Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, but I do own my characters.

The summer sun hung lazily above Brooklyn, beating down and creating a heat so oppressive not a soul in the city dared move. Sluggish Brooklyn newsies were scattered across the docks, trying to escape the persistent heat of the city. Spot Conlon sat perched on a pile of empty crates, scanning the boardwalk for people unknown to him; unnecessary really, because in his city, no one was unknown to the fearless leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. The boys wearily raised themselves from their positions. It was time for them to make their way to the distribution center to begin the toil of their day once more.

Young boys wearing frayed and tattered clothes lined up to buy their afternoon papers. Spot was the last to arrive at the distribution center, casually watching as the boys filed one by one to get their papers. He could see the desperation on their faces as the sun bore down unceasingly on the city, scorching everything in sight. After all the boys had purchased their papers, Spot made his purchase and headed to Fulton Street to begin the long afternoon ahead of him.

Quickly glancing at the headlines, uneventful as they were, Spot noted that a considerably wealthy man from South Carolina had recently moved to Manhattan in the hopes of expanding his steel business. "Richest Man in New York!" heralded the article, complete with bold lettering and false enthusiasm. The article pondered where the man and his privileged family would live and what sort of fashion they would bring to the city. The article explained that it did not have a picture of the family, as they were the private sort, but showed the mansion where they would be living in Manhattan. Spot quickly turned the page, losing patience for the pettiness of the wealthy, and found a promising story about an old woman who was robbed outside of a grocery store. "Woman found dead outside of family store, murderer at large!" he yelled through the streets. The inventive headline was enough to catch the eye of a few passersby, and within a few hours all his papers had been purchased.

Spot decided to escape the heat of the tar-lined streets and made his way towards Prospect Park. Being the most recognizable figure in Brooklyn, Spot had a habit of always being alert to everything around him, but today the unnatural heat caught him off-guard. A familiar man in blue approached him from the left and grabbed him roughly by the arms.

"Well if it ain't my old pal, Spot Conlon. Thought you got away from me, did ya?" the officer said, an arrogant lilt in his voice. "Ya know I don't appreciate little snots like you running around this city like ya own da place. That newsie of yours robbed one of my officers and a slippery little rescue like that will land you in the refuge Conlon."

"Bite me, Bailey. Yeh can't prove nothin'," Spot said venomously.

Although he maintained his calm demeanor, Spot couldn't think of an escape plan. His learned art of persuasion would certainly not get him out of this mess, and attacking a police officer in plain daylight would attract too much attention. Desperately racking his brains for a way out, Spot was suddenly confronted with a rush of navy blue, effectively stopping him and the officer in their tracks. Getting his bearings, Spot noticed it was a beautiful young woman with honey colored hair and chestnut eyes who had stopped the two, and she looked angry to say the least.

"So here you are – Do you care to tell me what you've been doing to land yourself with a police officer?" the well-dressed young woman said, addressing Spot and raising her eyebrows as if she already knew what was going to come out of his mouth.

No one addressed Spot Conlon like a child, and certainly not a hoity-toity girl like this one. Just as he was about to give her the what-for, she turned away and addressed his companion.

"Thank you for finding him officer, God knows what would have happened to him if you hadn't been there," she said sweetly to the officer and giving him a glowing smile.

The officer couldn't help but be flattered by her attention. "I was just doing my job, miss," he said proudly, straightening himself and loosening his grip on Spot.

"And thank goodness for people like you. Well, we best be off now," she said, grabbing Spot's wrist and yanking him in the opposite direction, ignoring the livid look on his face.

"Wait just a minute Miss. Do you mean to tell me that you know this kid?" the officer asked, confused as to why an obviously well-off young woman would risk her neck for a street rat like Spot Conlon.

"Of course I know him, officer, he's my cousin. Can't you see the resemblance?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows again, as if he was foolish to even ask the question.

The officer stood looking at the two, not sure if he could see the resemblance, but desperately wanting to believe the young woman.

"Is that all, or may we go now?" she said, with more than a hint of impatience in her voice. She waited a moment for the officer to reply and when he didn't, she turned away brusquely and began to lead Spot away.

"But miss, that's Spot Conlon. Don't you know that he's a –"

"A what, officer?" she challenged, whipping around and staring the officer down.

The officer wasn't sure how far he should go. He desperately wanted to have a hold on Spot Conlon, but didn't want to risk the wrath of his supervisors in case the girl's family knew the Chief. "Never mind, miss. Have a good afternoon," the officer said, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

"That's what I thought," she said with finality, grabbing Spot's arm and pulling him away from the scene. Spot was furious that this girl had humiliated him by treating him like a child. He didn't need anyone to rescue him; he'd gotten out of stickier situations on his own.

"Don't go on pouting, I just saved your behind, you know," the girl said, staring straight ahead as the two walked towards downtown Brooklyn.

"I don' need yeh ta save my behind, I coulda dealt wit 'im meself," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"It sure didn't look like it," she said with a smirk on her face. "Relax, no one saw you get saved by a girl."

Her last remark just about threw Spot over the edge. He turned and looked straight at her, ready to tell her off. Just as he was readying his weapons, she released his arm and said softly, "Goodbye, Spot Conlon," smiling as she walked away into the crowd that had gathered for a boxing match. Spot sat dumbstruck for a few moments, watching her get lost in the crowd and wondering who exactly she was.

Spot began his walk back to the Lodging House. "Good riddance," he thought. "I don' need anyone doin' me any favahs." But for the rest of the walk home he couldn't stop thinking about that honey colored hair.

After a long day of walking the streets between Manhattan and Brooklyn, Kate arrived home with her hair in disarray, having ruined her curls by putting her hair in a loose bun, desperate to get the sweaty strands off her face. She opened the door to the mansion quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, thinking particularly of her aunt and cousin.

Gingerly stepping over the threshold, Kate walked softly in the direction of her bedroom. Just as she was about to reach her destination, she heard a familiar shrill voice behind her.

"Where have you been all day? Carrie and I have been working our fingers to the bone straightening this house up for the Morgans to visit, and here you come waltzing in like a princess," her Aunt Clara snapped, her body tense and ready to strike.

Kate smiled to herself, knowing that her aunt would never have lifted a finger to clean the mansion with all her servants around. She turned around slowly to face the voice that haunted the hallways. "First of all, Aunt Clara, I certainly don't waltz, and secondly, I left because I have no interest in kissing up to anyone," Kate retorted, impatience and anger in her voice as she slowly turned away from her aunt.

"Oh, is that so, girl?" her aunt said threateningly, moving closer and seizing Kate's upper arm with an iron grip. Kate winced at her unexpected strength. She looked at Kate as if she were a household pest she had to restrain herself from crushing, her eyes narrowing the more she looked at the girl. "I want you to know that I regret the day John ever brought you home. You have been nothing but a nuisance around here, strutting around like you own the place and contributing nothing" she said, the venom seeping out of her voice like a crushed grape. "Some day John won't be around here to protect you, and you'll learn your lesson."

Kate stared at her aunt with hollow eyes, numb to the same threat she had heard so many times before.

"For your sake, I sure hope you're right, Aunt Clara. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to be alone."

Clara Abbott gave the girl one last deadly look as she viciously released her arm and stormed off down the hallway, the click of her heels echoing down the silent staircase.

Thankful to be free of her aunt's glare, Kate entered her room and threw herself onto the bed. How much longer was she going to tolerate Clara's threats? She never asked for this life, yet she could never deny the happiness she felt when she was with her father. Was his love worth her aunt's hatred?

Yes, it undoubtedly was.

A tap on the door startled Kate out of her reverie.

"Miss Abbott, would you have your tea now?" the familiar voice of Emmalee called through door.

"Please come in Emmalee, tea is just what I need," Kate invited, smiling as the humble girl stepped through the doorway. "And please, call me Kate."

Emmalee smiled shyly, knowing she could never call the girl by her given name. Fully looking at the girl, she noticed something was off.

"Are you all right Miss Abbott? You don't look well," Emmalee said, setting the tea tray down on the desk and pouring a cup for the girl from the delicate china the family collected. Kate smirked at Emmalee's insistence on formality.

"Oh, I'm all right Emmalee, the sun just got to me is all," Kate invented; trying to convince herself it was true.

"You really should be careful Miss Abbott, the sun here is not like it is in South Carolina," Emmalee continued on, busying herself with the tea. "Here, the sun bakes into the streets and won't let go until night time. You'd swear we were living on a bed of coals the way it gets sometimes," she continued, seeming to like the way her voice sounded out loud. Kate quickly became lost in her thoughts and came back to the boy she had helped today. Why had she done it? Even she didn't know; by all means, she should have left him and the officer to sort out their problems. But she saw something in his hard, gray eyes that reminded her of herself.

"Miss Abbott, are you sure you're feeling alright?" said Emmalee's voice, interrupting Kate's thoughts once more. Kate turned to face the concerned girl and forced a smile.

"Yes Emmalee, but if you don't mind, I think I am going to lie down for a moment. The heat does seem to have affected me," Kate offered, suddenly desperate to be alone again.

"Very well Miss Abbott, you just let me know if you need anything," Emmalee said, rising to gather the tea tray and eyeing the girl with suspicion.

"Thank you Emmalee, I will," Kate said, relieved to be released from her obligation of conversation. She lay down in her feather bed and tried to sleep, but her thoughts would not slumber.