A.N. First of all, I don't own Newsies! Second of all, I'm proud to annouce that this won me Spot week 2009. Thanks to huffle-bibin and CorkyConlon for hosting the thing and making my day! Please review and let me know what YOU thought!

The sun was setting over the East River. The sky above was still brilliantly blue and puffy white clouds drifted lazily through it. Near the horizon though, they were turning shades of orange and yellow. The river was reflecting the colors in fragmented flashes as it rushed beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. She stood watching the whole thing from a lonely hilltop somewhere in the depths of East River Park. Though it was a long way from Brooklyn, it was a favorite spot of hers. He knew she would be here.

"Do you know any fairy tales?"

She didn't even bother to look around. She always knew the sound of his footsteps. He wasn't sure how, and he had never bothered to ask.

"Any what?"

"Fairy tales. Where the beautiful princess is rescued from the dragon by the white knight and then carried off into the sunset for a happily ever after?"

He narrowed his blue eyes.

"I don't know any fairy tales."

"Oh, you know them. Everyone knows them. Even if you don't want to admit it."

He said nothing.

"I want that fairy tale. I want to be saved by a white knight."

"Ya want me ta rescue youse from a dragon or somethin'?" His tone was sarcastic.

"No, silly." She said with a faint tinkle of a laugh, turning to look at him. "You aren't a white knight."

He would never be able to understand why her words, just then, had made him angry.

"Why ain't I a white knight?" He threw out, hoping to sound more casual then he felt.

"Well, knights are handsome and strong-"

"I'm handsome and strong."

"And arrogant." She added with a grin.

He didn't bother to argue.

"He's a prince. You're no prince."

" 'ey, what if I am? Youse dunno."

She rolled her eyes.

"Well, you're not my prince."

His insides squirmed, but he said nothing.

"A knight is someone who's supposed to protect the vulnerable princess, defeat the evils that plague her and whisk her off to happiness."

He stayed silent. It was a childish whim. He knew it, and he knew that she knew it. Something about the whole thing bothered him. Maybe it registered on his face, because she smiled wider and stepped towards him.

"Don't make that face!"

She raised both hands and poked her index fingers into either of his cheeks. With a brilliant smile she raised her hands a little, causing the corners of his mouth to rise with her fingers. His eyebrows furrowed deeply as she forced him to smile. His eyes glinted with anger and a little bit of confusion, though he would never admit it. His face made a ridiculous contrast, the top half frowning and the bottom half smiling. She laughed openly at him.

For some reason, he felt his anger ebb. In the dying rays of sunlight, her deep brown eyes sparkled. Her pink lips stood out against her pale, perfect, creamy skin. Her teeth were dazzlingly white and her mouth split widely, lighting up her face. In that moment, she was beautiful.

Her eyes darted for a moment from his blue ones, down to his lips. Her hands dropped slowly from his face, but the hint of a smirk remained. For a second, he was sure she had leaned a tiny bit closer to him and raised herself up on her tiptoes very slightly. Then she jumped backwards from him.

"Last one to the Lodging House is a rotten egg!" She cried and took off at top speed.

He stood stock still in the growing darkness. He had no idea what was going on and he hated that feeling. He always knew. He was always in control. Whenever she was around though, it was as if all his carefully placed walls came crumbling down. Her presence was soothing. Her touch was electrifying. Her refusal of him was devastating. He had never had these feelings before in his life. If he was honest with himself, they scared him a little.

He sighed and pulled himself together. He couldn't afford to lose it. His reputation was a stake. Nothing but calm, cool and collected Spot Conlon would do. He carefully rearranged his features in his well-worn cold mask and strode briskly after her.

* * *

He found her collapsed on the sidewalk, leaned up against the side of a building. They were still a long way away from the Lodging House. She was breathing heavily.

"Youse gotta pace yaself." He said callously, offering her a hand.

"You're not winded at all?" She asked breathlessly as he helped her to her feet.

"I wasn't runnin'."

"Neither was I, after a few blocks."

He looked over at her. She was still breathing very heavily. Her chest heaved quickly with the short, sharp gulps of air she was taking.

"What are you staring at?"

He tore his eyes from her chest with a guilty start. He hadn't really been staring at her body, but it's movements. There was no reason to admit it though. He shrugged and they walked on.

"Somethin' youse said been botherin' me." He said after a while. "Youse said youse ain't happy and den somethin' 'bout evils plaugin' youse. Dere somethin' youse ain't tellin' me?"

She turned her head to stare at him.

"Spot Conlon, are you showing concern?" She smiled a little. "Maybe you really are human after all."

He rolled his eyes.

"So what if I am?"

"You usually block people out."

"Most people ain't worth lettin' in."

"You really think so?"

"How many people youse known in ya life? And how many of dem was worth a damn?"

She stared silently. They were both orphans of New York City. Their reasons were not the same, but it certainly was not because the people in their lives had been trustworthy. In that moment, the reasons for his well-placed walls and guarded emotions were painfully obvious. He had learned not to trust.

"I still think it's worth it." She whispered. "You're letting me in, aren't you?"

It was his turn to stare. She had caught him off-guard with the question because he hadn't even realized it, but he was.

"How come youse get all ya questions answered? When youse gonna answer mine?"

Her face had cracked a tiny grin, but it was slowly replaced by a guilty frown.

"Actually, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now. You know how I said I want to be rescued?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's true, but it's not something the just anyone can rescue me from. The thing is-"

She had stopped walking to cough into her hand. It took him a few more steps, before he realized her voice had faded and she was no longer at his side. He turned to look at her. Her whole body shook as she coughed. It was a raspy, dry sound that seemed to go on forever as she struggled for air in between spasms.

She fell as if in slow motion. Her head dipped down towards her chest. Her knees buckled in refusal to hold her weight. She pitched backwards as her eyes rolled upwards and the whites of them disappeared behind her eyelids. She hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Very funny." He said rolling his eyes.

She stirred feebly on the ground and in that second he realized she was not making fun of him. He closed the space between them in two short strides.

" 'ey. Hey!" He called to her, lifting her head in his hands. "What's a matta wit'cha?"

He looked around wildly, but the people still out on the darkening streets were giving them a wide berth. They were determinedly ignoring them. He felt a little of the old anger rise in his chest. There was never a helping hand offered to street rats. Street rats had to look after themselves.

She groaned slightly and his eyes snapped back down to hers.

"Why didn't youse tell me youse was sick?"

She shrugged.

"What difference would it have made?" She asked with feeble bravado.

Her voice sounded raw and rough. The sound of it made him want to flinch, but he curbed the impulse. Their eyes met. Her question hung in the air between them. They both had an answer, but neither of them could pluck the courage to say it.

"Don't make that face." She whispered.

She raised shaking fingers to both his cheeks, but barely had the strength left to lift them. He caught one of her hands in his. For the first time in his entire life, he had no words.

"Just take me home." She whispered and her eyes rolled back in her head again and her arms went limp.

There was something thick and wet between her hand and his. He turned it over, palm up. The hand she had held to her mouth as she coughed was stained with blood. With a horrible sense of irony, he put one arm beneath her neck, another beneath her knees and hefted her tiny body to his chest. Like a knight with a swooning princess.

* * *

He stood on a lonely, far-flung hilltop overlooking the East River. It was quiet, near sunset. He had picked the place, because there had been no one else to do it. No one had known her real name either, so the hand-painted wooden grave marker read only 'Princess'. He had picked that too.

He was here one last time. He would never come here again. He knew he had two choices. He could look forward or he could look backwards. In the harsh life he had carved for himself, there was no time to look back. It was the way he was. His reputation was at stake. Other boys depended on him. He could not afford to lose it. He would go back to wearing the cold mask, because it was the only way he knew to protect himself. Before that, he had one last thing to say to her.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into the light breeze. "Sorry, I couldn't be ya white knight."

He licked his dry lips and watched the sun sink lower in the sky. He sat down next to the grave marker and pulled out a cigarette. He didn't think she would have minded.

"Youse asked me once, if it woulda made any difference." He dragged hard on his cigarette and exhaled slowly, calming himself.

"My answer is: yes, it woulda."

He closed his eyes, imagining her deep brown ones, her perfect skin and pink lips looking at him questioningly.

"I woulda tol' youse sooner, dat I loved youse."

One tear leaked out from under his eyelid, he didn't bother brushing it away. No one was here to see it and it was the only one he would ever let fall for her. On the back of his eyelids, he saw her radiant smile. He knew what she would have done.

The rays of the sun as it set, warmed his face. A tiny smirk twisted one corner of his mouth as if she had reached out and done it. He heard her words float through his head.

'Don't make that face.'