Jack slammed the door behind him, and stormed into the main room.

"Where's Snitch?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Race looked up, and blinked. "Upstaihs." he said, gesturing with his thumb. "Playin' mahbles wit' da youngah boys."

Jack nodded, threw his coat on the ground, then started up the stairs to the bunkroom, where he threw the door open.

Snitch Riccio looked up from his game, along with Boots, Snipeshooter, Tumbler and Slider.

"Wha's goin' on, Jack?" Snitch asked, frowning.

"Spot wants ta see ya, Snitch." Jack said, hoisting himself up onto his bunk.

Snitch blinked. "Why?"

Jack scowled. "Wouldn' tell me. Youse gotta go see 'im. Now."

Snitch bit his lip and stood. "All righ'. I shoul' be back befoah evenin' sellin' time."

Jack nodded, then lay down on his bed. Snitch hesitated, then walked downstairs.

"Whaddid Jack want?" Race asked him as he grabbed his coat.

"I's gotta go see Spot Conlon. Dunno why."
Race snorted. "Good luck, Snitcharoo. Youse gonna need it."

Snitch made a face at him and put his hat on. "T'anks Race." he said as he left. He could hear Race laughing at him as he stepped out into the snow. He shook his head, flipped up the collar of his moth-eaten jacket, and headed off to Brooklyn.

It was a pretty sight. The ocean was a blue-gray, reflecting the gray of the sky. Snow covered the dock in a white blanket. Most of the Brooklyn boys were smoking, playing blackjack or poker on top of the snow; too cold to swim. They looked up as Snitch passed them. Some growled, some laughed, but none stopped him. They knew Spot had called him. They wouldn't stand in his way.

Snitch stopped in the middle of the dock to have a look around. His bare hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but his pockets were so full of holes that it didn't help all that much. He sighed, and could see his breath on the air. C'mon. He said, looking around. I cain't stay heah too long. 'Stoo col'. Where's Spot?

His ears pricked and he turned quickly. Spot Conlon stared at him with clear blue-green eyes. A smile spread out over the smaller boy's face.

"Keen senses." he said. "Good."

Snitch stared down at him, then bit his lip. "Whaddaya want, Spot?" he asked.

"I gots a job fer ya, Riccio."

Snitch wrinkled his nose. "What is it?"

"Wantcha ta steal somethin'. I's hoid from…" he thought about it, then grinned. "L'il boids dat youse da slickest, quickest, quietest l'il t'ief in New Yawk. N I's seen proof a it. So I wants ya ta steal somethin'."

"What? Where? Who?" Snitch asked, all business. "How much?"

Spot grinned. "I wantcha ta steal a joinal from Specs Jameson. Moah den likely 'sat da Lodgin' 'Ouse in Manhattan, but I doan know 'sactly where. I'll pay ya 'smuch 'scan afford ta lose."

Snitch grinned back. "Whaddaya want me ta steal a joinal fer?"

"'Sa joinal I kept when I's goin' out wit' me foist boy."

Snitch straightened up. "Boy?"

Spot blinked at him. "Yeh. Boy. Didntcha know?"

Snitch shook his head slowly. "No…"

Spot laughed. "I's s'prised! I's had most ev'ry Manhattan boy by now!" He smirked as a flush spread up Snitch's cheeks. "T'ot one a 'em mighta tol' ya. Guess not. But dat joinal's gotta lotta t'ings in it dat I doan wan' nobody but me ol' boy ta see." He stared at Snitch for a moment. "C'n youse read?"

Snitch shook his head.

"Good. Even bettah. Youse hired." He spat in his hand and held it to Snitch, who did the same. The boys shook on their deal.

The Brooklyn newsies couldn't help but snicker at the sight of Manhattan's second-tallest newsboy shaking hands with their tiny leader.

Snitch had kept his eye on Specs all that evening, and when the other boys were resting downstairs, he sneaked up to the bunkroom to have a search around. He found Specs's bunk and searched all around it. Specs, being an older newsie, had a small cabinet by his bed, for him to keep his stuff, like his glasses and pocket watch and hat. Race had one too, for that matter. Snitch made a note to check there too, just in case, but first went to Specs's cabinet. He rooted around in there for a moment, found nothing, but he realized that was where Specs kept his pay and made a mental note of that. He shut the cabinet, and proceeded to Specs's bed. He searched all around there, and finally found something, hidden under the mattress. He grinned and grabbed it: a small, tattered notebook. He couldn't read the letters on the front, but his first guess was that it read 'Spot Conlon'.

He grinned, held the notebook to his chest, and shoved it under his own mattress. Then he went back downstairs to the other boys.

But he couldn't help wishing that he could read. He wanted to know what was in that journal.

The Manhattan newsboys were getting ready for bed later that evening. Snitch pulled himself up onto his bed, and watched as Jack, sitting on his own bed, pulled off his pants and hung them up on his bedpost.

"Jack…" Snitch ventured.

"Yeh, Snitchet?"

"Youse known Spot a long time right?"

"Yup."

"Den ya knew dat he went wit' odda boys?"

Jack started to laugh. "Know? Hell! I was one a dose boys! Da foist!"

"Oh…I didn'…da foist?" Snitch's back straightened. "Youse da foist?"

Jack grinned. "Yeh."

Snitch looked at the washroom, and sighed heavily as Specs walked out and over to his bed. "I's gotta talk ta youse tomorrah den."

Jack shrugged. "Sho' t'ing, Snitchet." he said, stretching his arms in the air.

Snitch stared at him, biting his lip, then turned to tease Itey about his hair, which had somehow been filled with snow while the young Italian was in the washroom.

But his mind was on the journal under his mattress.

Snitch caught up with Jack the next morning, and handed him the journal as they waited for the gates to open.

"What's dis say?" he asked.

Jack ran his fingers over the journal. "'James Conlon'. Dat's Spot's name."

Snitch blinked. "Wha's in it?"

Jack looked at him. "I's sho' Spot doan wantcha ta heah what's in here."

"But I wanna know why 'e wants it so badly!"

Jack stared at Snitch, then grinned. "Well, I doan care. So c'mon ovah heah, I'll read it ta youse."

Snitch beamed at him. "T'anks Jack!"

The newsboys went to sit against the wall, and Jack opened the journal.

"Spot's gonna kill me if 'e evah foinds out I read dis ta youse." Jack said softly, flipping through pages of poetry and entries. There were letters and pictures between just about every page.

"Well, 'e woan foind out from me." Snitch promised. "Whattaya lookin' fer?"

"Somethin' good. Ev'rythin' in heah 'sgood, but dere's some t'ings what's bettah den oddas."

"Youse read all dese befoah?"

"Yeh." Jack grinned. "Spot loved me. I's da only boy what evah got treatment like dis. If Spot's willin' ta show a boy 'is writin's, den he's in love. Dat ain't no lie."

Snitch grinned at Jack, then looked back down at the journal when Jack sighed. "Heah's somethin'. Spot wrote dis when he was….fifteen, I t'ink. Fer me."

"Read it."

"'Kay. Somethin's tellin' me dat t'ings ain't quite right

I's hopin ta see ya, all day n all night

My heart starts a-poundin' when I see dat youse neah

So I toin right around den, so youse woan know I's heah

But dat's when you find me, standin' right dere

I choke on me woids, 'cause youse dark n I's faih

Eyes dat's so sharp n so covered, I cain't see

See 'sactly what youse feelin' fer me

'Sall I c'n do ta see youse each day

N hope dat somehow, you feels da same way."

Snitch stared at the book, then at Jack. "Spot wrote dat?"

"Spot's gotta way wit' woids. I mean, 'e ain't no profess'nal o' nuthin', y'know, pape-sellin's 'is life, but he knows what he's doin' wit' poetry n writin' n stuff."

"What else's in heah?"

"Heah's one a 'is lettahs: Deah Jack. Woids cain't describe what I need ta say ta youse. But I's willin' ta try. Da moon shines down on da eart', as does da sun, but neitha's gonna last 'slong's me love fer youse. Da moon, she smiles, da sun, 'e laughs, but dey ain't 'sappy 'swe is now. I cain't seem ta place what I sees in da moon, or in da sun, but I know dat what dey see in us is somethin' dats gonna las' longah den da stahs."

Snitch was speechless. There was no way that Spot Conlon wrote this. Snitch wasn't very educated at all, but he knew that this was simply beautiful, something to evoke emotion in everyone.

Jack sighed, and smiled wistfully. "Y'know, I doan even remembah why we stopped bein' each oddas boy." Then his sweet smile turned into a smirk. "Ah yes. Dat's right. Spot wanted somethin' else. Someone who coul' fully un'nahstand jus' 'ow 'is writin' woiks."

"But youse seem ta un'nahstand it now?" Snitch questioned, flipping through pages and pages of scribblings and musings that couldn't click in his head. He frowned, frustrated. He was sixteen years old, he should be able to read by now.

"Nah. I jus' knows it's good. Doan know why 'sgood."

"'Cause it makes ya feel t'ings." Snitch said quietly.

Jack looked at him. "What?"

"'Cause it makes ya feel t'ings. Da way 'e writes. Let's ya know 'ow Spot's feelin', n den makes ya feel da same way." Snitch explained.

Jack stared at him, then back at the journal. "Youse right, Snitchet. Nevah realized dat befoah." He grinned at Snitch. "'Ow'd youse get dis anyway?"

Snitch grinned. "Stole it from Specs. Dunno 'ow Specs got it…"

"He's Spot's latest."

Snitch looked up. "Latest?"

"Conquest." Jack sighed. "Since 'e left me, 'e nevah seemed ta be wit' anybody any longah den it took ta get 'em inta bed."

Snitch stared at Jack, shocked. "I nevah t'ot a Spot dat way befoah."

Jack shrugged. "'Sjus' 'cause he's picky. He insists dat 'e c'n tell if a guy c'n un'nahstand 'is stuff or not if 'e sleeps widdem."

Snitch bit his lip, and flipped through the pages again, until Jack stopped him, putting a gloved hand over Snitch's bare one on a page stained with tears.

"Lemme read dis one." Jack said softly. Snitch looked at him, then sat back against the wall to listen. "Jack n me decided not ta see each odda no moah. 'E doan un'nahstand me writin', n 'sard fer me ta get tru ta 'im dat way. I's slept widdim a coupla times, n dat's good, real good, but when I's tryin' ta tell 'im dat I loves 'im, in da talk dat gets tru ta da ladies in da books, like Cyrano n Shakespeare n dem guys, but I guess dat what gets tru ta da ladies doan always get tru ta da guys. I wish Jack coul' know moah 'bout me writin' den dat 'sgood or 'sweet or 'beautiful. I wish 'e knew why does t'ings was true. Den, maybe, we coul' woik t'ings out, but…I doan t'ink he'll evah know."

There was silence between the two newsboys for a moment, until Jack sighed. "Well…he's ovah me now, I know dat much. He wouldta slept wit' nobody else 'till 'e was ovah me." He laughed as Snitch regarded him with confusion. "Spot's got morals. 'E may not 'ave too many a 'em, but he's got 'em." Jack stood and stretched. "Moah den I c'n say fer mosta dese guys."

Snitch stood and replaced the journal inside his jacket. "What 'bout youse, Jack?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Youse ovah Spot?"

Jack thought about it. "Yeh. I's been ovah Spot fer a while now. Dunno 'sactly 'ow long. But I's ovah 'im. He's jus' me frien' now. Doan t'ink we'll evah be lovahs again, not 'less I gets an education or Spot dumbs 'imself down. N I doan t'ink eitha' one a dose t'ings 'sgonna 'appen any time soon." Jack shrugged his shoulders, then put a hand on Snitch's arm. "C'mon, Snitchet. Le's go get our papes befoah dey's all gone."

Snitch shook his head slowly. "I's gotta t'ink fer a moment, Jack."

Jack blinked at him, shrugged again, then went inside the open gates, immediately starting a lively conversation with Racetrack, over which of them could stand out in the snow starkers longer.

Snitch smiled, then removed the journal from his jacket again. "James Conlon…" he said softly. "Youse got a talen' none a us evah knew ya had." He looked around shiftily, then hugged the journal to his chest. "I coul' get ta love dat side a youse." he whispered softly. He stared at the journal for a moment, then kissed it and ran inside the gates, replacing it inside his mangy coat.

Spot glared at him. "Where's da lettahs?"

Snitch blinked innocently at him. "What lettahs?"

"Dere's s'posed ta be lettahs in heah. Where dey at?"

Snitch shrugged. "Dunno. No lettahs when I took it."

Spot bit his lip, and skimmed through his journal. "Youse sho'?" he asked, a little uncertainly.

Snitch nodded. "Dere weren' no lettahs. Specs didn' 'ave 'em n neitha did Jack."

Spot exhaled, and Snitch could see worry flittering in the blonde's blue-gray eyes. "Den find 'em. Dey's gotta be round dere somewheres, find 'em!"

Snitch nodded, grinned and left at a run.

Spot watched him leave, then something clicked in his head.

"Did 'e jus' say Jack didn' 'ave any of 'em?" He frowned. "I nevah tol' 'im 'bout Jack…"

Snitch sat down in the bench by the bookshop, breathing heavily. He had run all the way from Brooklyn to the square, and that was tiring, even for the 'slickest, quickest, quietest little thief in all of New York'. He looked around himself and saw no other newsies in sight. At that realization, he reached in his yellow pouch, the one he used to hide the items he stole, and pulled Spot's letters from inside. He ran his fingers lightly over the words, and sighed softly.

"Spot…youse a poet. Hidden insida dat tough, fightin' newsboy is a poet, sweetah den Shakespeare, moah clevah den Cyrano…"

"Youse really t'ink so?"

Snitch jumped, shoved the papers into his lap, and turned. "Spot! Whattaya doin'?"

Spot scowled at him. "No lettahs, ah? Sho', Snitch. Jus' like youse got yer nickname fer bein' a tattler 'steada bein' a pickpocket."

Snitch stood. "Spot…Spot, listen ta me…"

"N youse tol me youse couldn' read!"

"I cain't read Spot! Listen ta me!"

Spot grabbed the letters from Snitch's hands. "I ain't listnin' ta youse! I ain't gonna! Youse lied ta me, Snitch! Ya lied!"

Snitch fell to his knees, snow crunching as he hit the ground. "Spot, I loves ya!"

Spot hesitated only for a moment. "Yeh, jus' like all da odda boys! Da ones dat says 'youse got beautiful hair, Spotty' n 'yer eyes is ta die fer, Spot'! Da ones what doan care nuthin' fer what's inside!"

Snitch looked up. "N ya sleeps wit' 'em anyway?"

Spot didn't reply.

"Spot, youse doan un'nahstand! I loves youse! 'Cause a what youse written dere!" Snitch gestured at the letters in Spot's hands. Spot glared at him.

"But youse cain't read." The blonde newsboy said quietly.

Snitch looked down. "Jack read 'em to me."

Spot gripped the letters, wrinkling them beneath bare hands and fingers nearly violet with cold. "Dat bastahd. I'll kill 'im." he whispered to himself. To Snitch, he said, "Youse! I want youse outta heah! I cain't b'lieve dis! Youse go back ta yer Lodgin' 'Ouse n I nevah wanna see youse again! No pay neithah!"

Snitch's face fell, blank and empty. "Youse really t'ink I'd care 'bout da pay aftah youse says youse doan wanna see me no moah?"

Again, Spot didn't reply. He stared at Snitch for a moment, then took off back to Brooklyn.

Snitch stood on the Brooklyn Bridge, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth as he stared down at the river below. Its waves were inviting, friendly, but still cold. Cold enough that he could refuse their invitation to join them. For now.

"Heya, pickpocket! Youse dead!" Someone grabbed Snitch around his shoulders and started dragging him back. Snitch cried out, and pulled a move Skittery had taught him, elbow in the stomach, under the arms, grab 'em by the neck.

Snitch stared at his captor. "Jack!" he let go of his friend, who started laughed. "Youse scared me Jack!"

"Sorry, Snitchet, I's jus' kiddin'." Snitch glared at him, then turned back to staring at the water. Jack hit him with a glove. "I's jus' jokin'!"

"Well, it ain't funny, Jack." Snitch said coldly. "N I dropped me smoke."

Another cigarette appeared in front of his face, in Jack's fingers. Snitch hesitated, then took it.

"So whattaya doin' out heah, Snitchet? Droppin' off yer deliv'ry?" Jack asked, leaning against the side of the bridge.

Snitch shook his head, and removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled smoke into the afternoon air. "T'inkin'."

"What 'bout?"

"'Bout Spot."

Jack laughed. "Not youse too! I sweah, Spot's gonna 'ave ev'ry boy in da Manhattan Lodgin' 'Ouse at 'is feet 'fore Febr'ary."

Snitch glared at him. "Spot's a good boy. 'E jus'…doan know what ta do wit' 'imself if 'e ain't da macho man he's set 'imself up ta be."

Jack grinned. "Youse got dat right."

Again, Snitch exhaled smoke. "I doan know what ta do, Jacky-boy." he admitted. "I t'ink…I's in love wit' Spot. But only t'ru 'is writin's." He looked at Jack. "Dey's beautiful, Jack."

Jack nodded. "Bettah den anythin' youse or me coul' do."

Snitch grinned. "'Specially me, since I cain't write period."

Jack shrugged. "Point made." He stretched. "Well, nice talkin' witcha, Snitch, but I's got papes ta sell. See ya."

Snitch waved, and turned to stare at the water. The waves were catching on to him, and looked a little warmer. Again, he exhaled smoke. "Heya boys…how's it rollin'?" he asked them quietly.

"Oh, n Snitchet?"

Snitch turned, surprised to see that Jack was still there. "What?"

Jack grinned. "Doan t'row yerself in." he said, half-sincerely, half-joking.

Snitch didn't reply.

Evening fell on the snow-covered town gracefully. Snitch sat outside, smoking a cigarette and watching. Thinking more than a boy with his low education should ever have had to think.

"Heya, Snitch."

Snitch looked up, and nearly dropped his cigarette with surprise. "Spot! Whattaya doin' heah?"

Spot shuffled his feet. "I came ta 'pologize."

Snitch looked down at the snow. "What fer? I shoul' be 'pologizin' ta youse. I's da one what stole yer lettahs."

Spot shook his head. "Nah. I…I's too harsh on ya."

"What?"

"I didn' mean ta hoit ya Snitch."

Snitch looked up and scowled. Testosterone always won over, no matter what sexuality you were or what the situation was. "Ya didn' hoit me." he insisted.

Spot smiled. "Trus' me. I's said da same t'ing da same way a million times, Snitch. Youse cain't fool me. 'Sides, I talked ta Jack. I hoit ya, n I's sorry."

Snitch stared at him, then threw his cigarette into the snow. "Foine. I's sorry I stole yer lettahs."

The blonde sat down beside him. "Why'd ya steal me lettahs, Snitch?"

Snitch didn't look at him.

"Youse cain't even read." Spot continued. Snitch smiled.

"Least youse un'nahstands dat now." he said softly, turning his head to look at Spot. The blonde grinned uncertainly.

"Heah." Spot reached into his pocket. "I's got somethin' fer youse." he pulled out a sheet of paper. "Dis is fer youse. Get Jack ta read it ta youse."

Snitch stared at it. "What is it?"

Spot smirked and stood up, brushing snow off the back of his trousers. "You'll see. Get Jack ya read it ta youse." He waved. "Bye, Snitcheling."

Snitch raised his eyebrows at the nickname as Spot ran off. He looked at the paper in his hand, then stood and went back into the Lodging House.

He needed to find Jack.

Spot and Snitch met the following morning at the dock. Spot was smirking and Snitch looked uncomfortable.

"I cain't b'lieve youse wrote dat fer me, Spot." he said shyly. "'Sbeautiful."

Spot blinked at him. "What make's it beautiful, doh?" he asked quietly.

Snitch looked up, hazel eyes blazing with emotion. "Makes me feel t'ings, Spot. Dis foist line…I's shocked. Den, it toined inta bein' flattered. Den…den, I knew Spot, dat I loved ya."

Spot smiled. "So youse un'nahstand me writin?"

"I t'ink so."

Spot's face shone with a childlike joy. "Really?"

"Yeh. Makes sense ta me."

"Yet youse ain't got no education?"

Snitch shook his head.

Spot stared at him for a moment, then reached out and grabbed him around the waist. Snitch cried out in surprise. "Spot! Whattaya doin'?"

Spot reached up and touched Snitch's cheek, flushed with cold and bewilderment. "Youse un'nahstand me writin'." he repeated. "Does ya un'nahstand dis?" He stood on his toes and brought his face to meet Snitch's. The taller boy's eyes widened at first, completely caught off guard, then shut in pleasure. He put his hands on Spot's arms and crushed their bodies together. They stayed together like that for a moment that was long and short at the same time before pulling apart, and staring into each other's eyes.

Spot smiled. "I t'ink I's in love witcha, Snitcheling."

Snitch laughed, and brushed his mouth against Spot's warm cheek. "I t'ink I's hatin' dat nickname."

Spot kissed Snitch softly. "I woan use it no moah, den. 'Cept when I's writin'. 'Seasiah ta rhyme."

Snitch grinned, and they kissed again, long and hard and passionate, until Snitch was positive that his life would be worth more now, worth more than just thieving and slinking around, picking pockets. He and Spot were together now, and that was the honest to God truth.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***
HAH. See Sparks, it CAN BE DONE. **lifts arms in triumph** MWAHAHAHAHAHA. I am the ultimate. It was only a matter of time before this came out.

And I have another one being put together in my mind. Hm. I wonder if Keza will like…Ahahaha, I am THE strange pairing whore. **skanks around** Who is currently obsessed with swing music **skanks around some more** **watches swing kids**. Oh! I should probably mention! The part where Jack and Snitch are talking on the bridge is based on a scene from Swing Kids. **grins** Christian Bale was such a cute Nazi. Yesh, I'm insane. Get over it. ^^ Okay, um…that's all. SWING HEIL and chow.

**3 swing kids**