"Hey, Silvah wait up!" shouted a male voice from the main doors of Irving Hall.

The wind howled in the streets, tossing up snow from the ground and twirling it about her feet. Silver Fists barely heard the call and paused in her tracks, looking over her shoulder to see who it was. She did not recognize the boy until he had run up right beside her and was holding his hand out for a spitshake.

"Why aincha at da celebration, Spot?" she inquired pulling her glove off and returning Spot's gesture of friendship.

"Coz deah ain't nuttin' much ta do since all de guys is wid deir goils. 'S like de whole place is fulla wusses." he responded smirking. "I'se seen yer 'frere' wid dat new broad a his, so I'se guessed ya wouldn't be wantin' ta stay deah. I'se don't want no fights heah when I'se gone in Brooklyn, so howsabout ya come wid me?" Spot sounded so much like a simple boy, not the fear-inspiring leader of the toughest newsies in New York, it was a little odd to Silver, but she still agreed.

* * *

Spot quietly stepped into his room. It was rather unusual for him to be careful of not waking anyone when entering his private quarters, yet the situation in itself was rather unusual. The door clicked shut behind him as he made his way to a bunk bed that stood nearby. On the lower bunk slept a girl of seventeen, her face beautifully lit up by the moonlight streaming in through the only window in the room, opposite the bed. She looked so peaceful and serene, her dark brown curls cascading over her pillow, a faint shadow of a smile playing on her lips. But like a shadow, her smile disappeared moments later. She curled up into a tight ball, mumbling incoherently. Spot, who had turned away to pull his shirt off, glanced over his shoulder at his friend. Shirtless, he walked up a little closer to her bunk and was able to distinguish such words as "danger" and "kill yas" from her mumbling. He reached for her shoulder, but hesitated to shake her awake for a moment, he was quite sure she was having a nightmare, but did not know if waking her was the best idea.

"Wake up!" he whispered loudly, finally deciding to grab her shoulder.

Still partially asleep, and horrified at what she had dreamt, Silver quickly pulled away, rashly pulling her knees protectively to her chest. Immediately, she let out a yelp of pain and her eyes shot open, filling with tears. Realizing his mistake Spot pulled her up to sit on the bunk, helping her straighten her legs out. He was not sure how to help otherwise and sat on the edge of the bunk beside her, as she quickly massaged the pain away.

"I'se sawry, dinna mean ta do dat" he asked, a note of worry in his voice, then covered his slip with a careless "Yas was makin' a lotta noise, dinna wancha ta wake up nobody downstaihs, an' I'se wouldn'ta been able ta go ta sleep eidah."

"Well, me apologies your highness" she hissed back sarcastically.

"Yas alwight?" he frowned, nobody had the right to answer him like that, but he couldn't bring himself to teaching her a proper lesson for her rudeness.

"I'se dunno, but why youse caeh anyway?" Silver grumbled still rubbing her knee.

"Coz yas me friend, an' also me responsibility while yas heah in Brooklyn" he replied coldly. Inside he worried about her, his heart aching to see her hurt, but he could not let his real feelings surface. He could not let her know he was not made of nails and that he had a weakness. Then again, he mused, it's been too long, an' now dat she's been livin' heah wid me fah t'ree months, maybe she's already figured it out. Silencing any small voices of doubt, he made up his mind and with a mischievous grin slipped his hand over hers on her knee. "Deah are a coise oddah reasons…"

"Spot, don' even t'ink bout it" Silver warned, growing tense.

Her warning came too late. In a flash his hand was on the back of her neck holding her tightly in a passionate kiss. He pulled her closer to himself glad to finally have such a moment. It did not last long. Surprised and a little scared, Silver harshly pushed Spot away, something he did not expect.

"My Gawd, Spot! I'se come heah to keep meself away from someone dat likes me, so he don't get hoit, an' ya use it fah yer advantage?" she fumed "I'se not some wench off da street, I'se yer friend, an' ya treat me like dat?"

"Well, I'se had ta tell youse some time" he responded softly. She shot him a venomous look, but he did not give up responding with a grin that could have melted any other girl's heart. "C'mon Silvah, yas know dat Cajun dinna like you 'nuff, if he did, he wouldn'ta gone aftah liddle 'mademoiselle' Odile. But me, I'se kin treat yas right" he rambled on.

"Spot, shut up, yas know dat Cajun nevah liked anuddah goil but me dat way, but I'se made 'im look fah someone else, coz dat's de only way 'e's shoah ta stay alive." She kicked Spot off her bunk with her good leg. She jumped off the bed after, standing over him, for once completely oblivious to the pain "Nevah say dat he dinna like me 'nuff, coz he did. As fah youse, yas me friend, dat's awl. Yas kin have any goil ya see, so do dat, Sport's available…"she trailed off realizing how threatening her voice sounded.

Spot just sat there on the floor, staring confused at the only girl that had not subsided to his charms and now scolded him like a child. He did not get angry though, just stood up and apologized for what he had done, somewhat confused.

Realizing her sudden outburst and possible consequences, Silver quickly apologized herself, helping her friend up off the floor.

"I'se should prolly leave now, huh, Spot?" she asked staring at her bare feet.

She heard Spot spit in his palm and saw his hand stretch out to her as a gesture of forgiveness. She pulled off a glove spitting into her own palm and returning the gesture.

"Yeah, but don't t'ink I'se kickin' yas out, jis suggestin' yas go home, dey's prolly awl miss yas." he said tilting her head up with his thumb so she would look into his eyes "We'se gonna miss yas heah too, so if yas evah feel like swimmin' yas always welcome heah in Brooklyn." he finished with a serious smirk as she gratefully nodded her head.

Quickly Silver pulled on her boots and collected her few belongings. With the help of her worn crutches she made her way to the window and with a little difficulty, opened it and climbed out. Spot watched her standing rooted to the middle of the room. He knew better than to try and help her and make her feel useless, and besides he had to keep up a cold front for the first girl to ever reject him. He listened to the slow tapping of the girl's crutches on the iron stairs of the fire escape. He peered out of the window and watched her slowly hobble down a wood platform over the river, dropping her knot of belongings by the rope ladder, laying down her crutches and removing her boots. He took a seat on the windowsill of the opened window, the soft spring breeze caressing his shirtless torso. He saw her roughly wipe a few tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand and leaving her gloves with her other things, dive into the inky black water. Without moving a muscle he watched her swim non-stop for almost twenty minutes. After, she pulled herself out of the water and put her boots back on. It was a warm end-of-May night and Spot was sure she would be all right and not catch a cold. Throwing a last glance at Spot's window, Silver frowned seeing him there and visibly shrunk, bowing her head ashamed of revealing her anger by swimming. She groped the knot of her things at the same time holding on to her crutch and slowly hobbled off the platform.

Spot's gaze followed her and rested on the place he watched her turn the corner for a few minutes. He left his seat on the windowsill as soon as the tapping of crutches on cobblestone was deafened out by the quiet of the night city.

* * *

Silver took a deep breath as her hand closed about the door handle of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. She made a mental note to herself that it was about time to change the name, after all, there were quite a few girls living inside too. Gently, she pulled the door open and stepped inside. Only a small stub of a candle flickered by the sign-in book on old Kloppman's desk. Making her way as quietly as possible to the desk, she pulled a nickel out of her pocket to pay for the night and glanced at the clock on the wall, one o'clock in the morning. She added the time beside her name on the page and placed the nickel underneath the thick book. About to head to the bunkroom, she turned back to the book adding "figured out that I should not act so far away when really, I am close." as a side note in neat print.