Just for you people who are Spot-lovers and can do his character justice: I'm sorry if his character may seem a little OOC to you. It was totally unintentional.

The boy- Spot- stared in shocked silence before crying fiercely, "Where did you get that key?" He took Emma- or Queen- by the shoulders and shook her. "Where?"

Emma gave a piercing cry of agony. "Stop- stop!" She screamed. "I'll explain- stop!"

Spot stopped, but before he could draw back, they heard a voice. "Emma!"

It was Jack.

Emma slumped all the way onto the street, till she seemed totally formless, just part of the street. "Oooohhh..." she moaned softly.

"Conlon!" Jack's voice was menacing. "If you've been..."

"Kelly!" Spot backed off, his hands up. "I didn't do anything. She just..."

"I got attacked in an alleyway." Emma said weakly from the street. She wanted to find out the mystery of the key, and besides, she was quite sure Spot hadn't meant to hurt her. "He was just trying to help."

Jack's voice and face became one of shock. "Oh, Conlon- thanks."

Spot shrugged. "I come tah get that favor."

"Whaddya need, Conlon?" Now Jack sounded weary.

"Well..." Spot glanced down at Emma. "Let's get her home, and then I'll tell you 'bout it."

"How bad did they hurt ya, Emma?"

Emma glanced over at Spot. "My name is Queen." She said firmly.

The newsies glanced at one another, then turned back to her.

"Queenie?" They said simultaneously.

"How many times do I have to go over this?" Emma's voice trembled with fervent emotion. "Not Queenie. Never Queenie."

"Okay, okay." Jack backed off in the same attitude Spot had awhile ago.

"Now." Emma took a deep breath. "If you'll just get me the things I tell you to, I'll take care of myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Of cour- well, actually-" Emma hesitated. She did need help; but she didn't want the boys to think she was a complete fruitcake. Reluctantly, she said, "Well- if one of you wants to volunteer, I won't refuse you."

Nobody moved. Emma groaned.

Jack looked sympathetic, and ordered, "All right, we'll have- Racetrack, Specs, and Skittery help. And me."

Spot cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh yeah- you wanted to talk to me." Jack remembered. "Well- you can help, and then we'll talk."

Spot sighed. "Whatever."

An hour and a great many pained noises later, an exhausted Emma- or Queen- emerged from the kitchen, where the "surgery" had taken place. She was leaning upon the arms of two very handsome leaders- Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon, but in a most unromantic fashion, for she looked as though she were about to fall off the two arms.

"Kelly," the one, Spot, complained, "how much further do we have to take her?"

"Up the stairs to her room."

He looked up in disbelief. "That'll take forever!"

Jack shrugged.

"I ain't puttin' up with it!" Spot announced, and to the shock and consternation of all present, but the maiden in particular, picked her up and one fell swoop and carried her up the stairs.

He did not emerge from the room for some time, and when he did, he looked slightly bewildered and clutched the key around his neck. "Kelly," he began; then broke off abruptly. "I don't need that favor." He said, then brushed past all the newsies and went out.

"Well!" said Boots, ever the first to speak. "I wonder what happened."

And nobody ever knew except two people...

Emma POV:

"Spot," Emma said weakly, but urgently, "where did you get that key?"

Spot closed his lips tightly.

"Patrick," Emma groaned, not seeing Spot's face. "Patrick... there's someone called... Patrick... had a mother... a letter..."

"Emma!" Spot crossed the room in one stride and knelt. "What happened to the mother?"

"Police-" Emma could not remember anything about her former life; all she could remember was something about a desk, a letter, a mother, and a son. "I think the police came... in the letter... said something about police coming..."


"There was nothing in the letter after that," Emma said with conviction. Suddenly, a realization hit her so hard she gasped. "Spot- was it your mother?"

Spot's expression told her that is was; but it told a great deal more than that. "You- you hit hard times," Emma remembered, "you- Patrick, did you leave your family?"

Spot turned his face away.

"You did- then the bank was ruined-"

Spot's head jerked back to her face, staring at her. "You didn't know," Emma whispered. "You never got the letter."

Spot's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Emma held up the key. "How do I know this is the key to the desk?" She was taking a chance; gambling, as Race would say.

Apparently, the gamble went well; Spot's face went white.

"She had three desks, didn't she?" Emma prompted him.

He shook his head, confused.

Emma looked disappointed.

"Wait!" Spot exclaimed. "I've got it!" His face cleared. "Yes!" He cried excitedly.

"What?" Emma asked impatiently, trying not to sit up.

"Mam had three desks- but not at the same time. Da carved them when we moved."

"They had verses taped to them, right?"


"And you have the key to one of them-"

"And you have the other-"

They stared at each other. Finally Emma spoke. "Who has the third?" She whispered.

"And why?" Spot responded.

Then he stood abruptly. "Meet me at the docks in Brooklyn when you're better." He said shortly.

Then he left.