A/N - 6 years later, I am finally finishing this. Yes, I am a total shmuck for not updating sooner (say, several years sooner) but time has a slippery way of getting away from me. I forgot about this little guy until I came back to FF.N and realized whoah! I never finished that story. The girl I wrote it for has long since disappeared from my life, I haven't watched Newsies in probably 3 years. But this story deserves an ending. So here goes.

Rain seemed always her constant companion. It swept her quickly along Brookyn's dark, bustling streets. Overhangings and thick trees provided her little shelter against its onslaught, but she refused to stop moving. If she stopped, she knew, she would collapse.

She could feel anymore. Not a single inch of skin registered the cold of the wind or the bruises left behind from Marcus's attack. The crimson drip of blood - his blood- stained her hands, stubbornly refusing to wash away in the gushing rain. People gave her funny stares on the street, and why shouldn't they? A fancy lady, clothes torn up like a regular doxy, bruised and battered. But no one helped. In their eyes, she was just another nameless whore who's John had given her a rough time. None of it was uncommon, it was a part of street life. To them, Hailey wasn't worth the notice.

She didn't care, she saw only one thing. The docks.

Find them, her instincts told her. Get to Spot. He'll know what to do. He'll know. He always knows. So onwards she trudged, past the shop owners with their accusing stares, past the houses where mothers tucked their children into bed at night. For the briefest of moments, her heart ached for her parents. They were good people, despite their utter lack of knowledge of the evils of the world, and they didn't deserve the utter lack of notice she was leaving behind. But she couldn't go back to that house, where Marcus's body slowly rotted on the floor. In the morning, the cook would find him, sprawled out and bloody on the ground. There would be a scream to wake the neighbors, and faster than light the police would arrive. Accusations would fly, the slow seed of rumor would root among the general populace, but in the end, they would figure it out. She'd killed him.

No one would care that he'd tried to rape her, take her innocence away. No one could care that she was the victim, because in the end, it was her hand that held the knife, that ripped a hole in his stomach with it. She felt no remorse. Marcus Donovan was a horrible pox on society, and she was glad he was gone. Even the blood on her hands didn't bother her anymore. Perhaps when the storm that raged within her cleared and a piece of rationality broke through, the weight of exactly what she had done would fix its grasp. For the moment, it didn't phase her a bit, and she was all the better for it. Now she needed to find Spot. Once again, he would be her refuge.

The soft, seductive sound of water lapping at the dock sang her a lullaby that almost had her in tears. Never before had she heard a noise more beautiful. Though the sound of human rustling was barely undetectable, she knew everyone was there - Spot's gang, hovering in the darkness. Each and every pair of eyes sliced through the night to spot the unlucky person who dared enter their territory.

"Spot?" her voice was hoarse from crying, thick from the screams she knew she couldn't release. "Spot? Are you here?"

Shadows shifted, a never ending dance of dark and tricks of light that did nothing to calm her nerves. What if he wasn't here? What if...

"Hailey." His tone was one of disbelief and happiness, but it lasted only until he got a clear look at her face. Red furrows ripped claw marks down her face from tears lost since lost to the rain. Bruises were already beginning to turn odd shades of purple and green - the final sadistic portrait of Marcus Donovan. What he saw most, though, was the despair in her eyes, the utter hopelessness that seemed to swell up into a void larger than eternity itself. "Hailey, what happened?"

"I killed him." she said, words slipping out in a stunned whisper. She stared through him for a long moment. What unspeakable horrors she was envisioning, he only could wonder, but when her eyes finally connected with his, her face collapsed into a mask of sorrow. "I killed him." The sobs, which had buried themselves away previously, now rushed forward, attacking her whole body with racking spasms. Hailey swayed forward, off balance, into his arms, and sunk down slowly towards the docks.

Spot had to admit he was shocked. When he'd seen her hunched form traverse the slippery docks, he formulated many reasons why she may be visiting him, but murder wasn't one of them. His fingers moved slowly through her wet hair as he whispered meaningless soothing tones into the rain-drenched darkness. Something - anything - to calm her down. Though she hadn't specifically named who, he had a pretty good idea of who the deceased was.

"It's gonna be all right," he whispered. "I'm gonna take care of ya. But ya gotta tell me what happened."

It was several minutes before Hailey calmed down enough to form a coherent sentence. He'd tried to move her to a drier location, but she was too weak to stand, and every time he attempted to pull away in order to help her up, she let out a shriek of panic - as if letting go of him would sever any connection she had left to life. Finally, the shaking in her body simmered down to a little trembling due to the cold, and her trembling lips found they could mold words.

"Marcus. He tried to rape me. I didn't... I don't know what happened. I had the knife, and then he was..." Absolute horror was etched into every curve of her face at the memory of the attack. Still so fresh in her mind, she relived it as if it were happening in the present. Spot crushed her tightly to his chest. He had his own demons to fight now, the ones that wanted very much to bring Marcus back from the dead in order to break his arms and legs and roll him defenseless into the sea for even touching her in such a way. But he was already sleeping with the Devil. Marcus was no longer his responsibility.

"I can't go home." The horror turned to panic on her face, and she repeated the words over and over again in rapid succession. "I can't go home. They'll find me. I can't go home. I can't go home."

He leaned down and kissed her wet, trembling blue lips, taking her face in his warm hands.

"Yoah safe heah with me," he whispered fiercely. "I won't let dem hoit you. Yoah safe."

But still her tears continued, mingling with the wet rain, hot and cold, they both streamed. She slipped her arms around him and crushed her face against his warm neck, seeping up as much heat as she could. He kissed the top of her head, then slowly slid his other hand under her knees and lifted her into his arms. As he walked down the slick planks towards their hideout, he saw faces begin to peer from behind boxes and through knots in boards. They were all curious, all searching. His face remained a mask of determination as he nodded once. The makeshift door to the small shelter was moved aside, and he ducked inside. Back into the warmth and safety of home.

This definitely wasn't the ending I was planning a long time ago, but it certainly opens the door to a lot more happiness, which is sort of a good thing in my mind.
So here's my question. (Assuming anyone actually reads this), should I leave the ending as is, or write a more upbeat epilogue? I am a big fan of the upbeat, but I know some people prefer the darker, so I'll leave it up to the audience.

Hope you enjoyed the (INCREDIBLY) late ending! Comments are always appreciated.