A/N: Thanks again to those how have reviewed. Keep them coming, please. : ) This is another long chapter. It actually started off almost half the length it is now but, well, I don't want to spoil anything so just read on.

Chapter Seventeen

Whenever the newsies gathered for a meeting it always meant a party, no matter how serious the topic at hand was. The largest gathering had been at Medda’s theatre during the strike but before that there had been many, smaller ones. Irving Hall was used as neutral territory for all newsies and through the generations, it had seen all the leaders meet-- usually over territory disputes.

This meeting was no different. The many round tables had been set out on the floor around the stage and Medda had practiced the song that she sang as a tradition when the newsies gathered in her theatre. It was a well known fact that even if it were only meant for the newsie leaders to meet, a large number of their followers would show up for support. It was actually expected.

By the time most of the newsies had arrived, the biggest table in the center of the room was nearly full. Around it sat Jack with Davey on his left. Then there was Spot, his right hand man standing behind him. The leaders of Coney Island and Staten Island separated the King of Brooklyn from Nugin, the Queens leader who was seated next to an empty chair. Left of the vacant seat was Whiz Kid with T-Bone between himself and Jack.

They all talked quietly amongst themselves, avoiding the reason they had all converged until the remaining leader made his entrance. Only Nugin seemed restless, his eyes shifting among his companions at the table. The only people he would speak to were the leaders from the island boroughs.

From his seat at a smaller table with Kid Blink, Mush, Runner, Lucky Streak, and Boots, Lucas looked round. Though they mingled and talked amongst one another, the newsies in the hall seemed to stick mostly to large groups, segregated by borough. Lucas also noted that, for the most part, the groups stood in an area roughly behind their leader.

“Why haven’t they started talking about the Crib,” Lucas asked, turning to his friends at the table.

Runner was seated beside him but still had to lean over slightly to be heard over the chatter of newsies. “They’re bein’ polite,” she replied. He gave her an incredulous look. Newsies and manners were two things that weren’t typically associated with one another. Runner laughed at him. “Guess ain’t heah yet. It wouldn’t be a sign of good faith if they started the meetin’ without him.”

Lucas nodded in understanding. Then his brow furrowed and his eyes clouded with confusion. “Guess? Flash’s ex-beau?”

Turning his head away from the balcony where he was scanning the faces, Kid Blink joined the conversation. “The one and only.”

“He’s a leader?!” Lucas sounded so confused and indigent the others had to laugh at him.

“Has been since Spot kicked him outta Brooklyn,” Boots chimed in.

“How’d that happen,” he asked, looking from one face to the next.

“I thought ya told ‘im this story,” Lucky asked, turning to Runner.

The taller girl shrugged. “I told ‘im how Guess got the boot but I guess I forgot this part.”

Kid Blink snorted in laughter. “Pretty big part ta leave out.”

“Will someone just tell me, please,” Lucas practically whined.

Mush leaned across the table and Lucas instinctively leaned in to hear him over the din of talking newsies. “A‘right, y’know ‘bout what he did ta Flash, right?“ Lucas nodded, remembering the story Jack had told him. “Well, she got back at him for it, but none of us knows how. See, she won’t tell no one. Anyway, almost as soon as she did, Spot banned Guess from evah settin’ foot in Brooklyn again. So, Guess went up ta the Bronx and spent months fightin’ the leadah up theah. Gettin’ supporters and everything. Long story short; he won.”

“But that ain’t all,” added Boots in a conspiratorial tone. As he spoke, they all leaned in closer. “Some people say he killed the previous leadah.”

“Did he?” Lucas’s eyebrows quirked up with interest.

Boots shrugged. “No one knows for sure. See, Hammer just disappeared one night. Some say he went to the refuge and others say they spotted him hopping a train to Boston.”

“Well, if there are witnesses,” Lucas trailed off, looking at the unconvinced faces of his friends.

“That’s the thing,” Kid Blink said. “All the ‘witnesses’ are real close to Guess so they could just be coverin’ for ‘im.”

Lucky Streak rolled her eyes. “You’re all insane. Guess would never do something like that.”

Boots and Blink both flared at her. Blink opened his mouth to retort but before there was a chance for a fight, Runner held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Maybe; maybe not. Eithah way, no one will evah know. Unless he turns up outta the blue.” The others seemed satisfied and quieted.

Lucas looked over at the table where Jack and the other leaders were sitting. Guess’s seat was still vacant. “Maybe he’s not coming.”

Runner shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised, the bastard.” Then she glanced around to avoid the look of shock on Lucas‘s face from her choice of words. If Runner of all people was bad mouthing him, Guess had to be a pretty nasty character. “Any sign of Flash yet?” The others swiveled their heads and turned in their seats to scan the crowd. Runner’s question was met with a series of negative answers.

“He showed.” Lucky’s midly-surprised comment drew the attention of the others. They looked toward the entrance at the back of the hall. A young man, pressing twenty, was sauntering through the hall with two dozen men behind him. Lucas could see what girls desired in Guess-- and from what he had heard, there was no shortage of girls throwing themselves at him. He was tall with an athletic build and well-defined facial features. Guess was attractive in more that just his features. He carried himself with a regal air of superiority-- different than Spot’s cocky authority, but not by much-- and the kind of confidence that drew women in like moths to a flame.

Watching from the table, Lucas noted that the hall grew suddenly silent. Apparently it was a big deal that Guess had showed and Lucas couldn’t help but feel excluded because he didn’t quite know why.

Somehow, his friends seemed to pick up on this and they started whispering, as many of the newsies had. “I can’t believe he’s heah,” Mush said, staring with his big, brown eyes.

“Me eithah,” Kid Blink added. “I thought foah sure he’d skip out.”

“I didn’t even think Flash would talk at ‘im,” admitted Boots.

Lucky shook her head, still staring-- albeit somewhat dreamily-- at Guess. “No way. She probably asked someone else ta do it.”

Now Runner was shaking her head. “No. Flash would nevah let anyone do her dirty work. It’s just not her style.”

Looking back at the table, where Guess was now sitting, Lucas saw him staring coldly at someone. Shifting in his seat and craning his neck, Lucas got a clear view of Flash. For a moment he was stunned into silence; not be her appearance which was downright awful, but by the way she returned Guess’s glare. He had never thought that she was capable of such pure, unadulterated hate.

“I think you’re right,” Lucas said. “From the way they’re looking at each other, I’d say they’ve talked recently and not about the weather.”

“What are you--” Runner trailed off as she too craned her neck to see through the crowd. When she caught sight of Flash, her eyes widened. “Oh.”

The others were now moving around to see. “She really did talk ta him then,” said Lucky. “I’ll be damned.”

Boots rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision to be sure he wasn‘t hallucinating. “I never thought she’d ever talk to Guess again, even if her life depended on it.”

Mush shook his head slightly. “She must really love Racetrack.”

For once, no one made fun of him for making a sentimental comment.

The hall grew quiet very suddenly. Jack knew exactly what that meant. Exchanging a glance with Spot, he turned his head slightly to watch as Guess strutted down the aisles at a casual pace, thoroughly enjoying the attention. It was exactly twenty minutes after the meeting was supposed to have started-- Guess certainly knew how to make an entrance.

“Bastard.” The whispered curse from behind him made Jack twist in his uncomfortable folding chair. He looked up and found himself looking into the angry face of Flash. For a moment he was surprised at how pale and sallow her cheeks had become in the week that she had been gone. Even after having bathed just the day before, she still looked ashen and sickly and Jack knew she had been overworking herself and walking through the rain storms. Runner had been right to worry. Jack almost hadn’t recognized the girl.

“Flash,” he blurted out in his surprise.

“Hiya, Jack,” she replied, green eyes never leaving Guess as he sat in the seat directly across from Spot. Those two words were all it took for him to hear how congested her chest was and the hoarseness of her voice-- probably from coughing. She was leaning with one hand on the back his chair, trying to make it look like she was being casual. He wasn’t fooled. He could see the way her arm trembled slightly under her weight and knew if the chair wasn’t there, she’d be on the floor. Breaking eye contact, she turned her head to the side and coughed lightly, desperately trying to suppress the urge to hack up a lung.

He was about to comment on her obviously poor health but his attention was quickly captured when Davey stood up and began speaking. “Thank you all for coming, he began. “We really appreciate it.”

Spot rolled his eyes, already tired of Davey’s speech. “Sit down, Mouth. Let’s get this thing movin’ so we can get on with the show.” The others at the table smiled and laughed. Feeling putout, David sank back down into his chair with a slight frown. He never would be able to get the hang of speaking to newsies like Jack and Spot could.

“Ya all know why we’se heah,” Jack said, raising his voice slightly and standing from his seat. “It ain’t just ta heah Medda sing. To sum it up, some not-so-nice guys have been doin’ some not-so-nice things to some’a our boys.”

Nugin snorted. “You can say that again. One’a my boys almost died.”

The serious air thickened at this news. “That’s exactly why we gotta do somethin’ and fast. Now, we’se all in on this, right?”

Many of the leaders nodded and murmured their agreement right away. Only Nugin didn’t respond. Catching the way Flash’s eyes lingered on him, Jack also turned his attention to the Queens leader. After a moment’s hesitation and a glance and Guess, Nugin gave a curt nod.

“Good,” said Jack, relaxing slightly. “Now we just gotta figure out what we’se gonna do ‘bout it. Table’s open foah ideas.”

“I’d say talking to them is pretty much out,” T-Bone offered immediately, flashing a grin at Davey whose ears turned red.

“So, we fight ‘em,” said Spot, pale blue eyes, daring anyone to challenge him.

The others agreed but Nugin was quick to add his thoughts. “That’s pretty obvious,” he said, boldly. No one caught the faint smirk that flickered across Guess’s face.

Before Spot could make a remark at Nugin’s tone, T-Bone jumped in quickly. “I’m with Spot on this one,” he said. Then looking around at the table he added, “I also think it would do us good ta organize before we make a move. Find out what we’re up against. How many men they have, wheah they are, what our odds are. If we‘re gonna fight, we gotta fight smart.”

“Sounds good ta me,” said Jack, nodding. “All in favah of puttin’ off plans ‘til we have more information.” He raised his hand and David, the two leaders from the island boroughs, T-Bone, Whiz, and even Nugin raised his hand. After a moment, Guess raised his slightly. Turning to Spot, Jack looked at his friend imploringly. “Spot?”

The King of Brooklyn leaned back in his seat, a triumphant look on his face as he crossed his arms. “That sounds like a good idea ta me. ‘Cept one little problem.”

Hands dropped all around the table and Jack’s eyebrows quirked towards his hairline. Knowing Spot wouldn’t speak another word unless otherwise provoked-- what better way to build the suspense?-- Jack asked, “What?”

The smirk on Spot’s face grew. “Why bothah gatherin’ information on the Crib if I already know what you wanna know?”

Jack blinked a few times. Then a grin stretched across his face and he laughed a little. “Shoulda known ya’d do that, Spot.” Then Jack shook his head slightly. “All in favah of puttin’ off any plans ‘til aftah the show.” All hands shot up, even those of the newsies sitting or standing closest to their table.

Knowing her cue, Medda stepped out onto the stage, glowing in the spotlight. “Hello, Newsies,” she cried over the loud cheers from the crowd. They roared and whistled and clapped as she launched into the same song she always opened with for them. Many of them sang along, all too happy to forget their woes, even for just a moment.

Taking the opportunity, Flash pushed her way through the crowd, going unnoticed, and slipped outside. Sighing, she slumped against the brick wall, shivering in the lukewarm night and wrapping her arms around herself. Sliding down the wall, she hugged her knees to her chest for a little extra warmth and let herself relax slightly. It was a decent late-summer night but she found herself shivering nonetheless. Forcing her right arm up, she used her sleeved to wipe the sweat off her forehead. It dropped limply to her side again, resting on the cool cement.

All week she had pushed herself to her limits, trying to round up all the newsies. Now she was feeling the repercussions. Her stomach had stopped growling and aching for food days ago but now she was left feeling weak and drained. Merely lifting her arm was tiring and whenever she coughed-- and it was often despite her efforts to suppress it-- she had to close her eyes until the lightheadedness passed. Flash wasn’t doing well and she knew it.

From the sounds of the cheering newsies inside, her work had finally come together. Now all that was left was for the leaders to take action. Her work was done and she could finally rest. Slowly, she lowered her head to her knees. Just a few minutes of quiet time and she’d return. She wanted to know what they decided to do. Her uneven breath caught in her throat and she turned her head to the side again, coughing violently into her elbow for. She didn’t stop until she had coughed so hard she gagged-- fleetingly, she was grateful she hadn’t eaten all week. Then she pressed her forehead back to her knees and inhaled slowly, waiting for her head to stop spinning.

“I thought I’d find ya out heah.” Her head snapped up and she had to blink to clear her vision-- and wait for her mind to stop reeling at the sudden motion. Spot was standing a few feet away, lighting a cigarette. He wasn’t even looking in her direction and for a moment Flash doubted he was even talking to her. Then she realized there was no one else out there and mentally kicked herself for her slowness.

“Hey, Spot,” she said, hating the tell-tale hoarseness of her voice. “Some show, huh?”

His pale blue eyes slid over to her for a moment. “Like you’d know.” Her brows lifted in confusion. “Ya missed the first song and the rest’a the meetin’. Second act just started.”

Flash deflated when she realized she had fallen asleep. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” He puffed his cigarette while she waited for a more elaborate answer. “Since we’se all together already, we decided ta make our move in the early mornin‘.”

“And,” she pressed when he didn’t continue, too exhausted for his games.

Although he was mildly annoyed at having to repeat himself, Spot was also enjoying stringing her along. He liked to think of it as revenge for waking him up so early at the beginning of the week. “The guys that‘ve been aftah us ain’t takin’ orders from their boss. They’s actin’ solo from the rest‘a the Crub. The ones we want are holed up in a warehouse in Queens,” he reigned in his urge to spit out the name of the borough as if it were a particularly rotten apple. “So we’se gonna pay a visit tomorrow ‘fore the mornin’ edition’s out.”

Flash blinked. “You’ll be goin’ straight from heah?”

Spot nodded. “When ya gonna tell ‘im?”

Now she was staring at him blankly. The sudden change in topic had gone straight over her head and her already aching head was beginning to pound more ferociously. “Tell who what?”

He turned to face her fully. “Racetrack. You love ‘im.”

For a moment she blubbered, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I do not,” she finally managed to choke out, indigently. Her angry tone was less than impressive when her hoarse voice cracked slightly.

Spot rolled his eyes. “Shoah. Ya just went and neahly killed yaself ta get us all togethah ‘cause you’se good friends.”

“We are good friends,” she defended, weakly.

Spot flicked his cigarette into the gutter. “Just tell ‘im a’ready and get it ovah with.” Without another word, he turned and went back into Irving Hall. Flash continued to sit on the sidewalk, staring at where he had been standing and unable to believe the gall he had-- though she couldn’t figure out why she was surprised; it was after all, Spot Conlon. Groaning, she dropped her head back to her knees. She was just too damn tired for this.

Carefully and very slowly, Flash pulled herself to her feet. She was leaning heavily against the brick wall of Irving Hall, watching the world tilt and shift slightly in the most nauseating way. Her mind was so clouded and she felt so clumsy and weak, it was as though she were drunk. After a few deep breaths-- which triggered a minor coughing fit-- she had steadied herself and managed to force away some of the dizziness.

Still leaning against the wall, she began to make her way back towards the Duane Street lodging house where there were beds and --if she was lucky-- Kloppman would make her some hot broth. It crossed her mind that she should wait for one of the boys to come out of the theatre and at the very least walk with her but, it was never said that Flash was smart.

She dismissed the idea, not wanting to be a bother and figuring that they would all need to be in the hall for their battle plans. Besides, she had trekked all over New York in the past week and she still wasn’t dead. What was the worst that could happen?

The world jolted and Flash met the cold, hard ground of a dark alley. Her arm throbbed where the hand had roughly grabbed her but she ignored it, more intent on making her head stop spinning. Her eyes were closed, right cheek pressed to the ground as she tried desperately to focus and not wretch.

As the footsteps approached, Flash slowly opened her eyes. She was met with the sight of a pair of old, worn out, black mens’ boots. Shifting her head slightly, she followed the boots up to a pair of legs with black trousers. When she got to the waistline she could see a black vest and a dingy white shirt tucked sloppily into the black pants.

That was as far as she got before the rough, calloused hands were on her arms, lifting her none too gently off the cold ground. She was shoved backwards and stumbled before her shoulder blades connected with cold brick. The impact caused a coughing fit and, despite the nausea and lightheadedness the movement caused, Flash doubled over. With her hands on her knees for support, she coughed violently, trying to catch her breath as she did.

“C’mon, Flash. Get up.” Her breath caught in her throat and she froze. She recognized that voice and it sent a chill down her spine. Flash’s entire body tensed. Slowly, she raised her head and, even in the darkness of the alley, met the face of her assailant.

The music filling Irving Hall was uplifting and newsies from all over New York sang along as Medda, the Swedish Meadow Lark, pranced around the crowd in her bright pink dress. The boys-- and the few girls-- cheered and danced along, merrily setting aside the seriousness of what had brought them together that night. None of them seemed eager to dwell on the fact that in the morning they would be squaring off with a hundred or so grown and armed men. All any of them wanted at that moment was to forget about their current worries and enjoy the show.

Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly, was no exception. He was swaying to the music, singing loudly and grinning up at Medda. He was having a grand ole’ time. That is, until Runner, with Lucas in tow, approached him.

“Jack,” Runner asked, sounding nervous. “Have you seen Flash? I wanted to try and get ‘er to go home and rest. I‘m worried ‘bout ‘er.”

All of Jack’s good feelings went sailing out the window. His smile dropped as he turned to the tall girl and the boy beside her. “Why? Ain’t she heah?” They both shook their heads and Jack turned and began scanning the crowd.

“No one’s seen her since before the first act,” Lucas supplied, causing Jack’s head to snap back towards them.

He pressed his lips together for a moment. “What ‘bout Spot? He went outside ‘fore the second act to get some air. Maybe he saw ‘er.”

“I did.” Jack turned to see that the King of Brooklyn had appeared at his side. It was uncanny but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were talking about him. “I had a feelin’ she wouldn’t stick ‘round so I sent someone to follow her.”

The other three newsies stared at him incredulously and Spot merely blinked. “If somethin’ was wrong we’d’ve heard ‘bout it by now.” As if that were all they needed to know, Spot turned and rejoined the celebrations.

Standing just a few feet away, and with a malicious smirk plastered across his dark features, was none other than Oscar Delancey. His arms were crossed over his chest and Flash could see that he still wore pink long johns under his dirty white shirt. Inwardly she scoffed. The only other person she knew who did that was Skittery and she gave him hell for it.

His entire body language-- arms crossed over his chest, leaning back languidly, looking down at her with that smirk-- conveyed that he knew damn well he had the upper hand. In the eyes of Oscar Delancey, he’d already won the fight and, Flash noted, it was entirely in his character to prey on those that were weaker than he. Scumbag she thought angrily.

When Flash made no move to stand up straight and only continued to stare at him, breathing heavily, Oscar’s smirk grew. God, did she want to smack that smile off his stupid face. “What’s the mattah, Flash,” he taunted, using her name in a way that made her want to vomit more than her illness did. “Feelin’ a little undah the weather?”

“What d’you want, Oscar?” Her voice was a mere hiss as she was too strained to project it.

“Just some information’s all.” Oscar’s tone was harmless enough but Flash knew him better and she could tell by the evil glint in his brown eyes that there was nothing harmless about his intentions.

Flash glanced towards the mouth of the alley. Someone was missing from this scene. “Where’s your brothah? Or did your uncle Weasel finally let ya off your leash?”

Oscar’s face twisted into one of anger. “I’d watch your mouth if I was you,” he threatened, pointing at her.

“And if I was you, I’d’ve jumped off a bridge by now. What‘s your point?” she retorted smartly. When Oscar reached out-- much faster than she expected-- and knocked her hat off, grabbing her hair, Flash decided she had been spending far too much time with Racetrack Higgins.

He was pulling her hair back and down so her face was lifted up towards his. Oscar leaned in close so their noses were almost touching. Flash felt her stomach churn when his hot breath hit her face. It was the most disgusting feeling she had ever had the displeasure of experiencing and it made her skin crawl.

“Watch your mouth,” he repeated in a much more deadly tone. Then he let go and Flash pressed one hand against the wall behind her for support, the other going back to her upper thigh. She didn’t meet his eye, concentrating on her breathing and not passing out. Her foggy mind raced to think of an escape. How far had she gotten from Irving Hall? If she screamed would anyone hear her?

“Now,” Oscar continued. “I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna answer ‘em.” He paused a moment and when Flash didn’t respond, he continued. “What’re your little newsie pals planning‘?”

Slowly, her green eyes slid over to him. For a long moment she stared blankly at him. “What?”

“What are they plannin’?” This time he sounded angry.

“A tea party,” she wheezed, flatly. “What’s it to ya?” She was still scrambling to catch up. What the hell did Oscar want?

He snarled in frustration and shoved her back against the brick wall. This time, her back didn’t cushion the impact and her head bounced off it. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as stars burst into her vision. One of Flash’s hands went slowly to the back of her head. Her fingers touched her scalp, causing more pain to blossom beneath them. When they came away dry, she felt a flicker of relief.

“Don’t be cute,” he hissed, once again getting too close for her comfort. “I wanna know because my friends in the Crib wanna know.”

It took a moment for Oscar’s words to sink in-- leave it to that idiot to boast about having friends in a gang. Realization slowly spread across Flash’s face. People didn’t just befriend gangs. Her eyes met his, which danced with amusement at her pain. “You,” she uttered. “You’re in the Crib.”

“Very good,” he sneered. “You nevah was the most smartest.” Flash glowered at him for the comment and the horrible grammar but he pressed on before she could comment. “Now, tell me what your friends are plannin’.”

Her lips pursed, making her look like she had just eaten a lemon. Slowly, her chin lifted and she Met Oscar’s eyes with defiance. “No.”

“Jack!” Jack’s shoulders slumped a little. It took every fiber of his being not to groan in frustration. Couldn’t they just leave him alone for five minutes? He was trying to enjoy himself. When Jack turned around and saw Spot Conlon looking back at him, he forgot his annoyance. Spot wouldn’t have bothered him for no reason.

“What is it?” Glancing behind Spot, he saw a little girl of ten, maybe twelve. She was dressed in boys’ clothes, her stringy blonde hair hanging down her back. Jack recognized her as one of Spot’s younger newsies-- Spinner, he thought-- and noticed that her grave expression was punctuated by the worried crease of her brow. She was wringing a dirty, plaid cap in her hands.

“We got trouble, Cowboy,” Spot replied.

Mush and Blink, who were standing very close, overheard. They exchanged a look before nudging Boots. “What trouble,” pressed Mush, worriedly.

By the time Spot looked at Mush, a handful of the Manhattan newsies were looking on-- including Runner and Lucas. “It’s Flash.” That was all it took for Jack to move towards the door. Spot joined him at his side with Spinner on his heels, murmuring directions to him. Runner, Lucas, Mush, Kid Blink, Boots, and David fell into step behind them.

Oscar’s hand grabbed her left wrist in a bruising grip. “Tell me, or else.” Nothing in his tone made her think for a second that his threat was empty. If she didn’t start talking, he was going to hurt her. That knowledge alone made her heart drum steadily against her chest and she began to feed off the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“Don’t touch me.” Despite the hoarseness of her voice, Flash managed to match his tone.

He smirked. “Or what?”

“Or this.” As quickly, and with as much force as she could muster, Flash brought her leg up. Her knee collided with Oscar’s groin and the boy dropped his grip on her wrist, doubling over and howling in pain.

Taking the chance, Flash pushed him away and moved to exit the alley. Unfortunately she had forgotten how weak she was and the moment she began to move, independent of any support, the alley spun and titled wildly. Flash leaned against the brick wall, forcing her shaky legs to move. She stumbled slowly towards the mouth of the alley, intent on getting the hell out of Dodge.

Her slow pace was no match for Oscar who had recovered sooner than she had hoped. He wrapped his fingers around her arm and jerked her backwards. The sudden movement threw her off balance and Flash stumbled backwards, landing against his chest. His arms were quick to encircle her waist, pinning her own against her sides. Flash wiggled in vain, trying desperately to squirm away from him. Oscar’s grip tightened and Flash gasped in pain at the crushing force. He was so much stronger than she had expected.

When he began to drag her back, away from the street and her salvation, Flash redoubled her efforts. She was still going on purely adrenaline, heart hammering faster against her ribs and mind racing through the fog of her exhaustion. She kicked back at Oscar’s shins, making contact several times. The boy merely grunted and squeezed her tighter. With another gasp of pain, Flash brought the heel of her foot down hard on his toes.

Not expecting the blow, Oscar’s grip loosened slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Flash slipped her left arm out of his grip and brought her elbow back. It connected wonderfully with his abdomen and Flash was mildly pleased with the way his breath caught as his hands flew to clutch his stomach.

Pulling away, Flash stumbled, caught herself and whirled around to face him. She wavered for a split second before her hand balled into a fist. She aimed it at his stomach and threw as much force into it as she could. Unfortunately, Oscar was too fast for her sleep-deprived mind-- and she had aimed about three inches too far to the right-- and he caught her by the wrist. He pulled her forward so she slammed into his solid chest again. Her free hand flew up to hit whatever part of his body it could find but once again the blow was intercepted. Oscar now had her by both wrists and had stepped on her toes, pinning her feet to the ground. She was virtually defenseless.

Her cheek was pressed painfully against his collar bone and she could feel his chest rumble against hers as Oscar laughed at her. Snarling in anger, Flash began to fight the only way she really knew; dirty. Punching and kicking had never worked for Flash. In the end she had always relied on no-holds-barred dirty fighting. Anything she could get he hands on was good enough as long as it meant she could defend herself. Opening her mouth, she sank her teeth into the tender flesh just above Oscar’s collar, clamping down as hard as she could.

Oscar howled in pain before shoving her away, one hand flying up to his neck. Flash hit the brick wall for the third time. This time, when her head smacked against the brick, and the stars exploded in front of her eyes, she was sure her head was bleeding. She could already feel it trickling down the back of her head and then her neck. Flash’s vision whirled again and she leaned heavily against the wall, trying to regain her equilibrium. She almost missed it when Oscar’s hand came away from his collar, sticky and wet with blood.

Pure rage contorted his face and Oscar stalked the three steps towards her. He shoved Flash back against the wall. She barely managed to stop her head from colliding with it again. Before she had time to recover, she felt his long fingers curl around her neck. Her eyes widened and her hands grasped at his. Though her vision was still spinning wildly, she managed to focus on him long enough to see the sneer on his face as he slowly began to add pressure. Flash’s chest constricted and the urge to cough only strangled her further.

“Tell me what I want to know,” he demanded, lowly. He let go just enough for her to speak.

Her head felt like it was going to float away and the alley was spinning at an impossible rate, making her want to gag. The moment Oscar’s grip loosened, Flash looked in the vague area of his face and let loose a torrent of violent coughs. She wasn’t sure, but she thought a small ball of phlegm landed on his chin. Her suspicions were confirmed when he made an angry, guttural noise.

To her horror, his hand resumed the crushing grip on her windpipe. She choked and gasped for air but his large hand was slowly adding pressure, cutting off her air supply. She could feel her face begin to change color as her spiraling vision began to blur. Before, it had been clear shapes revolving around her but as Oscar’s grip began to tighten even more, the shapes dissolved into colors which swirled together in the most sickening manner.

The fog that that had blanketed her mind from the exhaustion of the past week thickened, slowing her more. Her hands scratched weakly at Oscar’s as she continued to fight for air. Flash’s efforts slowed as black spots appeared in the mass of swirling colors before her eyes. The fog was worsening, making her vision fade into the foreboding blackness that was enveloping her.

As Flash’s attempts to break free became feebler and feebler, she came to a shocking realization. I’m going to die. Her heart ached at the thought. There was much more she had to do. She had wanted to grow old and be a grandmother. She wanted to travel the world and have lots of little babies. Now, she’d never get the chance because Oscar Delancey, with his foul breath, was pressed against her in what would be an intimate position, if it weren’t for his strong hands choking the life out of her The damn scabber.

A/N: As I was saying, this was originally half the length until I decided Oscar needed an appearance. I also wanted Flash to fight because, really, what's the life of a newsie without a few good fights? Then I decided I wanted to try and build the suspense a little and broke up the fight scene by switching back to Irving Hall. And I couldn't resist leaving you with a little cliffy. Oscar made me do it!! Heh.