Disclaimer: This is a songfic. The song 'Eye to Eye' from Disney's 'A Goofy Movie' does not belong to me. The newsies do not belong to me. Both belong to Disney. Damn Disney for their great songs and characters. Damn them! ;;; J/K. But this plotline is mine, and the briefly mentioned characters Heels and Oiler belong to me too. Well Oiler does. Heels belongs to my friend Comet-him. They'll be popping up in another story later on, but I'm going to shut up now and let you read my story! ENJOY OR DIE, just kidding. Please review!

Eye to Eye

Twelve year-old Francis Sullivan cried out as he stumbled on the cobbled road. He cursed softly and blinked back tears of embarrassment. Why did New York have to be so goddamned big? Santa Fe…well, Santa Fe had been pretty big too, but at least there, you could see the sun. And there hadn't been as many people. Francis sighed to himself, and crawled over to the sidewalk and out of the way before Snyder could come along and find him.

"Hey, whattaya t'ink youse doin'!"

Francis looked up, though he didn't have to look far, into the face of a tough young blonde. The other boy pushed Francis backwards. "Doan get in me way!"

Francis stared up at him with shocked brown eyes, and again began to blink tears away from his face. "I'm sorry…" he said quietly. "I didn't know you was there."

The other boy's face softened. "Aw, doan cry, kid. Heah. Lemme help ya up." He held out his hand and Francis took it.

Both boys stopped still at that touch. For a moment, they forgot the crowds, Francis forgot about his father killing his mother and the other boy forgot about the papes he had to sell before night fell. All that existed was Francis, and the blonde boy that had pushed him.

The blonde helped Francis to stand.

"Me name's James Conlon. But doancha dare call me dat. Ev'rybody calls me Spot." He said dreamily, flushing slightly. "'Cause I's so small."

"My name's Francis Sullivan." Francis replied.

Spot stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Youse gotta be kiddin' me!"

Francis flushed. "No. But I'm tryin' to come up with another name." he glanced cautiously over his shoulder. No Snyder. "The cops…they're after me."

Spot grinned. "Dey's aftah most a us, Jack."

"Jack?"

Spot shrugged. "'Scommon name. Sorry."

Francis smiled. "No. I likes it. Jack…" He considered for a moment. "Jack…Kelly. My mudda's maiden name was Kelly."

"So youse Jack Kelly now?"

Francis/Jack nodded. "T'anks, Spot."

Spot smiled at him. "No problem, Jack." He looked up at the sun, and his smiled faded. "Shit!" he cried. "I's gotta get goin', Jack. I'll see ya again?"

Jack nodded, the smile still plastered on his face. "A course, Spot. Where do you live?"

"Da Brooklyn Lodgin' House." Spot picked up his papers, which he'd dropped on the ground upon running into Jack. "I's a newsie."

"Maybe I could stay there? Until…until da bulls get off my back?"

Spot shook his head. "We's full. But dere's a Lodgin' House in Manhattan dat's gotta few open spaces." He studied Jack. "Youse new heah, aintcha? Hoid it in yer accent. Where ya from?"

"Santa Fe. New Mexico."

Spot raised his eyebrows with pleasure. "Well den, Cowboy, 'snice ta meetcha. I hope dat you'll come visit me in Brooklyn." He tipped his hat, and walked off.

Jack watched him leave, then turned and headed off in a random direction. Surely there would be someone out there that would direct him to Manhattan.

---

Jack Kelly leapt off a large box and landed in front of his blue-eyed friend.

"Heya, boit'day boy!" He grinned as Spot cried out in surprise. "Gots a gift fer da fifteen yeah-old!"

Spot got control of himself and scoffed. "What kinda gift coul' youse get fer me, Jacky-boy?"

Jack grinned. "C'mon, Spot, y'know dat I always gets ya a gift on yer boit'day."

Spot couldn't resist smiling back. "All right, all right. Show me whatcha got fer me dis yeah."

Jack's smile was angelic in its joy and excitement as he pulled a wooden slingshot from his pocket.

Maybe we'll discover what we should have known all along
One way or another, together's where we both belong

He handed it shyly to Spot, then scrambled up onto the post beside his blonde friend.

"Well?" he asked excitedly, acting more like a five-year-old than his actual fifteen years. "Whaddaya t'ink?"

Spot stared at the slingshot then looked at his friend. "Did youse steal dis?"

Jack's grin was full of pride. "Nope. Made it."

Spot's blue eyes widened. "Youse ain't serious, Jack!"

Jack nodded confidently. "D'ya like it?"

"Like it!" Spot asked in surprise. He took a spare marble from his pocket, loaded it into the sling and shot it into the sky. It flew straight and true, never once straying from it's path. "I loves it! Slings like a dream! Jack! 'Swondaful!" Before he knew what he was doing, he flung his arms around Jack's neck and embraced him.

---

Both boys froze as soon as their bodies touched, but neither moved out of the other's grip. They simply stared at each other. It had been three years since they had first met out on the streets, and this was the closest they had ever been to each other.

Spot flushed pink, and released Jack. He coughed lightly, sneaking his apology into that. Jack allowed a short laugh, his face also pink.

"So…'appy boit'day, Spot." Jack said after a short silence.

Spot nodded. "T'anks, Jack." He said sincerely.

Jack smiled. "A course, Spot." He hesitated, then clapped Spot on the shoulder. "I's gotta get goin', doh. See ya latah, all right?"

"Sho t'ing, Jacky-boy." Spot replied. Jack turned and walked off the dock, waving as he left.

Spot stared after him, then looked down at his new slingshot. A single tear of gratitude ran down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away, then walked off the dock with the single best gift he had ever been given in his life.

---

Davey Jacobs turned to Spot and shook his shoulder. "Come on, Spot, help me!"

Spot shook him off. "Help ya do what?"

"Keep the boys from fighting each other, all right?"

Spot shrugged. "Keep yer shoit on, Dave, I'll do it." He started to walk off, when Dave grabbed him again. "What!"

"You okay?" Dave asked softly.

Spot frowned. "Yeh. I's foine."

"I did what I could, Spot…"

"I know youse did! Now shaddup n lemme alone!" Spot shook Davey off and started through the crowd, separating fighting newsies as he moved. "Hey, hey, hey…break it up." He said, disengaging a fight between two younger newsies. He looked up briefly as he turned to go back through the crowd of boys, then did a double-take, his blue eyes as wide as he would allow in the bright sun. "Hey…hey, Race, c'mere."

Racetrack Higgins, another newsboy that was rather on the short side, walked up beside Spot. "What?"

"Tell me I'm seein' t'ings…jus'…jus'…tell me I'm seein' t'ings!" Spot struggled to hide the desperation in his voice as he pointed out the shocking sight to Race. He felt Race's shoulder tense underneath his hand.

"No, youse ain't seein' t'ings, dat's Jack. What's 'e doin'?" Race maneuvered his head to try and get a better look.

"But…'e's dressed like a scabbah!" Spot cried in shock and hurt. Jack had been his close friend for five years now, and that friendship had developed, at least for Spot, into something deeper than that. And the thought that Jack had turned traitor on him…that was a thought too hideous to bear!

A young Newsie with dark curls and dreamy eyes walked forward against the bulls, his eyes full of hurt. "Jack? Jack, look at me, will ya? C'mon, it's me, Mush! Lookit me. Whattaya doin', Jack!" He seemed close to tears as the cops pushed him back into the crowd.

Another newsboy with dark blonde hair and a brown patch over one eye, called Kid Blink, was almost frantic with a combination of rage and pain. "Dis ain't happenin'. Dis can't be happenin'. Whattaya doin' Jack? C'mon, whattaya doin'!" He thrust himself against the linked arms of the officers, but didn't succeed any more than Mush had.

A young black newsie threw himself over the officers' arms and nearly made it across, but the cops had better reflexes than the boy had expected. "C'mon. What is dis? Where'd ya get dem clothes!"

Spot turned his face away from the scene as the Manhattan Supplier, a man named Weisel, called Weasel, grinning sickeningly.

"Mr. Pulitzer picked them out himself." The coarse excuse for a man said. "A special gift to a special new employee."

Hearing what he knew to be true but refused to accept said out loud outraged Spot. He turned on his heel, face flushed with anger and betrayal. "He sold us out!" he cried. He shut his eyes, trying to shut out the possibility of this display, and thus missed the look of sad surprise in Jack's face.

"I'll give ya a new suit! Ya bum! I'll soak ya!" Race cried near Spot. He didn't even try to go through the bulls; the boy was one of the older newsies, and had a bit more common sense.

Jack frowned, and shrugged his new jacket off his shoulders. Spot opened his eyes to look at him. He saw the real Jack in those eyes, but the rest of him…the rest of him was a Jack Spot didn't care to know at all. Spot's anger flared again, and he threw himself into the bulls.

"Hey, hey, hey! Lemme get my hands doity. C'mere ya doity rotten scabbah! Traitah!" The blonde was almost in tears as the officers pushed him back into the crowd. He stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground. He stayed there as Davey was invited to talk to Jack. Spot shook his head, and slowly got back up. He lifted his face and watched Davey and Jack, hoping Davey would throw a good punch, knock some sense into their good-looking friend. When Davey started over to rejoin the Newsies, Spot silently urged him to soak Jack, to make Jack think twice about betraying him. When blue eyes locked with blue, Davey nodded slightly, and turned. Jack pressured him.

"Whatsa mattah? Got a problem?" Jack urged, his upper lip curling. He flinched ever so slightly as Davey rushed at him. The newsies cheered to raise the sky and slapped him on the back as he was thrown back into the crowd. The bulls created another human wall as Jack was led through the crowd.

"Traitah!" Spot cried again.

"Ya make me sick!" Blink shouted angrily.

"I trusted youse!" Boots jeered.

Racetrack ambled up near them, tossing a cigarette to the ground. "Seize da day, huh, Jack?"

Spot watched helplessly as Jack walked quickly down the street, away from the violently angry mob of ruthless boys. He wanted Jack to turn around and look at him, say something with his eyes, but no dice, as Race would say. Jack didn't do anything but walk casually away.

"He's foolin' 'em, so he can spy on 'em or something. Yeah, yeah, that's it. He's foolin' 'em!" Dave's little brother, Les, cried. Spot shook his head, blinking back tears. Race sighed and patted Les's head.

"Yeh, he's spyin' on 'em, kid." he said half-heartedly.

"I mean it!" Les protested as Davey led him back to the gates of the Distribution Center. The crowd dispersed, and Spot was left alone with his betrayed and broken heart.

---

Spot stood on the Brooklyn Dock, smoking a cigarette in the moonlight. It was nice swimming here with his friends during the day, but Spot found, as he steadily grew older, that it was even nicer to be alone here, during the night.

"Heya, Spotty."

Spot exhaled smoke into the night. "Heya Jacky-boy." he replied without looking. "What's goin' on?"

Jack joined him on the dock. "Got anudda smoke?"

"Yeh."

"Willin' ta share?"

Spot eyed him for a moment, then nodded. He took another cigarette from his pocket and gave it to the dark-eyed 19 year-old. Jack thanked him quietly, lit the cigarette, and took a drag. Spot watched intently as his companion exhaled the smoke, creating a perfect sensual image against the round, ivory moon.

"Whattaya want, Jacky-boy?" Spot asked, reminding himself of Jack's straight sexuality, and putting up his defenses once again.

Again, Jack dragged on his cigarette and whispered the smoke into the humid summer air.

"Youse avoidin' da subject, Jack." Spot said after a few moments of silence. "Whattaya want?"

Jack looked at Spot for another muted moment, then sighed, smoke dancing from his lips and nostrils. "I's leavin', Spot."

Spot jumped, dropping his cigarette to the ground. "What! Jack, youse ain't serious!"

"'Course I's serious. I wouldn' tell ya somethin' what wasn't true." He breathed smoke once more.

"Why ya leavin' Jack?" Spot asked quietly, lighting another cigarette.

"'Cause I cain't face Sarah no moah." Jack responded, just as quietly.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean dat I embarrassed meself in front a Sarah n I cain't look 'er in da face no moah, all right!" Jack spat, his voice shaking with frustration. He turned away from the ocean, his shoulders heaving, then turned and threw his cigarette into the still waters with a grunt.

Spot blinked at Jack in surprise. "Jack, calm down!" He said. "It's jus' me n you, but ya doan hafta get violent."

Jack looked at Spot, panting with his yearning. "I…Sarah n me…we tried makin' love, n…n I couldn' do it."

Spot flushed in the darkness. "Why couldntcha, Jacky-boy?"

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, a frustrated trademark of his that Spot found extremely charming. "'Cause…no. I cain't tell ya."

Spot frowned in confusion. "Youse c'n tell me anythin', Jack. We's been friends fer so long now." He put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "'Sallmost like I's c'n read yer t'ots, but I needs a l'il help doin' it, righ' now."

Jack lifted his head. "I doan t'ink youse gonna need any 'elp dis time, Conlon." He looked at his friend.

Spot took a step backward when he saw the sheer, utter desire in his friend's chestnut eyes. "Jack…I…"

"N youse cain't deny nuthin' eithah, Spot." Jack interrupted. "Youse been aftah me fer t'ree yeahs now."

Spot flushed bright pink. "But…Jacky-boy…I's da reason youse…"

"I kept t'inkin' a youse, Spot, n I couldn' bring meself ta love Sarah."

Spot looked at the ground, then back up at Jack. "Den why cantcha stay, Jack? Or take me witcha?"

"I cain't stay. I cain't lookit Sarah no moah, n since Dave's a close friend, I's gonna hafta lookit 'er a lot. So I's gots ta leave." He sighed. "N I wanna take youse wit' me, but da Newsies heah need ya." He ran his fingers through his hair again. "Moah den I does."

Spot bit his lip. "But Jack…"

"No. Shush. I'll be back."

"When?"

"When I feels ready 'nuff ta come back." Jack adjusted his vest. "I's gotta go, Spot. Gotta go catch me train." He started down the dock. Spot hesitated, then ran after him.

"Jack! Please! Take me witcha! I cain't live wit'out ya, Jack!"

"Youse done it befoah."

"But dat was befoah I knew I coul' be whole! N…n, wit'out youse, Jack, I ain't whole!"

Jack turned swiftly, grabbed Spot's arms, and pressed his mouth against the short blonde's. Spot's cobalt eyes widened at first, then shut with the satiation that ran through him, the finally satisfied desire.

Jack then broke the kiss, but he didn't let go of his cherished boy. He placed a long finger on Spot's mouth.

"If youse jus' listen ta yer heart, Spot, you'll see dat I's always dere. I ain't nevah gonna leave ya if we really loves each odda." He whispered huskily, before placing another brief kiss on Spot's mouth, then turning and leaving.

As soon as Jack turned the corner, Spot fell to his knees and sobbed, seriously sobbed, for the first time in a full twelve years. The cold loneliness enveloped him, and his need for Jack's love, which had been satiated during their first kiss, had returned with a thunder in Spot's heart, and a hole that would not be filled for another three years.

---

Spot pushed through the shouting, rowdy newsboys, trying to get to his front desk. He was now the 22 year-old head of the Brooklyn Lodging House, putting him in charge of all these young boys. He sighed as the front bell rang for the fourth time.

"Coming!" he called. "Keep yer shoit on!" He gently shoved a young newsgirl, known as Heels, out of the way, then jumped over the short swinging door and behind his desk. A young man stood before him. "How c'n I be a soivice?"

The man smiled, and Spot was struck momentarily dumb with nostalgia. The smile was so similar to that of Jack's. Jack. The boy that had left him mind-numbingly lonely.

"Are you lonely?" the man asked.

Spot blinked. "What?"

"Are you lonely?"

Spot looked around at the newsies, then back at the man. "Yes." he whispered.

"Thought so. Saw it in your eyes." The man's smile widened slightly. "Youse has gorgeous eyes. Somebody could drown in them."

Spot locked eyes with the man, then dropped his face to the desk. "C'n I help youse, sir?"

The man nodded slowly. "Yeh. Since youse so lonely, you can help me by meetin' me on the dock. Midnight. Tonight." His hand found it's way over Spot's. The blonde shuddered at its icy feel. "Stop bein' lonely." he whispered, before tipping his black hat and starting out the door. "I hope dat you'll come visit me."

Spot watched him leave, his mind in a confused stupor, until a fight started between Heels and a greasy-haired newsboy called Oiler, for his black hair. He sighed to himself and went to break it up, internally promising himself to take up the strange man's offer.

---

Spot walked cautiously across the docks that night. The moon was full, the air was humid, and on it, you could smell the lightest trace of smoke. Nostalgia broke over him in a tsunami of emotions: loneliness, desire, love, pain, betrayal, sadness…

"Heya, Spot."

"Heya, Jacky-boy." Spot replied without thinking. He gasped, and whirled around. "Sorry, sir! I didn'…"

"Actually, you'd be right." The young man said. "I's surprised you didn't realize it earlier." He took off his hat, and Spot found himself locking eyes with the dark-haired boy that had left him three years earlier.

"Jacky-boy!" Spot cried, and before he could stop himself, he found he had intertwined his tongue with the other young man's. But to his delight, the kiss was familiar, and accepted.

The young men parted for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, before diving back in again. It ended in a sweet coition that they had both longed for since that very first meeting in the street, ten years earlier.

After they finished, Spot was dancing his fingers through Jack's hair. Both boys were smiling at each other.

"I loves ya, Jack." Spot said softly.

Jack's eyes softened slightly. "I loves ya too, Spot." he kissed Spot's fingers before going for his blonde lover's mouth once again.

And thus, a great destiny, which had been formed by mere boys, was completed by young men who had listened to their hearts, and found a way to see each other in the way that only true lovers can:

Eye to eye.

If we listen to each other's hearts
We'll find we're never too far apart
And maybe love is the reason why
For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye

END

AUTHOR'S NOTE

WHEE! I'm so HAPPY with how this turned out! dances about the room WHEEEEEEE…anyhoo…

grins

Yes, in the boredom of waiting for people to cast their ballots for How Shall I Decide? I went to writing Jack/Spot slash. Watch for more boredom-inspired Newsies slash from me between now and Thanksgiving. ;;;

But it is bedtime.

And thus! I leave!

dashes off