain't a problem. If I say you stay, den you stay." He grabbed the top of her arm and turned back to the lodging house.

"We're goin 'ome."

"Wait, Spot. We still have t'ings ta tell ya bout" Jack called after him, but to no avail.

Kat glanced apologetically over her shoulder and Spot's hand, to where Jack stood. Spot did not. He continued walking, past the lodging house, down by the docks, and straight up to the tiny hut from before.