It was getting late into the night, but nobody seemed to notice. The room was just as loud and crowded as it had been hours before.

Spot had joined a few others who were shooting dice. Gathered in the corner, they watched as the dice hit the wall and rolled back over the coins and cigarette ashes that littered the floor. In the middle, bets were thrown down as fast as the dice turned. He liked the game better than cards. It was simple, straightforward and usually profitable. None of the bullshit, twice the action.

The card game was back in full swing on the other side of the room, though a few of the players had lost all their money and could only watch. Race had steadily increased his winnings even though half the table was cheating. They were passing cards to each other under the table and signaling who had what. Spot would have said something, but he didn't care. They could cheat all they wanted just as long as they didn't try to cheat him.

Race wouldn't call them on it either. Nobody here would back him. Besides, he'd gotten his cards back and that would probably shut him up for awhile.

Spot swore under his breath as the dice rolled Craps. He lit a cigarette as the next boy took his turn shooting.

Returning Race's cards had been his good deed for the month. Well, the second, if he counted not punching the blind kid that had mistakenly called him 'miss' the week before. He was just a fountain of generosity. And to think, people said he was heartless.

He'd planned to hold onto the cards for a bit longer, but Race had to go and do him a favor. There was no good reason why Race kept lying for him after all this time. Spot never asked him to keep quiet, never accepted his promises he would. It was ultimately more annoying than anything else because Spot knew if it were the other way around, he probably would have ratted Race out years ago.

They had been friends, so he supposed it wasn't impossible that Race still carried some sense of that loyalty. Race was stupid like that. He looked out for other people when he could be looking out for himself. Loyalty was the only reason Race was with him that night Pudge died. It was the only reason he had stayed as long as he did.

Though Race had mostly kept it to himself, he'd never liked the idea of Spot getting to the top. He said it was dangerous, he said it would make Spot dangerous. He'd been right, but Spot never gave him the satisfaction of knowing it.

Race had helped him at first, like any friend would. He could work any problem, think things through. But the farther Spot got, the more people ended up getting hurt. Race didn't think it was right, whatever that meant. The laughter turned uneasy, the encouragement turned to warnings. It was too late, though. By that point, Spot could think well enough for himself and didn't need Race anymore. So, Spot told him to leave if he had a problem. He stayed, though.

Right until the end.

It was the only time Spot asked him to stay. He left.

Race had probably begun to realize what Spot had known from the beginning. Even though he hadn't killed Pudge that night, he could have if he needed to. Wouldn't have lost too much sleep over it either. Spot wasn't proud of some of the things he had done, but they were necessary. They weren't living in a kind world. He always thought Racetrack would eventually see it his way. He never did.

Spot watched the dice spin a seven. Finally, he'd won. It wasn't much, just a nickel, but he'd take anything at this point.

"This should be good," a boy crouched next to him said, nodding toward the card game.

Spot glanced up, appraising the situation as he picked up the dice from the floor. Murphy, one of the boys that had been cheating the entire night, was now accusing Race of cheating. Race was denying it so vehemently Spot might have believed him if he didn't know better.

"Nah." Spot dismissed it. "Higgins'll back off." He held his cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he shook the dice. He threw them down and watched as they hit the wall before scattering back on the floor. A two. That was the third time in a row he'd gotten Craps. And they were his dice, so he knew they weren't crooked. It just wasn't his night. Cursing under his breath, he put down a bet on the next shooter.

"I don't think he's backin' off…"

Spot spared the table another look, this time with more interest. Race was on his feet, toe-to-toe with Murphy. The other boys at the table were trying to get them to sit and play, but they seemed more intent on staring each other down. As much as Spot appreciated a good fight, he didn't like the match-up. Sure, they were about the same size and Race might have been able to give Murphy a run for his money in a fair fight, but Murphy didn't fight fair, especially with outsiders. If things weren't going his way, he wouldn't think twice before pulling the knife he kept tucked under his shirt.

Spot could only hope Race would use his brains and see the danger in the situation. If he got himself into a legitimate fight, there would be little Spot could do. Not that he intended to do anything. Race could take care of himself and he didn't really care one way or the other.

"You cheated," Murphy maintained.

"You're a liar," Race shot back.

"What'd you say to me?"

"You're a fuckin' liar," Race repeated loudly. "You want me to say it again?"

Spot tried not to laugh as he looked back down his game. Race was clearly not having one of his smarter moments.

"Greasy mutt," Murphy retorted.

Race narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? You green piece of sh-"

Spot took the cigarette from his mouth long enough to shout across the room. "Keep it down."

He was trying to win some money, and he couldn't do it if everyone was more interested in the prospect of a fight than the dice. He hit the floor a few times to get the players' attention back where it belonged. Besides, there wouldn't be a fight. Race didn't fight; he took off when things heated up.

Neither of them lowered their voices. In fact, they didn't even acknowledge Spot had said anything at all. They were too preoccupied in firing insults at each other.

"Hey!" Spot shouted again, this time getting their attention. "Knock it off or take it outside."

That would put an end to it. If they continued it outside, they'd have to leave the game, which would mean leaving their cards and money to the mercy of the other players. Nobody in their right mind would do that. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was doing Race a favor. Murphy would beat him, no question.

Exchanging nasty looks, they unwillingly sat back down. Race looked at Spot suspiciously as if the only reason he had butted in was to be irritating.

"Aw, why'd you do that?" the boy next to Spot complained. "It was just gettin' goin'."

" 'Cause I did," Spot answered, not finding a need to explain himself further. He gestured for the shooter to roll.

The dice had barely hit the wall when he heard a chair slam back against the floor. Spot turned his head, taking a drag off his cigarette as he saw Murphy push Race. He exhaled slowly as Race shoved the boy back. Flicking the ash from the cigarette, he watched as they traded insults. Part of him wanted to stop it before it turned bad, another part of him knew he shouldn't interfere. So, he didn't. He just smoked his cigarette and watched with a careful eye as the first punch was thrown. If Race was so intent on getting himself hurt, he wasn't going to bend over backwards to get in the way.

Immediately, odds were shout back and forth across the room until one was agreed on. Ten-to-one Race would win. Spot didn't take part. He didn't bet on long shots. It wasn't a question of Murphy winning, it was of how long Race would last.

Race landed a lucky punch and a chorus of cheers erupted from the room, probably from those that had bet against Murphy. Working the pain from his hand, Race took a few steps back to give himself more room. Murphy recovered slowly, a bit too slowly. Spot saw him struggling to pull something from under his shirt. Spot stood. He strained to get a clear line of sight through the onlookers, trying to keep his eye on Murphy as he advanced on Race. Murphy was keeping his hand deliberately behind his back so Race couldn't see what he was holding. But Spot saw it. The metal glinted faintly in the lamplight.

Spot took a final drag on the cigarette before dropping it to smolder on the floor. He moved silently through the boys circled around the action, making his way to the front. As he broke through to the center, he saw Murphy throw a punch with his free hand. Race caught his arm easily, not recognizing it for the trick it was. With his attention focused on holding onto the other boy, Race left his side completely exposed for Murphy to stick him.

Of course, that might have been the plan, but Spot wasn't about to let it happen.

Spot dug his fingers into Race's shoulder and attempted to pry him from the other boy. Race threw him off, but he quickly regained his footing and was right back in the middle of it. He was stronger than Spot remembered him being.

"Higgins, get off him," Spot ordered, to little effect. Race tried to push past him and get at Murphy, but Spot was having none of it. He locked his arm around Race's neck, shouting at everyone else to back down. With one quick movement, he yanked Race back and kept him there, holding him slightly off-balance so he couldn't try anything stupid. "You're done, Race," he said under his breath. "Calm down."

Spot's eyes swept the room, instinctively searching for anyone who might give him trouble. Murphy was still too close for comfort, and there was still that distinctly sharp piece of metal in his hand.

"Murph!" Spot snapped, not needing to say anything else. Murphy grudgingly put his hands up and backed away, slipping the metal down his sleeve as he did so. Race was too preoccupied in staying on his feet to see, which was probably for the best. Spot wouldn't be able to live it down if Race knew he'd helped him.

"What's the matter with you? This ain't your business," Race said angrily, as his attempts to break free failed.

"I told you to knock it off," Spot said loudly. He wanted everyone to hear, so there would be no question about his motive. It couldn't be known that he was going so far to protect someone who wasn't one of his own.

Like always, Race couldn't keep his mouth shut. "He started it-"

Spot tightened his grip and silenced anything else Race may have wanted to say. He hauled him toward the door, twisting him away from the others. Spot looked over his shoulder. Murphy was talking quietly with a few other boys, planning something that could only be bad.

"Walk outta here," Spot told Race quietly.

"What?" He could hear the confusion in Race's voice.

"Leave," Spot said quickly. "You owe me, so do it."

After a moment, he felt Race nod. Spot released him and he stumbled forward, colliding into the wood of the doorframe.

"Get out," Spot said coldly, purely for the benefit of everyone else. Thankfully, Race went along with it and refrained from rolling his eyes. He wasn't happy, but that wasn't anything new.

Murphy looked satisfied that Spot had taken his side, abandoning his plans with a sneer. "Yeah, beat it."

Spot watched Race as he finally left, though not before he told Murphy to go to Hell. Spot waited before turning back to the room, making sure nobody followed Race out into the street. It had been a close call, but Race would never know it. He didn't know half of the things Spot did for him.

Everyone moved out of his way as Spot crossed the room toward the table.

"Which is Higgins'?" Spot asked, gesturing to the small stacks of coins scattered over the table. One of the boys pointed out a pile on the far side. He pocketed the money as Murphy sat back down at his place.

"I wasn't gonna mess 'im up too bad," Murphy said with a dark smile. He was faking it. He wasn't half as tough as he pretended to be, though he was stupid enough to believe he was.

"Sure, you wasn't," Spot said, humoring him. "What'd you win off 'im anyway?"

"A couple bucks," Murphy replied with pride.

"Oh yeah?" Spot nodded, as if he was impressed. Race wouldn't part with that much money in a game, fair or not. Murphy probably stole it off the table, wouldn't be the first time. "Lemme see it."

Murphy pulled a sizable amount of change from his pocket and piled it on the table.

"Not bad, Murph," Spot said, sifting through the coins. It was more than two dollars. He swept the change off the edge of the table and into his hand. Without apology or explanation, he put it into his own pocket along with the rest of Race's money.

"Come on, Spot! I won that fair 'n square," Murphy protested.

"You cheated," Spot said flatly.

Murphy became defensive. "Only 'cause he did."

"Can you prove it?"

"Well, no. But he did, I know it."

"See, that's the difference. I saw you cheatin' from across the room. You were sittin' right next to him and you still don't know for sure," Spot said. "When you learn to cheat as good as him, then you got a right to this money. Next time, don't get caught."

"You owe me for this," Murphy muttered.

"I owe you, huh?" Spot asked condescendingly. "How 'bout I don't bust your face, how's that work for ya?"

Murphy realized his mistake and swallowed. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" Spot repeated mockingly.

"Yeah." Murphy said, looking away.

"Good," Spot said. "And the next time you pull a knife on him, I'll gut you."

He stood over the table silently, letting the threat sink in. He let his eyes drift over the room. It was a warning to all of them. No one looked at him. Satisfied, he left the table and strode to the front door. He wouldn't actually do it, but nobody knew the difference. Hell, he didn't even know how to gut someone.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped out onto the street.

Dimly in the lamplight, he could see Race walking further down the block.

"Hey!" Spot called ahead. Race glanced over his shoulder, but didn't slow down. Spot had to jog a bit to catch up, but Race let him.

Hands in his pockets, Race looked at him sideways. "What was that all about?"

"Murph ain't someone you want to be fightin' with. He don't fight fair," Spot said.

Race practically laughed. "Since when do you care?"

"I don't," Spot said smoothly. "I just don't feel like tellin' Jack you got yourself killed playin' cards."

"Killed?" Race snorted. "Nobody was gettin' killed. You need to get outta Brooklyn more, it's doin' things to ya. Makin' you more crazy than usual."

"Very funny," Spot said. He refrained from telling Race how wrong he was. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. Race never believed him. Instead, Spot pulled the coins from his pocket. "Here."

Race held out his hand and took the money. Only after it was in his hand, did he seem to realize where it was from. Race stopped walking and for one brief moment, he looked genuinely surprised. He recovered quickly though, and regarded Spot warily. "What's this?"

"Merry Christmas," Spot said, enjoying he fact he had caught Race off-guard. He hadn't managed to do that in awhile.

"It's summer."

"So, Happy fuckin' New Year then." Spot shrugged with a smug smile.

Race studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure out what angle he was working. He looked back down at the money and the uncertainly disappeared in an instant. His hand closed tightly around the coins and he pointed an accusing finger at Spot.

"Don't do that again," Race said sharply.

"Do what?"

"Look out for me."

"I wasn't," Spot said quickly, picking up the anger in Race's voice. Race made it sound like he was doing it to be nice. If he did anything, it was because he felt like it. He didn't need Race telling him what he should and shouldn't do.

"We don't look out for each other no more," Race stated, as if saying it would make it true.

"I look out for myself, that's it," Spot countered. "I wouldn't be caught dead helpin' you."

"Good, 'cause if you was the last person in the world, I still wouldn't help you," Race said bitingly.

"Good," Spot said evenly.

"Good." Race crossed his arms.

They looked at each other through narrowed eyes for a few tense moments before Race abruptly jammed the money into his pocket and started walking toward Manhattan. Spot turned back to the house, his quickening pace fueled by anger. He kicked a glass bottle out of his way and felt satisfaction as it shattered against the side of a building.

They were both liars anyway.

A/n: All done! Thanks for sticking with me. If you have a few minutes to spare, let me know what you thought.

I'm thinking of writing another, possibly the other way around with Spot venturing into Race's arena, but I'll have to see if I can come up with a plausible way for that to happen :0) Until next time…