I looked up from my perch on the dock and grinned to myself.

"Well, if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick." I called from my perch on the dock.

Jack grinned winningly at me. "I see ya moved up in da woild, Spot." he replied, pretending there was nothing as he always did. "Gots a rivah view and ev'rythin'."

I hopped down from my post and exchanged a sweet smile with my boyfriend. Because that's what he was. We kept it secret from our friends because we didn't know how they would react to it.

Jack spit in his hand. I followed suit, and we shook.

I turned my attention to Jack's guests, a black newsboy called Boots, and another that I didn't recognize, though I recognized the look in his bright blue eyes when he looked at Jack. That look of longing, of total and complete desire…that was how I would look when I saw myself in the mirror after another night with Jack.

I felt heated envy in my veins, but quickly suppressed it. Just to make sure, though, I returned my cane to it's holder.

"Heya Boots. How's it rollin'?" I asked casually, casting suspicious glances at Jack.

The younger newsie reached out with a hand full of marbles. "I got a couple a real good shootahs heah." He said, smiling as he put the marbles into my hand.

I took out my slingshot and half-playfully, half-seriously aimed the marble at the curly haired boy. He jumped and started to duck.

"So, Jacky-boy. I's been heahin' t'ings from little boids. T'ings from Harlem, Queens…" I resisted my jealous urges and shot the marble at a beer bottle above me. Curls stared at me in awe when the bottle shattered. I smiled smugly at him. "All ovah."

Jack was starting to sweat. I knew, then. We were over. As soon as Curls and Boots left, he would break it off, and his nights would be spent with that curly-haired, blue-eyed poser.

I blinked back tears and continued. "Dey been choipin' in my ear. Jacky-boy's newsies is playing like dey's goin' on strike."

Jack frowned. "Yeah, well, we are."

"But we're not playing. We really are going on strike." Curls interjected suddenly, almost as if he were jealous of my attentions from Jack.

"Oh yeah? Yeah?" I challenged, getting right in his face. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kind of walking mout'?"

Jack looked upset, and I knew I'd gone too far. "Yeah, it's a mout'. A mout' wit' a brain, and if you got half a one, you'll listen ta what he's gotta say."

I sat on another post and watched the blue-eyed boy as he stumbled for words.

"Well, we started the strike, but we can't do it alone. So, we're talking to newsies all around the city…"

I snorted. "Yeah, so dey tol' me. But what'd dey tell youse?"

"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon is doing, you're the key. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsie in al of New York, and probably everywhere else. And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they join and we'll be unstoppable. So you gotta join, I mean…well, you gotta!"

I had to laugh. Such a suck up. No wonder Jack liked him. "You're right Jacky-boy…" I said, getting up from my post. "Brains." I walked over to Jack and stuck my cane in his face. "But I gots brains too, and more'n just half a one."

Jack looked at me sadly, apologetically. I turned away from him, not wanting to see that. "How do I know you punks won't run da foist time some goon comes at ya wit' a club? How do I know youse gots what it takes to win?"

Jack sighed. "Because I'm tellin' ya, Spot."

I looked at him again. He expected me to believe him, after I discovered he had another boy? No. I wouldn't believe him. "Dat ain't good enough Jacky-boy. You gotta show me."

Jack stared at me for a moment, then sighed. "Go on, Dave. Boots. I'll catch up."

Curls…Dave was what Jack had called him…looked hesitantly at me, then touched Boot's shoulder. They left, and Jack and me were alone.

"Spot…I's…"

I shushed him. "Shut yer mout', Jack. I ain't blind."

Jack was silent.

"So youse goin' wit' him?"

Jack nodded.

"Fine. I don't need ya."

"Spot, yer only refusin' ta help 'cause yer mad at me fer choosin' Dave ovah youse. Dis ain't got nuttin' ta do wit us. It's about helpin' da newsies."

He put his hand on my shoulder, and ice rushed up my veins while fire rushed down.

I shook him off.

"I ain't helpin' no one if dey ain't helpin' me." I hissed. "And you sure as hell ain't helpin' me any."

Jack stared. "Spot…I's sorry, but…"

"Shuddup." I said softly. "Shuddup and go to yer new lovah. Youse doan need me no moah."

I turned and headed back up the dock, entirely ready never to talk to Jack again.

But I felt his mahogany eyes on my back, and knew that that would never happen.

That night, I went out to the dock and sat on a post to think. Dave and Jack…Jack and Dave…Jack don't love me no moah…I thought over and over again. I was hurt and upset and angry and jealous and I couldn't think of anything but Jack. But I knew…it couldn't last. Dave was cute, I saw that much, but he wasn't my Jacky-boy's type at all. Jacky-boy liked the ones that could speak for themselves without being told what to say, or being prodded. Jacky-boy liked the ones that were tiny, yet powerful. Jacky-boy liked the ones with good mouths, dark gold hair and bright blue eyes…Jacky-boy liked me.

Dave was, quite plainly, a brainless, weak, pretty-boy. The curls and the eyes were all that attracted Jack. Dave was too stupid, and his clothes were bad anyway. Although the blue shirt certainly brought out the blue in his eyes.

I sighed heavily, and looked up at the stars. Such a pretty night. Should've been spent with Jack. I sighed again and hopped off the post, starting to head back to the Brooklyn Lodging House, where I would sleep, then awaken, then sell more papes, then swimming in the afternoon, then sleep, wake-up, sell, swim, sleep, wake-up…over and over, because without Jack all the rhythm in my life was gone, all the spontaneity. All the unexpected little things, popping out from an alleyway with a kiss and a hug, sweet nights on the dock under the stars, time and time and time again, yet with Jack, every time was the first time, and so, it was always different.

I growled in frustration, running my fingers roughly through my hair. Jack was mine, mine, so what was that weenie, pretty-boy trying to prove?

I stopped suddenly, hearing sounds other than the waves splashing and my footsteps on the boardwalk. I turned and looked over my shoulder, back at the edge of the dock. Nothing. Looked forward, towards the street. Nothing. Imagination, more than likely. I shrugged it off, and started walking again.

"Heya, James."

I stopped cold.

"Jimmy-boy, ya heah me?"

"I tol' ya nevah ta call me dat." I said coldly.

"It's yer name."

"Want me ta call youse by yer name, Francis?" I said, turning.

Jack leaned against a post, and my heartbeat was wild. "Me name ain't Francis, stupid, it's Jack. Jack Kelly, 'n' my parent's are out west lookin' fer a ranch." He lifted his face, and I could see those beautiful chestnut eyes staring at me under the brim of his black cowboy hat. "You tellin' people any diff'rent?"

I shook my head. "Why would I tell anyone any diff'rent?"

Jack pushed himself off the post and walked towards me. "'Cause youse mad at me."

"I has reason ta be mad at ya."

"I know ya does. And I's sorry." He stood right above me, and smiled. "Whatcha doin' out heah so late at night?"
"I could ask youse da same question, Jacky-boy." I retorted. "'Specially so fah from the Lodgin' House."

Jack shrugged. "Kloppman doan care. We comes and we goes as we pleases, and he knows dat."

"Jacky-boy, why would ya pick dat pretty-boy ovah me?"

Jack looked at me with surprise. "I didn't."

"What?"

He leaned over slightly, so his face was even with mine. "I didn't pick Dave ovah youse. Dave's me pal. Sho', he likes me, a lot, and I t'ot I wanted him, but we was walkin' back ta Manhattan, and I remembered da look on yer face, Spot." He touched my cheek softly. "I didn't want ta see dat look on yer face." He kissed me softly. "I loves ya, Spot."

I couldn't stop the crystalline tears on my face. "I was so afraid I'd nevah see youse again, Jack."

Jack smiled. "Nevah feah, Jacky's heah."

He kissed me again, longer, deeper, sweeter, and this was everything I wanted, everything I needed. Jack Kelly was my boy, and no one else would ever take him from me.

Ever.

I peered over the rooftop to watch as the Cribs flung chains and clubs at the Manhattan Newsboys. Jack fought best he could, but those bastards would throw him right back into the line of fire. I gave the signal to my friends, and we revealed ourselves to our allies and our foes.

I jumped onto a metal porch, smiling proudly. Jack looked up at me, his face full of gratitude and love. My smile widened as I surveyed the surprised looks on the Cribs faces as I shouted words borrowed from my lover to my allies.

"Nevah feah, Brooklyn is heah!"

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

This was originally supposed to be a songfic, but I realized I had a better idea for it, so I got rid of that one. My second Newsies slash, my first Jack/Spot. Woo! **luvvles jack/spot** okay, I think that's all. I have a band competition tomorrow, so I better head off to bed. Chow. ^^